Tristan walked a circle around Cade. “Look—I’m perfectly aware of what I probably am. And even if I am the Chosen One, I’m not comfortable finding out until you’ve taken your chance. You trained your body, mind, and soul for this moment, just like me, and I won’t take it from you.”
Cade rolled his eyes. He knew Tristan wouldn’t relent. Once he got his mind set on something—especially if he considered it “the right thing to do”—there was no talking him out of it. Cade knew to save himself a lot of time and annoyance by just doing what his brother wanted him to do. And it wasn’t like he had anything to lose; there was no chance the Rokura—after denying so many of Cade’s betters—was going to end up in his possession.
Cade took a deep breath and reached his hand toward the Rokura. He expected nothing. He’d grab the Rokura, give it a tug, say “oh, well,” and be done with it.
But that’s not what happened.
The moment Cade’s hand made contact with the Rokura, he felt the weapon surge a jolt of energy throughout his entire body. It didn’t hurt, nor did it cause the least discomfort. The feeling, though, was real, and with it came a very unusual discovery: The Rokura was alive.
As its energy coursed through Cade, he could feel all his fears being allayed. His concerns over the fate of the galaxy in its struggle against Praxis, for Tristan’s well-being, even for his own future—they were all laid bare and stripped away. In the absence of fear, Cade was free to focus on that which he wanted most: to be a person of his own. Maybe it was a juvenile desire, maybe it was trite, but Cade spent his life surrounded by people—his fellow Rai—who were doing what they were meant to do and living the life they wanted. While Cade wasn’t jealous, he also recognized his lack of personal satisfaction. Since as far back as Cade could remember, he was just kinda there, just gliding along on the stream of life, going wherever it took him without having much of a say in where he was taken. Sure, tragedy robbed him and Tristan of the luxury of having all that many options, but at least Tristan had been dropped into something meaningful. He had found his destiny, and Cade was stuck living in its shadow.
Cade looked up, and he saw his right hand wrapped around the Rokura’s hilt. It looked otherworldly, like it was some other hand not connected to his body. For a moment, no longer than a beat of his heart, Cade thought the weapon was about to break free, and his instinct was to tear his hand away. But the Rokura wouldn’t let him. The stasis field tightened as its light was swallowed by an invading darkness that brought a sense of urgent fear. Cade winced. His vision went dark, like the chrysthums had all been snuffed out, and he was on the platform alone, captured by the Rokura. The weapon pushed a horrible omen into his mind, like death and disease and pure evil all balled into one. It horrified Cade, sickened him, and though he couldn’t understand what it meant, he knew that the Rokura was trying to convey something vital to Cade—that something terrible was coming.
Finally, the Rokura released Cade, sending him tumbling backward. He had dropped to one knee and was panting when Tristan reached his side.
“Cade!” Tristan yelled, propping his brother up. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Catching his breath, Cade got uneasily to his feet. “I’m fine, I … I’m just a little unnerved,” he said. “I saw…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it liked me very much.”
“Well, come on,” Tristan said, leading Cade back toward the path. “Let’s get you out of the spire so you can get some fresh—”
Cade jerked his hand out of Tristan’s grasp. “Don’t be stupid. You are going to do what we came here to do. Besides, I’m not climbing up and down those stairs again.”
Tristan looked back at the Rokura, then caught Cade’s eyes and nodded. For once, Cade thought, my brother isn’t going to argue with me.
As Tristan approached the Rokura, Cade’s mind drifted into wondering about what just happened. He felt like he’d forged some sort of bond with the Rokura, and in the brief flash of time he spent connected with it, it told him the one thing he was afraid to tell himself: that he should, and could, be a better person. No one expected much of Cade, not the Masters at the Well, not even his fellow Rai. He knew this, but he winced at the realization that all his shortcomings were manifesting their destiny, not his own. There was a deep-seated desire within Cade, one he kept stuffed way down deep out of fear of what it might mean for his future, his relationship with his brother, and his place in the universe.…
Screw the Well.
He never, ever said it aloud, and even the thought of such rebellion—like real rebellion, not just showing off in fight training or something similarly juvenile—shot a shiver up his spine. It also made Cade realize a truth that really hurt. The Well didn’t value him. Sure, they trained him and he was trusted with the occasional low-risk responsibility or mission, but he was more or less just hanging around in the background watching everyone else do things of real consequence. He was an outsider and always would be. So why stick around? Well, there was fear, for one thing. As in, leaving the Well and going … wherever scared him to death. If there was one thing he knew about the galaxy, it was that it was a harsh, unforgiving place. Which brought him to the practical considerations involved with leaving the only home he’d known since he was thirteen years old: He had no coin, no ship of his own, and was trained to do one specific thing—be a Rai—that didn’t have the most transferable skill set. And, there was no one around to help him. Voicing even the idea of abandoning his position would make every single person he was close to—who all happened to be Rai and Masters—look at him like a foot had started growing out of his forehead. To them, being a Rai was the greatest thing ever all the time because, unlike Cade, they were allowed to do cool stuff. So if Cade ever mustered the courage to embark on this endeavor, he’d do so without so much as an understanding ear. And, worse still, he’d do it without his brother. That’s where his motivation to leave went from difficult to inconceivable in the past. But now, for the first time in his life, things might be different. Tristan would be gone, out saving the galaxy. While that happened, Cade could sit at the Well and lament his loneliness, or he could change. He could stop being selfish, stop being foolish, and, most important of all, stop being angry about his lot in life. The Rokura gave Cade the confidence to walk the path that he knew was eventual, not because he wasn’t good enough to be at the Well, but because he could do better elsewhere.
But there was that moment of darkness as well. A vision of pure hopelessness had erupted in his mind, one of pain and suffering. Cade couldn’t make sense of anything the weapon was trying to convey to him, but he knew it terrified him. He’d have to remember to discuss it with Tristan, whatever it was, because Cade couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something his brother needed to know.
As thoughts of the dark vision pecked at his mind, Cade’s focus shifted to Tristan just as he was about to grab the Rokura. Tristan’s eyes were intensely locked on the weapon, and as his hand drew nearer and nearer, Cade swore he could feel the room start to murmur. Just a soft tremble that carried through the floor and hummed at Cade’s feet. Cade exhaled, and he saw a plume of his own breath dissipate in front of him.
The chamber had gotten colder.
The murmuring was growing stronger.
Something was happening.
And whatever that something was, it went into overdrive the moment Tristan made contact with the Rokura.
A violent shudder quaked the platform, making the ground beneath Cade’s feet feel like it was being pumped by a hydraulics system gone haywire. Cade tried to steady his footing as the seismic shifts threw his body back and forth and side to side, making it nearly impossible to go anywhere. But he couldn’t just stand there like an idiot and wait to be thrown off the platform. He had to run. He had to get his brother and get out of that chamber, out of the spire even, as fast as possible.
Cade looked ahead at Tristan, whose grip was still tight on
the Rokura’s hilt. Another tremor rocked the chamber, and Tristan’s knees buckled beneath him. Cade could see that his face was locked in what seemed like intense agony; there was no telling if Tristan could get free of the weapon even if he tried.
Still, Cade had to do something. This, he feared, was what the dark vision was trying to tell him—that Tristan’s contact with the Rokura would have the opposite effect of what everyone assumed. Cade tried to run to his brother, but he barely made it three feet before the ground around him cleaved, opening a chasm between himself and Tristan. Cade was knocked off his feet, but he’d be damned if anything—be it a hole in the floor or a magical weapon—was going to stop him from getting to his brother.
Cade heard rock breaking loose from the walls and the ceiling, and he knew it was only a matter of time before this whole chamber came crashing down. Having placed enough room between himself and the chasm, Cade was ready to try to vault over it when he heard Tristan howl in pain. He was still glued to the staff, even as stalactites began to harpoon from the ceiling and drive into the ground. Cade dove out of the way just in time to dodge one of the spears, and when he rolled to his feet he saw chrysthums being split and erupting all around him. It was only a matter of time, Cade recognized, before it was him and Tristan getting split in half—or worse.
“Tristan!” Cade yelled. “Tristan! We have to get out of here!”
But as Cade tried again to rush to his brother, Tristan shot him a look that stopped him in his tracks. Cade anticipated agony, even suffering, in his brother’s face. Instead, he saw a newfound poise and control. Tristan radiated power. “It’s okay,” he yelled, his words sounding far, far away. “It’s almost over.”
As Tristan’s final word floated from his mouth, a crash of lightning burst from the top of the Rokura. Three bolts of light shot out from the weapon, and a thunderous explosion echoed throughout the cavern. The room went completely white.
When the blinding light finally dissipated, Cade’s eyes focused on Tristan—and the legendary weapon he held in his hands. He was lowering it down, slowly and ceremoniously; his eyes were fixed on it, filled with awe and certainty. Cade immediately recognized that Tristan knew exactly what to do.
“You…” Cade stammered. “You’re really him. The Chosen One. You’re the Paragon.”
Tristan smiled and walked steadily to his brother; he leapt over the chasm between them with hardly any effort.
“We’re going to save the galaxy, Cade,” Tristan said, standing tall over his brother. “You and I. Together.”
They’d made a pact when they were kids, a simple promise to each other. After they lost everything in their world that they knew and loved, after living on the streets and feeling broken enough to enter the orphanage, they’d huddle together at night and dream of traversing space, protecting people from the galaxy’s darkness. The same darkness that took their parents. The sky held infinite stars, and each night they’d renew their promise on a new star: Wherever they went, whatever happened, they’d do it together. Even when the Well took them away from Kyysring, they held fast to their word. Together they’d endured more adversity than they deserved, and together they’d continue to face, unflinching, whatever the galaxy had in store for them.
“Brothers,” Cade said, grasping Tristan’s shoulder. He started to laugh and cry a little bit—tears of relief and joy at the same time.
“Broth—” Tristan began to reply, but was cut short by the fluorescent black spear that was sticking out of his chest. He spat blood, convulsed once, and the light fled from his eyes.
Cade grappled his brother’s crumpling body, a “NO!” bursting from his lips.
Tristan was the only family Cade had in the entire galaxy.
Tristan was the Paragon.
Tristan was dead.
CHAPTER THREE
They both hit the ground, Tristan’s blood staining Cade’s tunic a dark crimson as it gushed out.
In the moments that followed, when the entire world went silent, Cade could hear his brother’s final, labored breaths. Muffled, distant. Cade slumped to Tristan’s side, though he was unable to speak a single word; they were deep in an ancient spire, miles from their ship, and on a planet that was so very far from home. Cade couldn’t even find the words to lie to his dying brother that everything was going to be okay. And he certainly couldn’t say good-bye.
Cade fixed his eyes on Tristan’s, hoping that, somehow, if he held his gaze, he could keep his brother with him. But it wasn’t possible. Tristan faded, and Cade knew his dying expression would be seared in his memory for as long as he lived. There wasn’t anger; he didn’t fight against the coming darkness, nor did he seem afraid of it. Cade saw sadness in his brother’s eyes, like he harbored some great regret that would never be atoned for.
“I’m…” he said, gasping. “I’m sorry.”
Cade shook his head, trying to deny what was happening. But it was no use. Tristan closed his eyes, and then he was gone.
Cade wanted to scream. He wanted to cry and beg for Tristan to return. He felt frightened, confused, and alone—only he wasn’t. Someone had stabbed Tristan from behind.
Someone else was in the chamber.
Quickly, Cade grabbed his shido and raised it above his head with both hands, blocking a downward strike from a blade that glinted in the light cast by the few remaining chrysthums. The glowing black blade pushed down so hard on Cade’s shido that it buckled his body backward. Cade gritted his teeth; he tried to make out the assassin, but the cavern’s darkness consumed the being. All he could see was the blade—tarnished by his brother’s blood—bearing down on him. Cade could almost feel the weapon’s intensity pressing into his face. He was caught off guard, overpowered, and quite possibly overmatched—which meant he’d have to be creative if he wanted to get out of this cavern alive.
He’d have to fight dirty.
“RRRAAHHH!” Cade shoved his attacker’s blade to the side, allowing him just enough time to grab a rock from the rubble that surrounded him. Right as the menacing figure recovered for another attack, Cade nailed the shadow with the rock, interrupting its movement. He rolled right, dodging the blade’s awkward lunge as the assassin lost his footing.
Cade sprang to his feet and took a defensive position. As he did, the remaining chrysthums’ glow renewed, shining more brilliantly than ever before. With their light, Cade was finally able to see the coward that had sprung from the darkness and murdered his brother from behind. Before him stood a hulking figure covered in black armor with gold scales, replete with a horned helmet and a bronze mask sculpted with a facial expression of pure hatred. Cade had never seen anything like it before, but what was most alarming was the assassin’s weapon. From day one at the Well, Cade had been taught, in no uncertain terms, that shidos were rare weapons used only by Rai.
Yet here was the assassin, shido in hand, crackling with vicious black energy.
Fury welling inside Cade, he ignited his own shido, bringing its blue-and-orange glow to life. Cade had every intention of driving it through the assassin’s heart.
“I don’t know where you come from, but wherever it is, you’re never going to see it again.” Cade’s words shot like daggers from his mouth; he could feel his pulse racing, his heart thumping in his chest, and he couldn’t tell if he was being driven more by fear or rage. Maybe both in equal parts. “This cavern will be the last thing you see—no—check that. My face will be the last thing you see, right before you take your last breath.”
The assassin scoffed, his voice a hollow rasp behind the mask. “Such strong words, little Rai. But your only hope’s guts are on the floor, and you are no threat to anyone.”
“Such convincing threats coming from someone who murders people from behind.”
“Lay down your weapon, and I’ll make your death a painless and noble one.”
Cade’s blood ran cold. He’d been walking a circle opposite the assassin, and he stopped dead in his tracks. If fear and rage had b
een fighting for dominance within Cade, rage had just taken over. Blinding, furious rage. “You’ll make my death a noble one? Noble? Like you did to MY BROTHER?!”
Cade ran and leapt, thrusting his shido down on his enemy, who met the strike with ease. The two parried, Cade on the offensive with short, controlled stabs from the sharp end of his weapon and jabs from the blunt end. His enemy was strong; Cade could tell that his defense was effortless and, because of that, his attacks weren’t going to get through. Patterned, strategic moves were never Cade’s strong suit, anyway. Master Jorken had been the first to recognize that Cade was at his best when he deployed a more “free-spirited” fighting style—or so he called it. Sometimes, as Jorken said, proficiency is best countered with unpredictability. Which was a nice way of saying that Cade should do what he did best: make it up as he went.
As the pair sidestepped the rubble that surrounded them, Cade could feel the assassin trying to shift their entanglement so he was the one controlling the tempo. Cade refused to let that happen. He let his natural style take over, varying his strikes—their location and degree of force—so the assassin was too preoccupied with riposting Cade’s wild movements to mount his own attack. Shido met shido until Cade delivered a quick sequence of slashes and sideswipes that created a brief opening. Cade flicked the bottom of his weapon up, batting off the assassin’s mask and busting his face; the man staggered back, and in a paired movement Cade swung around and swiped his shido’s electrified blade across the assassin’s guts, slicing against his armor’s golden scales.
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