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Astray is a serial, soft science-fiction drama about leonine-like kethirr working through the trauma that threatens to rend them apart. These guardians and aid-givers must find solace among themselves, least their hearts grow as bitter cold as the long nights of their world, Thirrik.

Chapter synopsis: In the dead city of Nakril, a lone kethirr struggles to survive the desolate wasteland and the leash of her addiction.

Content warnings: Drugs, violence, suicidal ideation.

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Last revision: May 18, 2025 - Major update. Polishing, removal of some sci-fi technologies, adjustments to what Errant Blades are. Read the full notes.

Prologue

Lost

The grinding of metal against metal reverberated in the elevator’s cab like the wails of a dying animal. It’s rust-stained walls were barely visible in the dim, flickering light of the single panel above. The small indicator showing the elevator’s destination barely shed enough light to keep itself visible. A large window once dominated the back of the cab, but the only thing left of it were the jagged shards around its frame. Instead, there was nothing but the metal and concrete of the elevator shaft speeding past.

The elevator hitched in its descent, but the lone passenger barely registered it. With her back against one of the bare walls, she did little more than reflexively shift her weight. No fear welled up within her, just a mild disappointment that the decrepit lift still hadn’t failed.

The haze of the Day Dream had long since subsided. The vasrril fruit extract in it offered both a brief respite and a bitter irony. Something so important to the collective cultures of her people, kethirr, had been turned into a leash around her neck. While the vasrril in the drug instilled euphoria, the half-dozen other chemicals it was laced with weaponized it. If she wasn’t given more, all that would follow would be intense pain and a violent death that would come far too slow to be worth it.

She could barely register the passage of time since she was first injected with Day Dream. Days? Years? She could still remember feeling the claws digging into the fur of her neck and the cold hard steel of the wall she had been held against. In the dark of the cab, there was nothing to keep Tavrret’s cold, rancorous stare from her mind’s eye. Neither could she help but relive the sharp stabbing pain of the needle when he jabbed her in the neck with the syringe.

Those thoughts were dispelled as a burst of light flooded into the cab. Her ears splayed back and she winced away from it before her eyes readjusted to the daylight. Her free hand pressed against the front of the cab just above the controls as wind buffeted her. The metal and concrete at the back of the elevator shaft had given way to a long stretch of broken windowpanes.

Outside hung a deep azure sky, cloudless above a wasteland lit by a low sun. Within the valleyed tundra near Thirrik’s pole, volcanic ash and dust kicked in the air as if it were sand over a desert of ruin and rubble. The husks of pale grey buildings jutted up from the desolation like the wind-blasted ribs of an ancient, fallen leviathan. Silent and scentless, neither echoes nor acrid sulfur lingered from destruction of Nakril-sa’ik decades ago.

Little disturbed this part of Nakril. There were a few scattered bands of karinv that sheltered on the fringes of what remained of the small sa’ik, a multi-cultural city, where the damage was least severe. Otherwise, there was only Tavrret’s vah, the operation they oversaw, the rare cargo craft—and, now, a plume of smoke drifting up from the wreckage below.

Though one of her hands remained pressed against the front of the cab, she was more focused on the weight in the other. She lifted it, and the leonine woman’s eyes locked on the long knife. Fine metal, a polished wooden grip, and an elegant, light-weight construction that made no sacrifice in durability—all the hallmarks of handcrafted kethirr construction.

She let out a halting breath. Her tail lashed. It was the only real possession she had. It was the only thing she needed. One quick slash over her neck and she wouldn’t have to worry about Tavrret and his leash. The fear of withdrawal would no longer be a threat. The torment of life in that husk of a sa’ik would cease. She would have what Tavrret cruelly denied her by keeping her alive. It would just take one simple motion. It wasn’t as if she thought she deserved better.

With a quick, deliberate double-tap at a sensor, the weapon began to collapse in on itself. The blade telescoped inward and vanished into the hilt, which then flattened to further compact the weapon. It took only a second. She moved her hand beneath the long, grey-brown robe she wore and tucked it under her loose, ill-fitting shirt.

The windows terminated and darkness swallowed the cab once again. However, even as the metal and concrete of the shaft returned, the elevator began to slow. A moment later, it stopped. One of the doors opened half-way and she squeezed herself out of the cab into what was once the building’s lobby.

Ash and dust piled in what remained of the room, blown in over decades through floor-to-ceiling windows, long since shattered. They comprised the entire front wall of the first floor, and it was thanks only to the crumbling support pillars that the tower remained standing.

No furnishings remained, save for a few metal scraps among dust and debris. Everything else had long since rotted away, including anything that may have covered the walls. All that was left was pocked concrete and exposed rebar slowly giving way to inevitability. The rusted remains of a light fixture still half-hung in the lobby, but any others were gone. The only trace of them were the dangling wires that still sometimes sparked with the partially restored power.

A rumpled canvas bag rested against the wall next to the elevator. Too cumbersome to pull past elevator’s one half-working door, the kethirr had left it behind before her ascent. With her scouting complete, she knelt down next to it and began to riffle through the contents.

She withdrew a small grey band attached to a metallic disc and tugged it onto her left hand. The band stretched to keep a tight hold with the pressure-sensitive metal disc against her palm. Her middle and ring fingers curled to maintain a modest hold against the disc until a faint blue light began to run around the perimeter.

Next, she pulled out a metal device from the bag. It was small enough to hold and triangular in shape with a single button built into the top. She pressed it, causing the blue light running around the metal disc to wink out.

The devices were crude and the construction showed no attempt to make them look anything but quickly slapped together. However, she couldn’t help but admire Bragal’s ability to so effortlessly assemble them. It was a shame he was leveraging his talents in such a vile vah.

After she placed the triangular device on the dust-covered floor, she withdrew another device from the bag. It was a smaller puck, and not much larger than the metal disc against her palm, just thicker. It also featured a button on the top.

She pressed her fingers against the metal disc again; long, then short. The circling blue light returned, but joined by a second. She pressed the button to pair the puck to the disc’s second slot, and then tucked the puck into a discrete pocket in her robe’s inner lining.

Once it was hidden, she took out a pair of gloves she’d swiped from one of the duped relief craft that ferried supplies to Nakril. The pilot had been particularly boorish toward her—an impressive feat given her normal treatment under Tavrret’s grip—and she’d needed new gloves anyway. The tips of her clawed fingers were minimally exposed and they fit well enough. With them on, the disc at her palm was nearly invisible.

While still kneeling, the kethirr began gathering a sizable pile of dust. She scooped it into her hands and then began taking in a few deep breaths before holding one. Of all the things that were likely to kill her that day, silica dust exposure was the least of her worries. Her hands raised and the pale grey powder poured over her. After repeating the process a few times, she stood and shook herself off. She could already feel the dust getting under her fur, but it took no effort for her to ignore the immediate irritation against her flesh. She couldn’t bring herself to care about it.

But dust alone wasn’t enough. She pressed her right knee against the wall next to the elevator doors and gripped the fabric of her loose fitting slacks. She rubbed the already worn fabric against the rough, pitted concrete until it began to fray apart.

Spotting what she needed at one of the lobby’s pillars, the leonine woman walked by and brushed her left shoulder against it. Exposed rebar ripped through fabric and flesh—adequately simulating a natural injury. Distantly, pain registered, but earned no more reaction than a flick of her ears. If she moved her arm, it would hurt more, but only her right arm needed to be mobile.

With blood flowing, she held her hand over the wound until scarlet coated her fingers. She rubbed them against the frayed hole in her slacks, smearing fabric and fur with blood to give the impression of a wounded leg.

Once finished, she grabbed the triangular device and made her way through the lobby and out one of the shattered windows. She left the bag behind. It was no longer necessary, and if by some miracle she lived to retrieve it, it wasn’t as if anyone else was going to claim it in the meantime.

Outside, the wind was cold. It was always cold. Everywhere. Thirrik was a brutally hot world, but that mattered little so close to the southern pole. There was no acclimatizing to Nakril; one reason among many for why it was never resettled. There was no warmth, only inescapable, bitter cold. She ignored it as she always did. The sting at her arm offered distraction through pain, but even that was unnecessary. She, too, was accustomed to discomfort, for there was no comfort to be found. There was no vah to care for and about her. There was nothing but the wasteland, the need for Day Dream, and her unwilling servitude to Tavrret.

She trudged through the grey powder obscuring the city’s streets. The ruins of massive towers lay toppled by pyroclastic flow and the restless march of time. The land was littered with their corpses and buried in ash.

The plume of smoke she had spotted earlier had begun to fade, but the fire at its source had not yet died out. It made for an easy marker in the distance, but risk grew as she neared it. She couldn’t afford to be spotted too early, so she kept herself low and stayed close to larger piles of rubble and the ruins that yet stood. Though it was still a few blocks away, she began to walk with a dragging limp to better embody her appearance.

Covered in dunes of dust, a strip was left otherwise clear between the half-collapsed remains of towers. It was an obvious route to travel through, particularly in a vehicle. It was also a deadly mistake to do so. She kept close to the ruins as she followed it, both to avoid its dangers and to keep herself out of sight.

Once she was close enough, she peered around the corner of a tower wall to get a better look at the source of the smoke. She spotted what remained of the armored transport. The entire front was all but sheared off from the vehicle. Little remained but twisted, blackened metal, flickering flames and smoke. Nearby, she spotted a pair of tarps, each covering what remained of a corpse. Her nose twitched from scent of smoke and death.

The bombs Bragal had littered the ruins with had been effective. However, she’d spotted a problem. Another vehicle was parked near the armored transport, just barely visible behind a burned out building. While it lacked armor, it was likely similarly sized. That meant more people; more complications. She pressed back up against the wall and closed her eyes. A cold pit began to grow in her stomach. Silently, she cursed herself for not seeing it from the tower’s vantage point, but ultimately it changed nothing.

The kethirr pushed herself away from the wall. She tossed the triangular device into a second story window above her, then she lowered herself to the ground. Slowly, she began to crawl around corner of the tower and along the strip. She kept herself by the edge of the building, doing what she could to remain hidden for a little while longer—and away from any of the remaining bombs.

There was a chance whoever occupied the vehicles had abandoned them and moved on. She doubted it. It hadn’t been long since the detonation. So, as she crawled, she began to call out for help. Her voice cracked with each call, ragged and strained with no need for acting.

“I see her. Well spotted, Larrin.” The masculine voice was hushed, but it carried in the wasteland. It was spoken in Thirrik’s dominate tongue; a rough, rolling language with a rumble to the words.

That cold pit began to grow in her stomach. As it grew, it became heavier. Her ears lifted, then splayed, and she felt the fur on the back of her neck beginning to stand. A tension took her so suddenly she couldn’t move forward.

Then, she spotted him. He wore a bronze-tinted, armored environmental suit that had lost its shine to the ash. Crimson cloth hung over one shoulder and arm, and a matching sash wrapped around his waist. Both were tattered and singed from flame. He was tall, impressively built, and walked toward her in a way that managed both confidence and caution. His face was covered in fur the color of desert sand, with a lighter patch at the end of his snout. It was ringed by a mane that was braided on his right side and wild on his left.

His expression was focused, but the despair could not be fully buried. She understood why, and she could barely contain her rising panic.

He held what could have only been a coilblade. Each was unique in their own way, but it bore the traditional long haft and trigger mechanism. His sported a lightweight, crescent-curved blade like the head of a short, thin glaive. The ornate weapon was not a common sight, but she still recognized it—and understood her situation was even worse than she thought.

She also knew that, despite the other kethirr being several meters away, the weapon was still a threat. It was deadly in melee. It was also coilgun.

“Please help,” she forced out in her ragged voice.

“Who are you?” The other kethirr’s voice was deep, stern, and barely contained. Yet, she could just make out the mix of confusion and pity in his golden eyes.

“A karinv,” she replied and hoped the admission didn’t cost her his pity. She suspected it wouldn’t. “Helped with labor for a relief craft, but... I tried to steal extra vasrril.” She felt sick parroting the same lie Tavrret told the kethirr she arrived with. However, half-truths did make for effective lies, even if she hadn’t tried to steal anything. She had just wanted to know what the vah accepting it was really up to. “The locals held me here, but I got out. I saw the smoke, and...”

His eyes searched her, but he tapped at something attached to his ear. “Nevrra, I think this is the one we were told about. Guess she is still alive after all.” He took a few cautious steps forward. “Looks like she was dragged behind a takrun at high-sun.”

That gave her pause. The one they were told about?

She forced the thought away. It was only a distraction. She needed to focus.

Leaving her leg limp and relying on her right arm, she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position with her back against the tower. She winced again and held her hand against the false wound at her knee. A haze threatened to settle in her mind—perhaps she’d made too deep a cut with the rebar. Perhaps it was the sight of the kethirr.

His coilblade lowered and he knelt down in front of her. His free hand began to search her sides and legs. She noted he was careful around the “wound”. He paid extra care to her robe, but showed no sign he noticed the puck. He was too distracted. She didn’t need to see the grief he was trying to hide to know why.

“Looks to be unarmed,” he said. Then, he nodded and added, “Sure.”

He started to move an arm around her. Briefly, he checked the hem of her slacks, but the compacted knife was secure in a discrete holster at her mid back. She hated how good she was at hiding things. “Come, I will help you,” he said, and then started to stand while supporting her. Uneasily, she stood. Playing up her injuries, both real and feigned, she let him support most of her weight and kept her right leg limp. The entire time, her mind distantly screamed at her.

He kept a firm grip as he helped her walk. It left him vulnerable to ambush but, in that stretch of wasteland, there was no one but him, his vah, and her. Of that, she was certain. However, she had no idea how many there were with him or what they would do with her. She could only hope, and there was precious little of that to spare.

It was a short walk made marginally longer by her false limp. He led her to the burned out building next to the vehicles. She saw his eyes close in a forlorn display of loss, and his head dipped toward the tarps.

Two tarps. Two bodies. Two dead members of his vah—his chosen family. That he was still functioning despite that loss only terrified her more. But she did nothing. She just felt that cold welling within her grow as frigid as the air. Her throat constricted, and she knew she couldn’t hide the tension she felt. However, tension only seemed to better sell her act.

The building had fared far worse than the tower she used for her vantage point. In places, its pale walls were still stained black. The floors of upper levels had long ago collapsed. The top half of the building simply appeared to be gone. Many of its windows were blocked by fallen rubble, while others revealed no more than the dark abyss of its interior. Nothing remained of the double entry doors, but he guided her toward the opening. “In there,” he said with a nod to the entrance.

It was far from ideal. The walls appeared to be intact, which left only one primary exit once inside. A blown out window would have to suffice.

He led her in. There, his companions waited. All of them looked haggard and soot stained, with small cuts and expressions masking pain. Two, feminine, wielded coilblades with spear blades molded into the hafts like bayonets. One also had a metallic hook that the other lacked. Both wore similar metallic suits as the kethirr who led her in, but theirs mixed gold and black. One wore gold cloth draped over her left shoulder and waist, much as he wore crimson.

The other wore a wrapped shawl over her armored suit that, beneath the soot and dust, must have been rich, deep green. She stood like a sentinel in the middle of the ruin; back straight, grim faced, with her coilblade held tall at her side. Her green eyes, like all of theirs, were locked onto the new arrival. They burned into her.

Nevrra. She remembered the name the other kethirr had used over the communicator. There was no questioning her bearing. Kethirr vah may not have true leaders, but in that moment, there was no doubt they were deferring to her.

“Came back with a stray, huh, Grakul?” said the woman with the gold cloth. There was no humor in her voice, only bitterness.

“Quiet, Varrina,” Nevrra said without looking at the other woman. Then, she nodded toward Grakul. “Bring her in.”

More than half of the lobby was blocked by rubble from the floor above. It limited space dramatically—an advantage and complication both. Another armored kethirr was seated on a fallen concrete pillar with the collapsed rubble behind him. Unlike the others, his helmet was still on, and it fully covered his head. He held a rifle on his lap.

She took a few more uneasy steps with Grakul while he continued to support her weight. She couldn’t afford to end her act now.

“Leg’s rough,” Grakul said. “Sleeve’s torn and soaked with blood, too.”

“Put her down by Kedarr,” Nevrra said while the last kethirr in the lobby approached the green-clad one.

Like the others, she was armored. Like the seated kethirr, Kedarr, she held a rifle. The woman bumped her shoulder against Nevrra’s—a sign of affection despite the obvious gloom weighing down on them all. “I’ve still got the spare medkit,” she said, quiet.

Nevrra hesitated. Some of the fire in her eyes died and she nodded. “We can’t get her to Marrika, so do your best.” Then, her tone softened. “If only Harriq had made it...”

The woman with the rifle pressed her forehead against Nevrra’s for a quiet moment and then stepped back. That moment passed as quickly as it started, and the steel in Nevrra’s voice returned. “Give her another look over. Double check for weapons and assess her wounds.”

Grakul lead the “stray” toward the fallen pillar. Kedarr stood and reached a hand to the larger man’s arm. Despite his helmet, their cheeks pressed together before Kedarr stepped back and focused his attention on the new arrival.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, but her mind was distant. Five in total. That was more than her original estimate, but fewer than she feared—even if they were far better equipped than she expected. However, Grakul had spoken to a “Larrin” when retrieving her. She wasn’t convinced that was the woman with the rifle. No one in the room could have seen her outside. There’d been no sign of a scout drone. They likely had someone positioned nearby.

Before Grakul could sit her down, she started to shrug off her robe. She half-feigned a wince from the pain in her arm. “So she can look me over,” she told him in her weak, ragged voice. He kept her steady. Once free of the robe, she discarded it by tossing it into the center of the room.

The woman with a rifle paused in her approach. Her eyes cast down at the discarded robe. One ear flicked.

“Marrika,” Nevrra said with one hand to her ear, “We picked up an injured person. Prioritize aircraft repairs with Durrnok, but make space in the med bay. She will need to join Haruna.”

Nevrra was distracted. The only window of opportunity arrived. Her fingers curled and gave two quick presses against the metal disc hidden under the glove.

A fraction of a second later, the triangular device erupted.

The explosion echoed violently in the wasteland. Chunks of concrete blasted outward and thudded hard and audibly into the dust below. Each kethirr immediately snapped to attention. Weapons in hand, they turned toward the entryway—and away from her.

She no longer needed to feign injury. She stepped away from Grakul as her hand moved behind her back. She gripped the knife under her shirt and freed it from its holster. With a double tap at the sensor, it unfolded as her arm raised. She aimed at the back of Nevrra’s head, ready to end her.

For Tavrret.

Her arm tensed. Her hand shook. For just a moment, she hesitated. For just one moment too long.

“Nevrra!”

The woman with the rifle’s voice cut through the silence that followed the explosion. She started to raise her weapon, but Nevrra had already spun around. In a smooth motion, the edge of her coiblade split the flesh of the assassin’s arm. The knife was sent flying to the side.

She barely had enough time to gasp in pain. A firm blow with the coilblade’s stock freed the air from her lungs. The back of her head connected with the ground, but that was nothing compared to the pain of the spear’s blade thrusting into her shoulder.

“Slow.” Nevrra’s voice was thick with venom. The spear twisted and earned a cry of utter agony. Nevrra ripped the blade from her would-be assassin.

Her vision was blurred, but the assassin’s eyes were on the spear. The blade, coated in scarlet, pointed at her head. Nevrra’s hand was at the weapon’s trigger.

She had lacked the will to end her life. Nevrra did not.

Energy flooded into the electromagnetic coils of the weapon. A projectile blasted out from the coilgun’s barrel. The crack was loud enough leave the assassin’s ear ringing. Shards of concrete cut into the side of her face—but she could see the woman with the rifle. Her hand was on Nevrra’s coilblade, keeping it shoved to the side and away from the assassin.

Nevrra wore a look of disbelief as she stared at the other woman, “What are you doing?”

“Don’t kill her.” The other woman’s voice was steady. Serious.

“She just tried to kill me, Surrha,” Nevrra spat back. “She did kill Harriq and Zarnik.”

“Did she?” Surrha met Nevrra’s gaze. She showed no sign of relenting.

Nevrra’s ear flicked. Her jaw set. She did not reply.

Grakul held the edge of his coilblade against the assassin’s neck. Kedarr kept his position by the doorway. He was crouched down, eyes cast out into the wasteland. Varrina was on the other side of the entryway, suddenly wearing a helmet much like Kedarr’s. Her spear was leveled at the assassin, held like the long gun it really was.

“We need more information, and she has it. We have no idea what is really going on here,” Surrha said. Then, her voice softened, just a little. “What were all those lessons you drilled into me? About clear thinking? About knowing before acting? How about minimizing harm?”

“We’re clear, Larrin.” Kedarr’s voice was muffled as he spoke over his helmet’s communicator. “She tried to kill Nevrra. No injuries, except the attacker.”

Then, he added, “No. Still alive. Tell us if you see anything by that blast.”

Nevrra’s eyes were locked onto her assassin. “Surrha wishes you to live, so you’ll speak.”

Defeated, the woman coughed and laid her head back. “I am already dead.”

“Explain.”

“Whether you take me away, destroy the facility, or just kill Tavrret, I lose my supply of Day Dream,” she replied. Her voice was strained. She was now certain the cut from the rebar had been too deep. The slash along her arm and the wound at her shoulder were far worse. “I die from withdrawal.”

“We didn’t come here to destroy anything, and I am not an idiot,” Nevrra spat back as the pain of loss overtook her. “Medicinal vasrril is shipped here, and no other drugs. It is not addictive, and it extends kethirr life.”

“Yeah,” the assassin said. “One of the vah here has been manufacturing chemicals. Vasrril withdrawal doesn’t kill you, but what it is mixed into? That does. Horribly.”

The other kethirr exchanged looks, but Nevrra’s harsh gaze did not soften. “Then talk and I will grant you a far more merciful death than the withdrawal.”

The assassin remained silent for a long moment. She could feel the blade of Grakul’s weapon pressing down against her neck. He added a little more pressure.

“Kill Tavrret. Promise me that, and I will tell you all I can.”

Nevrra stared down at the assassin. One ear twitched and her eyes narrowed. “I do not trade in death. I deal it only when necessary.” Surrha spared a look Nevrra’s way at the comment.

“But we sure as fuck will kill him,” Varrina added with white-hot fury from by the door. “Harriq and Zarnik deserve at least that.”

No one else responded. Nevrra’s jaw set and her armored fingers gripped the haft of her coilblade harder. This time, she did not try and silence Varrina.

The assassin let out a quiet grunt that did no justice to the pain. “His facility is well defended.”

“Evidently,” Nevrra replied. Her voice was flat. Dead.

“If I tell you how to get in,” the assassin asked, “will you kill Tavrret?”

“I don’t know if she’s being honest,” Kedarr said, “but if that’s who shot us down, we’ll need to do something regardless.”

“Even if she isn’t, we’ve seen enough to know we have to do something,” Surrha said to the others. “Far, far more than enough.”

Amid a chorus of rumbled agreements, Nevrra stated, firm and cold, “He will not be allowed another day.”

The assassin’s eyes closed and her breath caught. “Good,” she said quietly. “I will tell you everything I can.”

“Skilled negotiator,” Grakul stated. His humor was as fake as her limp had been.

“Take off my left glove. Carefully.”

“What?” Nevrra asked, incredulous.

Surrha didn’t wait for an answer. Her rifle lowered and she knelt down next to the prone kethirr. She tugged the glove off, then her head tilted to the side and her ears stood up. “What’s this?”

The assassin coughed again. “Remove it,” she said. Her voice was becoming as ragged as she had feigned it to be. “Carefully. Don’t touch the metal. There’s a second explosive in the robe. Small incendiary bomb. Lot of fire. Lot of smoke.”

Varrina wasted no time crossing over to the robe. She picked it up and tossed it outside of the building. Surrha pulled the trigger device off the assassin’s palm.

“Two snipers are waiting on the roof of his complex,” the assassin said. “Heavy turrets are set up inside both entrances. They’re manned. Right now. Waiting for you. Inside, he has a half-dozen other people. His facility is littered with traps—and don’t underestimate him in a fight. You might wind up like me.”

The kethirr—Errant Blades, almost certainly—were silent for a moment. Nevrra broke it. “All that and an anti-air turret. Why? How can they be so heavily armed?”

“They managed to get a lot of old equipment working again,” she answered. “It was easy to hide. We’re karinv, so it’s not like anyone cared enough to look that closely.”

“We came to look for a karinv immorally discarded here. You. Maybe,” Nevrra said through a growl. Her eyes had narrowed, locked onto her would-be assassin. “Nothing like this was mentioned. Explain. Why are they developing this supposed drug?”

“I don’t know,” the assassin replied. “I’m their test subject, not a confidant.”

“Intuit.” Nevrra’s weapon raised and she rested the stock on the dust covered floor of the ruined lobby. “You’re clearly clever and, if you are the one we are looking for, you’ve been here for half a year.”

“I—” she started, but faltered. Half a year...? She pushed the thought aside. At first, she wasn’t sure what to say, but she did have a good idea. “Want to control everyone left here and all the resources coming in? Make everyone dependent on you. Like they did to me.”

“Monstrous. And with vasrril...” Surrha slowly shook her head before looking over to Nevrra. “If she’s right, we have to stop this.”

“How do you suggest we get in?” Nevrra asked as she knelt down next to the failed, karinv assassin.

“He has an escape tunnel. Trapped, but it bypasses most of his defenses,” she explained. “Bombs inside can be disabled. Code changes every few days. There’s a panel inside the first door. Today it’s 8-4-5-2-6. Only get one attempt, then it locks down.”

“And why should we trust you?” Grakul asked. He still had his blade to her neck. She could feel its edge against her fur. “You’re cooperating with them. You’re helping this happen. Two of our vah are already dead and another is badly hurt.”

“Because I—” the karinv started, but her words caught. The cold that had welled up within her was gone. Something else twisted at her insides. Her vision blurred. Her eyes closed tight. “Because I wanted to live!”

Silence hung for a moment. Then, she continued through choked cries, “I thought I wanted to die, but not like that. Not like that. But if I need to die, then let it be quick, and let it lead to that horrific fucking monster’s end.”

The blade left her neck.

The Errant Blades asked for the location of the hidden entrance. She told them. They asked her the location of the bombs along the way. Again, she told them.

“If they are so good at hiding this,” Nevrra asked, “why did they fire on us?”

“I really don’t know,” the karinv said. “They don’t tell me anything, but they are paranoid. Nothing but relief craft come here. So, maybe they thought they were found out?”

“And then they sent you alone to attack us?”

“Discarded to weaken you and buy time. Maybe I’d live. I’m not vah, so I doubt they cared either way. Probably figured you’d let me get close.”

Nevrra’s ear flicked and the other kethirr shifted where they stood. She understood. They had let her get close.

“I didn’t know who you were, but if I didn’t try, then my supply would end. Then, withdrawal. Then, death.” The karinv let out a long breath. “Couldn’t do it, though.”

“Why?”

“Couldn’t justify my life next to yours.”

Surrha gave Nevrra a look. Something was left unsaid, with no need to say it. Nevrra stood once again and the others began to gather with her.

“You’re Errant Blades, aren’t you?” the karinv asked. Her voice was growing weaker than it normally even was.

Nevrra regarded her for a long moment and her tail lashed behind her. Then, she dipped her head. “Nevrra Sa-Vrrithkar.” She looked over toward Kedarr. “She shouldn’t move, but we can’t trust she won’t be found. Make it look like we are taking her captive.”

Without argument, Kedarr made his way over. While he walked, the helmet he wore split apart and folded back behind his head. His expression was a mask of barely held together despair, much like the rest of them. When he produced a long cord, she started to protest, to demand that quick end. He placed his hand against her snout and shook his head. “Not today,” he said. “Not yet, anyway.”

He bound her wrists and she did not resist him. Varrina did the same to her legs. Surrha tended to the karinv’s wounds and offered her water.

“You hesitated, but you are talented,” Nevrra said. “If we do not return by high-sun, I trust you can escape those.”

“If I didn’t lose too much blood,” she replied.

“Good enough.”

Nothing further was said. They filed out of the building and left her.

For a while, she lingered on the edge of consciousness. The room was dark. The only light filtered in through the doorway and the one window left unblocked by rubble. Time marched on, but with little to mark its passage. There was no sound but the wind. There was no movement but the dust that blew in its gusts. There was nothing but her, the pain of her wounds, and the pain of memory.

Eventually, the noon sun hung in the sky, but so close to the pole, there was little actual change. By then, she had thought long on her impending death. Even if the Errant Blades had fallen and Tavrret and his vah lived, she failed them all the same. He would deny her Day Dream, lock her into a cold room and wait for her to die. If Nevrra and her vah returned, then she’d at least been promised a quick end. Either way, that was it.

In a way, it left her with a strange sort of peace. Even the people who had come to save her could only end her life. There was nothing she could do. She could sit there and wait for oblivion, or free herself and face it all the same. Nothing she did mattered. She had no control over her fate. She never did.

Yet, her own words echoed in her mind again and again. She told them that she wanted to live. She did. Through all of the pain and suffering she endured under Tavrret’s leash, and all the hardships she had gone through even before then, that was an inescapable truth. She couldn’t kill Tavrret, because she wanted to live. She couldn’t kill herself, because she wanted to live.

She still did.

By the time she heard the sound of a vehicle, she’d run out of tears. Dry, sore eyes watched as five kethirr filed into the room. Four wore armor—Nevrra, Grakul, Kedarr, and Varrina. One did not. She didn’t recognize the woman, and she almost seemed to fade into the shadow cast by the ruined tower. Her build was slim and she wore a black shirt, a black shawl, and a black skirt. She carried a marksman’s rifle. She was trembling. Larrin?

Grakul kept close to Kedarr, and Kedarr had a hand on Nevrra’s shoulder. It was a gentle touch; a compassionate touch. The bound kethirr could not make out Nevrra’s expression. Yet, when she spoke, her voice was hollow. Empty. “It is done.”

“I got her,” the woman in black said. Her voice cracked when she spoke. She crossed to the bound kethirr and began to undo the binds. “What’s your name?”

“Don’t have one,” she said weakly, and only distantly knew why. Despite expecting the woman to press her on it, she did not. Perhaps she heard the hint of truth to it. Perhaps the pain made her too distant to even hear the answer.

Nevrra approached. Her failed assassin waited for her merciful end. Her reward.

“I am breaking our deal.” Nevrra tossed a bag into the dust. Day Dream, and a sizable amount. “Surrha wanted you to live. So you will, even if she does not.” The pain left by the rebar and coilblade-inflicted wounds was severe. It paled to the anguish that had deadened Nevrra’s words.

The Errant Blade, with Kedarr’s hand at her back, left the burned out building. The others collected the bag, the karinv, and her knife. Then, together, they left after her.