Lucian felt the hairs on his arms rise. He had a feeling he knew what Shantozar wanted, what he was being goaded into.
“The Sorceress-Queen said she wanted to work with me, for me to have the Orb while she trained me. She says I’m the Chosen.”
“And are you?”
Lucian paused. “I have no choice but to believe that.”
Shantozar guffawed. “Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t seem as if you’re too sure, which doesn’t help your case. Of course, it’s impossible to say who the Chosen truly is until all the chips are down and the cards have been revealed, to borrow a metaphor you are familiar with. She may believe you are the Chosen of the Manifold, boy, but prophecy is a tricky thing, especially where it concerns the Chosen. In other words, I wouldn’t count on that, were I you.”
“She said the prophecy came from you.”
“Yes,” Shantozar said. “But who says you’re the only one with an Orb to have ever visited this world, in the past or in the future?”
It wasn’t something Lucian had considered. And it didn’t do much for his confidence.
Shantozar waited, seeming to expect something more from Lucian.
“You want the Queen to have the Orb,” Lucian realized. “Not me.”
Shantozar nodded. “I do. Unless you have a better argument for why you should hold it?”
This was going to be harder than he thought. Saying he was here first probably wasn’t a good reason. He had to fight to keep his voice steady, because what he was about to say scared the rot out of him.
“Give me the Orb. If I defeat the Sorceress-Queen with it, I will prove myself worthy. If I die, well, then it only proves you right, and she will not only gain the Orb of Psionics, but the Orb of Binding, too.”
Shantozar’s wrinkled eyes widened ever so slightly, the only sign of his surprise. “You can’t be serious. You will surely die.”
“I’m dead either way,” Lucian said. “And if am the Chosen, maybe I have a chance.”
Shantozar scoffed. “You’re no Chosen until you hold all the Orbs, boy.”
“This is my path,” Lucian said. “The sooner I accept that, the easier things will go for me. Give me the Orb of Psionics, Shantozar. The Queen is a madwoman who can’t be trusted to do the right thing with it. The only thing that motivates her is revenge. Me? I actually intend to go through with it. To find all Seven Orbs and bring them together. Isn’t that what you want, too?”
Lucian felt the presence of the Orb of Binding. And the call from the Orb of Psionics. Shantozar frowned, seeming to sense that same resonance. Lucian knew ether was swirling around him, being drawn to him. He felt his reserves replenished, with none of the attendant fire of the toxin.
“I will have that Orb, Shantozar,” Lucian said. “If you please.”
Now, Shantozar was scowling. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to gain the Orb, not you.”
“The Manifold has plans for us all,” Lucian said. The words made him smile; it sounded like something Vera might have said. “Not even an Oracle can stand against the will of the Voice.”
Shantozar’s expression grew darker, but then he gave a yellow smile. “All right, fine. If you are so confident, then take it. The Orb is yours. But no doubt, not for long.”
Shantozar spread his arms, and the purple orb floated right into the air toward Lucian. He reached for it, knowing that the moment he did so, not only Shantozar would disappear, but the time ward surrounding the pedestal. As soon as the Orb was his, he would have to turn around and use it, to defend his right to have it.
He clasped the Orb of Psionics in his hand, and it thrummed with power, brightening like a violet supernova. Its lines bled into his arm, streaming toward his heart, until its essence was bound to his very soul.
And he felt its presence in his Focus – felt its power drumming with potential. The frozen motes resumed their dance, their light fading with the removal of the Orb.
Lucian turned, bathed in a violet aura.
It was time to embrace his destiny – to behave as the Chosen would.
For the first time, Lucian had no doubt that each of his Orbs would work. And also for the first time, he knew the reason why.
He had accepted that this was who he was . . . fully. He was an Aspirant for the Orbs, the Chosen of the Manifold, and now held Two of the Seven. As long as he continued on this path, believed in himself, then the Orbs would continue to be useful to him, so long as he had the mental fortitude to stream them.
And now, it was time to face the Sorceress-Queen and save Serah before it was too late.
He heard shouts from the staircase. He ran, reaching for the Orb of Psionics. Unadulterated ether infused into his Focus as he streamed a Psionic shield around him, so strong that it was practically unassailable. It wasn’t elegant, but what it lacked in elegance it made up for in raw power.
And that was the only way he knew he could defeat the Sorceress-Queen: raw power. For she had elegance and skill in spades.
The time aura that had surrounded the pedestal had disappeared, leaving Queen Ansaldra standing at the top of the steps, about twenty meters away. She stood with her Mage-Knights of varying colors. There looked to be two Thermalists, four Binders,
