Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(114)

Ships explode around us in absolute silence. The cockpit is a cacophony of screaming alarms and warnings from the flight computer, Scarlett shouting unneeded advice, and the thunder of our engines, and among it all I feel so small, so insignificant, that I wonder what I am doing here at all. I fly as best I can, but I know my best will not be enough for much longer, my knuckles white on my controls. I glance up at the stuffed dragon tucked above my seat. Shamrock watches me with beady eyes, supervising in the absence of Cat.

I wish you were here.

Then, as though Cat has given it to me herself, I spot my moment. The carriers protecting the Weapon have unleashed their fighter wings, moving to intercept a storm of inbound TDF cruisers. I stab at my controls, weave beneath the belly of an Unbroken dreadnought bristling with guns. For a brief moment, there is nothing between us and the Weapon. As I swing by for a close pass, spiraling among a burst of inbound railgun fire, a light on my console flickers on—an alarm warns me the rear airlock has opened.

Seven heartbeats later, it closes again.

“Good luck, Auri,” Scarlett murmurs.

A spray of missiles from a TDF vessel cuts across our bow, and I stab instinctively at the controls to take evasive action. As I swerve away from the gleaming Weapon, back out into the wider chaos, my vision seems to widen. The battle becomes bigger and bigger, until I’m taking in an ocean of ships thousands strong, stretching as far as I can see.

I cannot see Aurora at all.

I take a deep, slow breath and loosen my hold on the controls, forcing myself to focus on the task ahead—living long enough to render Aurora any assistance we can. Small as I am feeling, I honestly have no idea if it will be enough.

But in the end, what else can I do?

“Scarlett, hold on.”





35

AURI

It takes only the smallest corner of my mind to maintain a bubble of air and pressure around me. Only the smallest fraction of my Self to propel me through the ice-cold void of space toward the Weapon. Around me, a thousand ships whirl in a dance of death and destruction, but for me, time slows. I see every move before they make it. I know their fates before they’re sealed.

And I am coming closer and closer to my destination.

To my destiny.

I fly through a glittering, translucent field as I approach the Weapon, and within its touch I sense the energy of the Eshvaren. The creators of the thing that hangs before me, radiant in the dark. There’s an instant familiarity about that sensation, like an old friend reaching for my hand. For a moment, I’m standing before Esh once more, inside the Echo, hearing that simple instruction.

Your only obstacles are those you put in front of yourself.

You must let them go.

Focus.

And I do.

The man who awaits me inside the Weapon will know that I’m here. I’m sure of it. But I feel no fear, no hesitation. Only certainty about what I must do.

I’ve burned my loves and my ties all away.

Nothing remains but my purpose.

The docking bay is like a huge, crystalline cave, gleaming and intense. It’s completely empty as I soar inside. I set myself down on the floor, and the instant I connect to the crystal structure around me, I’m home, clicking into place, an integral part of this vast refraction of rainbows, power singing through it and into me.

I know the man I’ve come to find at its center, and it’s in that direction that I walk. The pathways seem almost aimless, twisting upon one another, climbing and falling. But I’m patient as I walk them. I feel the way they channel the energy of this place, focus its power and mine, and I revel in the sensation of it flowing beneath my feet.

I crouch to unlace my boots, peel off my socks, abandoning them behind me as I continue on, barefoot. I’m connected to the surface around me fully, utterly. The Eshvaren Weapon sings to me. In me. Through me. I am a part of this place. Like I was always meant to be here. I am the Trigger, and the Trigger is me.

And so I’m not at all surprised when I find him standing ahead of me at a crossroads.

Kal.

He’s dressed in the black of the Unbroken, and he stands straight and tall, as beautiful and defiant as the first time I saw him. He was only a vision then, appearing in my room at Aurora Academy before I knew the Syldrathi even existed. Now, with the same arrogant lift of his chin, he greets me.

“You should not have come,” he says quietly.

“You knew I would.”

“You do not understand what you face, Aurora.”

“No, Kal,” I return. “You don’t understand. What I am. What I’ve become.”

“What they have done to you.”

“They were trying to save the galaxy, Kal. They were trying to do what’s right.”

“You do not comprehend,” Kal says, his eyes haunted as he glances up the corridor. “But I fear you soon will. He will show you.”

My lips curl. Those lips that weren’t so long ago pressed to his.

“So you’re his disciple now, too?” I ask. “Just like the rest of them?”

“I did not want this, Aurora. I did not want any of this to happen. I loved you.”

“You can’t build love on a lie, Kal.”

“Look into my heart, then. Tell me what you feel.”

I reach out. Just a moment. Even here, even now, I can’t help myself. I feel a touch of familiar gold, a hint of who and what we were. I sever it with a wave of my hand.