Xaleyp’s insides twisted and writhed with each arduous breath he took. He fidgeted nervously and awkwardly in his seat, unable to find a spot that was comfortable for more than a few moments. The Director simply sat there, continuing to stare at him, waiting patiently for his answer. How was he expected to make such an important, life-changing decision so quickly, and with so few means of ensuring that he was informed? Deep within himself, he knew that the answer should have been simple; having the power to keep his friends safe should have been self-evident. The question remained, though, of who he was keeping safe: his parents were dead, Lina was dead, Caster and Oliver were probably dead if the Arcadians destroyed Vertyn, Mian he couldn’t trust anymore. Who was left? Who else out there did he want to protect? His whole world had been turned on its head in just a few short weeks, from being satisfied but not necessarily happy at Vertyn, to realizing everything he thought he knew and loved was a lie. He was alone. For the first time in his life, he was completely and utterly alone.

Then maybe that was his role in the galaxy. Perhaps his destiny was just that: to forge his own future, to throw off the bonds that history tried to shackle around him, to go out into that darkness alone with all the power that he could muster—whether from the Celestial Order and Siatia or Ciovyr or some other source, it didn’t matter. After all, whatever the source may be, they would simply be a means to an end. With enough power, he could make his own laws, mete out his own justice where others had failed or refused to hold those malefactors accountable. He could avenge those that wronged him, like Grimaldus who killed Lina, Seth who refused to go back for her—and Hyperia as a whole for killing his parents—even Tober for trying to kill him. No one would be safe from his destructive, righteous crusade of purging the galaxy of those who were inferior, who didn’t deserve a place in the galactic order with him, who were brave or foolish enough to stand in his way.

If there was no one to keep him in check, however, would he actually be able to go through with his plans, his desires to throw the galaxy’s hierarchy into upheaval? Having so much power to himself, practically in the palm of his hands, could drive him mad, just as it had so many other tyrants throughout history. That is, after all, what he would turn into in the end: a tyrant who annihilates any who dared defy him. What would his parents think of him if that was what their once good-natured boy turned into? Would they even recognize him in his state of power induced madness? He wouldn’t know, because Colonel Ire, and by extension Hyperia, took them away from him without even a second thought, erasing them from his life as if they were simply an annoying stain to wipe away. Then again, what would he think of himself if he turned into someone people feared and cowered at even the slightest mention of his name? Would he even be able to recognize himself after such a transformation?

Having to make such a significant decision, it was imperative he chose the appropriate action, for whatever he said to this Director, this mysterious man who rescued him from the jaws of certain death, would alter the course of his entire life. One wrong decision, one improper step, and everything he desired, everything he hoped to accomplish and see, could vanish quicker than he would ever comprehend. He didn’t even know if the Director was telling him the truth about Ciovyr, or if Mian was for that matter. This could all just be an elaborate ruse to use him for their own nefarious purposes then discard him like rubbish when he outlived his usefulness.

The seconds turned into minutes, and, before he knew it, the pair of them were sitting alone in the room, silence filling the air, for half an hour. So many different variables, each with their own unique outcome, to keep track of. It was difficult, impossibly difficult, even if he had the computational power of the CAM backing him up. It was almost too much for his brain to handle without wanting to shut down, send him comatose, or just ditch him and find another body to inhabit, like a parasite moving on to its new host. Even just the effort of keeping his mind focused and on track was becoming more and more strenuous.

Xaleyp sighed and leaned forward in his chair, placing his head in his hands on the table and holding tight, as if it were attempting to explode and the only thing keeping it from doing so was the force of his grip. The Director was watching him carefully, he was sure of it. Curious? Worried? Whatever he was thinking, he knew how this was going to end. He would not have brought Xaleyp onto this ship in the first place if he didn’t think he had complete and utter control over the situation, if he didn’t think that he would get what he wanted.

Finally, after what felt like days of thinking, his body mentally drained, Xaleyp looked up. He saw his face in the mirror just beyond the Director and almost didn’t recognize it, as if he were seeing a horribly battle-scarred, disfigured version of himself. As soon as the image came, it vanished and was replaced once more by his own face. Is that what was waiting for him if followed this path, went with the Celestial Order? A future of darkness and pain and anguish to the point where he was unrecognizable, even to himself?

The Director eyed him curiously, those serpentine eyes looking over every inch of his face.

“Have we finally come to a decision then?”

“I have.” Xaleyp felt the words catching in his throat, not quite wanting to come out and needing the extra encouragement. He took a deep, soothing breath. “I’m in.”

“Well, Agent Xaleyp Vah’Aris.” The Director’s lips curled into a devious smile, and Xaleyp suddenly wondered whether he made the right decision. “Welcome to the Celestial Order.”