they go on and on and all she cares about is the pain and the thirst and the fact that here before her is all the light that is left in the world. The legends are swirling in her head, tangling in her slowed thoughts and the words of the demon, and they have all become the same story. Something received, or something purchased. Something given, or something won. And if there is more to it than that, she quite literally could not care less. All she understands at this moment is that she must do one thing.
She must live.
“Are you prepared?” asks the darkness.
The girl gazes into the light. “Yes,” she whispers.
“Can you face pain—” And then the voice breaks. “Can you face pain without fear?” it whispers.
And now the little girl raises her eyes from the glow to the faceted eyes, because she has never heard that voice before. It has become so hard to focus, but with effort she can make out that gleaming face in the blackness. She licks rough lips with a rougher tongue and then sucks in a quivering breath. “Yes,” says the little girl.
A tremor runs through the hard limbs all around her. “Say it,” says Shenya the Widow.
“I am Sarya the Daughter,” says the little girl. “I face pain without fear.”
Sarya the Daughter sits on the floor of a void-black cabin, legs crossed, the very image of stillness and calm. This is where she woke, sweating and screaming, to Ace’s concerned words in her ears. This is where she paced, reliving the dream again, as the tears burned her face. Because it was not just a dream, she is absolutely certain of that. It was as real as the filthy utility suit on her body. That was her mother. Her mind hid that memory from her just as effectively as a Memory Vault, but it was there the whole time. She has no idea how to react to this, no idea where to direct these emotions. But it doesn’t matter, because even in the darkness there is one bright and burning thought.
“I am Sarya the Daughter,” she says out loud. And no one can take that away from her.
According to her Network unit, she still has more than an hour until Riptide’s day cycle begins—which is good because now she knows: these sorts of things require darkness. The orange half-sphere of holograms lying on the floor in front of her is the only source of color in the room, and here in the center of the floor her Network unit doesn’t even bother simulating its dim glow on the walls. She considered turning its actual lights back on to more accurately re-create her dream, but she decided not to. Something in her tells her that this is the time for darkness, not light. And now she knows that there is nothing in the darkness that can hurt her. It wasn’t the darkness itself, after all.
It was her own mother.
And that brings thoughts that are confusing at best, but she has decided that they must wait. Now is the time for action, not reflection. Now, she feels her scars like lines of fire across her skin. Her mother said they would be her most precious possessions—and perhaps they are. But either way, she’s about to gain one more. Because she is Sarya the Daughter, and she faces pain without fear.
She takes a deep breath and leans forward to pick up the Memory Vault. Its holos change to white as it examines its new situation. “Hello, new user,” it says. “Please identify yourself.”
She brings the device to her temple. The holographic sphere engulfs her head, flashes as it measures her, then changes to blue. “Identity established,” it says for the hundredth time. “Hello, Sarya the Daughter. What would you like to do?”
She opens her mouth as she has a hundred times before…but this time will be different. This time she knows what must be done. “Device,” she says quietly. “I would like to unlock you.”
“Very good,” says the Memory Vault. “Where will you be transferring the memories contained herein? Before answering this question, please refer to my user’s manual.”
But Sarya has practically memorized the user’s manual. It is a spectacularly dry read, but obsession can make anything fly by. In particular, she has spent a lot of time on the segment titled [Section 105—Advanced Capabilities]. The first ninety percent is a lengthy piece of legalese that boils down to a simple message: