Darkest Designs
deep breath and let it out slowly. Calmly. She thought herself back to the point where she’d arrived in the In-between. She let the knowledge that she could create her reality through her thoughts settle deeper into her psyche. Letting the memory resurface of having fallen because she’d imagined herself to be falling, and having stopped her fall because she’d told herself she’d stopped. Therefore she was back where she’d first arrived because she imagined herself to be.
    Â 
    With her eyes still closed, she asked, “Stylus, where are we?”
    Â 
    The stylus made a series of clicking noises then a long hum sounded. She didn’t know if that was good or bad, but it felt…good.
    Â 
    We are back where we began.
    Â 
    She took several little steps for joy. “Perfect.”
    Â 
    She glanced at the almost comatose Dillon at her side. “Are there others here in this dimension that I should be trying to save?”
    Â 
    We don’t believe so.
    Â 
    â€œCan you run a scan and see? Maybe look for heat signatures. Something?”
    Â 
    We will do so. We can do more than search for heat signatures. And have been since we first landed.
    Â 
    â€œGood.”
    Â 
    You are not alone.
    Â 
    She froze. “I have Dillon here, so I am not alone. Do you mean there is someone else here?”
    Â 
    A Toran.
    Â 
    She grinned. Then her grin fell off. “Of course there is a Toran. Dillon is here.”
    Â 
    Dillon is a Louer.
    Â 
    â€œHe’s what?” she exclaimed. “He doesn’t look anything like a Louer.”
    Â 
    He is as they were originally.
    Â 
    Oh God. She stared in shock at Dillon. “But,” she whispered, “He looks like Eric.”
    Â 
    Eric is a Toran.
    Â 
    â€œSo what’s the difference?” She threw up her hands in frustration.
    Â 
    The faction they originated from.
    Â 
    Faction? Didn’t that mean something political or religious in her world?
    Â 
    On Toran a faction is a Clan, a group formed of both family and political ties.
    Â 
    â€œSo there were two groups of the same people. Half called themselves Torans and the other half called themselves Louers? The two fought, the Torans won and enslaved the Louers. The Louers fought back and were banished.”
    Â 
    Yes.
    Â 
    Simple and sad. As she stared at Dillon, she realized he had to have been born after the war that enslaved the Louers. How had he been spared? “Stylus, how is it that Dillon is a Louer and free? Or was he a slave?”
    Â 
    He was free. No one knew he was a Louer. Dillon’s name is in the database as having gone lost.
    Â 
    And his ancestors?
    Â 
    Again, a secret. Their ancestors were Louers that makes them Louers. Ancestral law states that you are of the same clan as your parentage. No one was allowed to change allegiance.
    Â 
    â€œBut that’s not fair,” she cried. “Children have a right to choose what they believe. They shouldn’t be punished by who their parents are.”
    Â 
    Even as she said that, she could think of many instances in her own world where just that had happened and continued to happen. Those born into slavery, born in jail, born to different races. Each of those offspring had an uphill climb to get free of their heritage. It appeared to be no different here.
    Â 
    Unfortunately.
    Â 
    Shaking her mind free of those depressing thoughts and tucking the knowledge that Dillon was a Louer back into the corner of her mind, she turned to the more immediate issue.
    Â 
    â€œYou said there is a Toran here. Who and where?”
    Â 
    Eric.
    Â 
    â€œReally?” she shouted. This time she danced around Dillon, joy rippling through every part of her. “We’re saved!”
    Â 
    Dillon stared at her and blinked.
    Â 
    She groaned in disgust. “Dillon, it means someone is here to help us.” She continued to skip in small circles. “I presume he’s

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