“Come, T’Prynn,” Anna said, an instant before her features stretched and contorted into those of Sten, the bat’lethin her hand morphing into the familiar shape of a lirpa.T’Prynn felt the grip around her hand tighten as Sten’s eyes widened in the all-consuming rage that was now the sum total of his existence.

“Submit.”

Releasing a howl of rage, T’Prynn lashed out, catching Sten across his temple. How dare he invoke Anna’s image, defile it for his own twisted pleasure? Was it not enough that he hounded her mercilessly, stalking and assaulting her without remorse or respite for what seemed like eternity? Now he conjured the image of the one person she had cherished, had loved,in his fight against her? The thoughts infuriated T’Prynn even further, and she channeled that wrath into strike after strike, ripping free her hand from Sten’s grip and using it to pummel him again and again. The lirpadropped from his other hand and moved to protect his head. T’Prynn ignored the gesture, pounding him until her hands ran slick with her own blood. Sten stumbled backward over a dune and fell to the sand, rolling away from her. She did not follow, standing on the rise, all but consumed by the ferocity of unchecked emotion boiling within. Her pulse rushed in her ears, the sounds of her labored breathing drowning out even the intensifying wind.

Then T’Prynn felt a hand on her shoulder, and a new, softer voice seemed to whisper in her ear, easily heard even over the wind. “Come with me, my sister.” Turning toward the voice, she beheld T’Nel, her older sibling. “We must leave this place now.”

T’Prynn’s first instinct was to jerk away from this new arrival. Another perverted deception invoked by Sten, of this she was certain. Would she be forced to battle her sister as well? Who else might Sten pull from the depths of her mind only to turn against her? “No!” she shouted, screaming to be heard over the wind. “It is a lie!” She turned and scrambled up the side of the dune away from the image of T’Nel, looking for any place to hide. A gaping hole appeared in the sand ahead of her, dark and forbidding but offering perhaps her only chance of escape. T’Prynn lunged for it without hesitation.

“T’Prynn!” shouted T’Nel, still close enough behind her that T’Prynn could hear her breathing, but she ignored the cry. She threw herself forward, reaching for the widening chasm, only to feel arms wrapping around her waist and dragging her to the sand. “No! You can’t!” Her fingers clawed at the sand as she tried to pull herself to the void that was her salvation. “You must come with me, T’Prynn. I will take you away from here.”

“Lies!” T’Prynn growled, wrenching herself free, but even as she regained her feet, T’Nel was on her again. “Release me!” she cried as she felt T’Nel’s hands on her, pulling her farther from the hole. Then she sensed movement in the corner of her eye and looked up to see Sten standing nearby, once more looking clean, refreshed, and free of injury, as he always did whenever he came for her. Once more, he held a lirpain his hands, the weapon’s blade carving a path through the air.

“Let me go!” she screamed at T’Nel. Instead, she felt her sister pulling her away from Sten even as he advanced toward them, lirpaheld high.

“T’Prynn,” T’Nel said, her grip unrelenting. “We must go. Now!”

Sten shouted, “Leave her! She is mine!” He swung the lirpaas he drew closer, its blade gleamed in the unforgiving desert sun. T’Nel released T’Prynn, and both women ducked to avoid his attack. T’Prynn felt the weapon catch her sleeve, slicing the material as easily as it moved through the air, and she threw herself down the side of the rolling hill, scrambling to retreat.

“Sten!”

All three of them stopped at the sound of the new voice, and T’Prynn turned to see Sobon, the elder Vulcan who had intruded upon her consciousness, helping her with increasing frequency to escape Sten’s unceasing campaign. Sobon stood on the windswept sand, waiting with hands clasped before him in a meditative stance.

“You,” Sten said, pointing his lirpaat Sobon. “You stand between me and what is mine. T’Prynn has defied and dishonored me for the last time.”

“She is not yours,” the healer replied, his voice even. “She rejected you and accepted the ritual challenge. You are the one without honor, for not releasing her from the sacrament. It is time to correct that mistake.”

Sten, having long abandoned all semblance of discipline and bearing, actually laughed at that. “If you feel you can rise to the challenge, elder, you are welcome to try.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth before he lunged forward, lirpaswinging for Sobon. T’Prynn could only watch as the blade cut through the air, aiming for the elder’s neck. Sobon stood unmoving, waiting for the attack. When the weapon made contact, the aged Vulcan’s body shifted, dissolving and allowing the blade to pass unhindered through him. The momentum of the swing carried Sten off balance, and as he lost his footing, Sobon leaped forward, reaching out to capture Sten’s head between his hands.

The instant his fingers touched Sten, both Vulcans’ bodies were enveloped in a blinding field of red energy. T’Prynn reached up to shield her eyes from the intensity of the glare as Sten cried out at the contact, jerking in apparent pain. Sobon stepped closer, countering Sten’s attempts to break free and moving with the speed and strength of a man half his age as he reinforced his hold on the other Vulcan. His expression remained passive, though T’Prynn could see the strain on his features.

“Dashaya-Ni’Var-kashkau-Veh-shetau-Sten,”Sobon said, and Sten shrieked, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth hanging open in new distress. At the same time, T’Prynn felt something tugging on her own consciousness, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. She stumbled, feeling herself beginning to plummet toward the sand, only to have her fall arrested by hands on her shoulders. Looking up, she locked eyes with T’Nel, seeing the concern in her sister’s eyes.

She’s real.

“Come with me, T’Prynn,” T’Nel said.

T’Prynn turned her gaze back to where Sobon and Sten remained locked in their odd embrace. Sten’s every attempt to break the elder’s grip went unheeded, with Sobon’s body shifting in and out of phase and not allowing any of Sten’s blows to land. “Dashaya-Ni’Var-kashkau-Veh-shetau-Sten,”the healer repeated, his tone carrying more force this time. The crimson energy field that had enveloped them both now seemed to stretch, as though trying to pull away from Sobon’s body and taking Sten with it. The younger Vulcan screamed in protest, and now his hands found purchase around Sobon’s throat. For a moment, it appeared that Sobon’s body would shift again, freeing itself from Sten’s grip, but both Vulcans instead remained in place.

“What’s happening?” T’Prynn asked, her hands reaching up to press against her temples as she felt something pulling against her own consciousness.

“Sobon is separating Sten’s katrafrom yours,” T’Nel replied, “but he is growing fatigued. Sten is still very powerful.”

T’Prynn watched as Sobon faltered for the first time and dropped to one knee, though his hands remained fixed on Sten’s face. Sten stumbled forward, trapped in his opponent’s grip even as his own hands seemed to tighten around Sobon’s neck. Sobon’s only reaction was to keep repeating the strange phrase in that incomprehensible Vulcan dialect. Each time he spoke the words, Sten’s body spasmed in obvious pain, but he did not weaken. Likewise, T’Prynn also felt something reaching into her, as though trying to extract something from the depths of her being.

“He needs help,” T’Prynn said, shaking T’Nel’s hands from her and rising to her feet. Sunlight glinted off metal to her right, and she turned to see Sten’s lirpalying in the sand. With no idea what she might do next, she ran to the weapon and hefted it, feeling its comforting weight in her hands.