"I know what you're going to say, but I think you ought to see this alone."

Those had been Lilith's words before she'd left him with Memory. The computer, Lilith had called it. Not 'she', or The Head, as Hain had labeled it in his mind.

The prospect of being alone with Memory had drawn a rash of protest from Hain, but Lilith had insisted.

"Trust me," she'd said. "You're going to have a lot to think about by the time Memory is through, and I want you to have a chance to process it before you start chucking questions at me."

She'd been right.

Hain bent forward in the chair, elbows on knees, cradling his face in his hands. That conversation seemed a distant memory. He sighed, and stared into the vacant place in the air where he'd been watching what Memory had to show him for–how long? Hours, maybe? Days? Time passed differently when you were delving into the past.

His eyes drifted over the ridged wall opposite him. He slid his hands up his face, and rubbed his eyes with the balls of his palms.

Images fluttered behind his eyes. People. Cities. War. Peace. Human history that shouldn't have existed.

Flash.

A still image of rough stone the color of dried blood, its surface marred by white handprints.

Cave paintings of Leange Pettakere.

Flash.

A scarlet bird exploded from trees ahead of unseen predators, the notes of warbled birdsong fluttering to his ears in the wake of frantic wings.

Cardinalis cardinalis: extinct.

Flash.

A firebrand hammered a podium while crowds called back to him, arms waving and murder written on their faces.

Adolf Hitler after passage of the Enabling Act.

Flash.

A humanoid figure bounded over a dusty wasteland while a blue sphere hung in the background on a field of black.

Eow-One, humanity's first permanent lunar colony established.

Flash.

Silver hair spilled over the shoulders of a withered old man, his lips moving soundlessly as Hain stared into his eyes.

King Edward III née William Windsor, announcing emergency wartime dissolution of the English Parliament.

Flash.

Hain let out a shuddering breath. This was not a young world. He thought the words, and he heard them, their cadence like the opening of a new prayer.

Hain's body felt full with the knowledge swelling inside him. It changed everything–casting aside the Faithful's dusty lies scribbled in timeworn volumes. This was revelation. True revelation. Practically heaven-sent. The feeling was pleasurable even as it pained him, like peeling sunburned skin to expose raw, fresh pink flesh.

This was not a young world.

Humans had existed for millennia. And, Hain thought with gasping wonder, maybe even hundreds of thousands of them had lived at once. Havens bigger than Promise had dotted the world, their hulks peopled by a race almost unfathomable in its immensity. His race. Humanity.

People needed to know.

Humans had run their fingers along the bottom of the sea, and looked down on the world from the sky's edge. Humanity had once been spectacular in its glory.

They won't believe you.

The thought was a fist in his chest. Of course they wouldn't. Then again, how could they? Their world was the Faith, bending knees beneath an arched roof and the dead black sky above it. Their world was young. Asking them to see past it was like asking them to step from a cliff's edge without looking down.

The new knowledge suddenly felt more like a yoke than a blessing. He sat upright, and pushed those thoughts from his mind. There was no question about bringing this knowledge back to Echo eventually, but both the knowledge and the haven would keep in the meantime.

Hain opened his eyes, and massaged his temples with the pads of his fingers.

"Can you show me more of this?" Hain stammered, still uncomfortable about speaking to an empty room. "Memory?"

The computer's voice filled the room with its smooth tones. "That's all the information I have at this time, Hain."

Hain blinked again. "But what of the Vrai? Surely they've got histories here too."

"That is all the information I have at this time, Hain," the computer repeated.

Hain's nostrils flared as he blew a frustrated breath through his nose. He looked over his shoulder toward the door.

"Can you tell me where Lilith is?"

"Lilith has responded to a call from Hume and will return momentarily."

"Did she say I should, uh, see anything else while she was gone?"

"That is all the information I have at this time, Hain."

He sighed. "Right. You said that."

Hain stood, and circled the chamber, looking again at the ridges of the walls. The place was exactly as the other room had been, and he was beginning to think he had an idea of why. If Promise existed in the Godless, then who was to say another haven hadn't once existed near the coast?

"Is Lilith going to be gone much longer, Memory?"

"Lilith has responded to a call from Hume and will return momentarily."

Hain couldn't be sure, but he thought the voice sounded a bit irritated with him. That was fair. He was getting a bit irritated with it as well.

"Is there a wash basin here?" Hain asked. "Our little delve into the past has left me a bit parched."

"Turn left as you exit this chamber. The third door on your right contains refreshments."

With a hiss, the door to the chamber opened. Hain was about to walk into the hallway outside, when a harsh sound caught his attention.

Metal sliding against leather–a blade coming unsheathed.

Hain tensed. It was barely a whisper, like a snake sliding through dead leaves, but he knew it as well as the sound of his own breathing. Someone waited outside the door with knife in hand, ready to strike.

And then, the weakness came.

Hain could feel it seizing him, sliding from his gut to his legs and arms like poison spread by his thudding heart.

Weak. Afraid. Craven.

Hain wanted to scream. Some Foew almost certainly waited in the hall, ready to stake its claim on Hain's life. Hain watched the scene play out–the blade flashing as it plunged through flesh, the maw of Hain's mouth opening in a silent scream. The truth Hain had learned would die with him. The injustice threatened to tear Hain's heart from his chest.

Not today.

The two words made his limbs quake, shaking free from the weakness clinging to him. Hain refused to die. Not today. Not when he'd learned so much. Not when his life had only now been granted the gift of meaning.

Hain's fists trembled, and his thoughts churned through tactics. The door's hinges swung outward–an advantage for him. One kick would send the thing hurling back on its hinges. The surprise might be enough to throw the attacker off guard and give Hain a chance to run.

So long as he could manage it. Fear was Hain's oldest enemy, and it knew his mind better than the strength that sought to usurp dread's power of him. But this new ally had courage. It drove steel into Hain's spine and lit a fire in his heart.

In two swift movements, Hain raised his right foot from the ground and kicked out hard. Bright pain lanced from his foot and into his leg. The door was heavy, he realized too late. Much heavier than he'd expected. It swung on a lazy arc, and he followed it through with a limp.

The attack came from the right, and Hain felt recognition explode in his mind as he saw his attacker.

Boothe. The Vrai. Inside of Promise's walls.

Despite the surprise, Hain felt strength flood into him–that same strength he'd felt when he'd touched the ring beneath the shadow creature in the Godless–just as Boothe sprang forward. The Vrai snarled, his waxen features curled around bared teeth. Hain bent his body around the stab just in time to avoid a slice from the blade, rotating his arms in a clumsy haymaker that met Boothe's outstretched arm. The knife spun from Boothe's hand and twirled like a spun bottle over the carpet.

Unfazed by the loss of his weapon, Boothe lashed out with an elbow that met Hain's sternum. The blow drew a wheeze from his lips and tears to his eyes, but Hain managed to keep his feet. Sensing weakness, Boothe lobbed an arcing punch toward Hain's face with his other fist. Miraculously, Hain dodged the swing, catching a glimpse of the snarling wolf tattoo in the flash of white flesh.

The missed swing seemed to throw Boothe off balance, but instead of gaining his footing and trying for another solid punch, the Vrai lashed out wildly. The move was sloppy, and Hain let his knees buckle so that he fell beneath the blow, leaving a stone slab in the path of the punch.

Crunch.

The sound of breaking bone filled the hall. A pained whimper escaped Boothe's lips.

Hain didn't give his assailant a chance to recover. He popped up from the ground, lobbing a fist in some wild imitation of a punch. The attacker managed to turn away, and Hain nearly sprawled onto the floor as his momentum dragged him forward within arm's length of the knife. He snatched up the knife, and lashed out at the Vrai's leg, slashing a deep gouge that send blood splattering against the nearest white wall.

Hain brought the knife up again, bracing for another attack. But the attack never came. Instead, Boothe turned and rushed down the hall, hobbling on his injured leg and cradling one arm in the other.

Another burst of adrenaline surged into Hain's blood. His vision tunneled, his muscles tensing to make chase. He planted his left foot beneath him and rose up from the floor. The fear was gone, scourged by away by fiery hate and bloodlust rippling through his soul. He would catch the bastard. Catch him, and kill him. Nothing was going to stop that.

Hain planted his other foot to run, the same foot he'd used to kick the door, and collapsed in a howl of shrieking pain.

Chasing, it seemed, would have to wait.