”I don’t want to fight you!” he shouts in my face. “Stop attacking me!”

As soon as he’s reeled me back in, I shove him away. He doesn’t come at me, but he remains crouched, ready to dodge anything I might throw at him.

”You’re Four,” he says.

”How do you know that?”

”They know what you look like, John Smith. What all of you look like. And so do I—” He hesitates. “Except I also remember seeing you as a child. Running for a ship while my people murdered yours.”

”You’re the one Malcolm and Sam talked about.” My voice come through gritted teeth. I can’t shake the feeling that I should run or fight when faced with his kind. It’s ingrained in me, but I try to keep it in check.

”Adamus Sutekh,” the Mog introduces himself. “I prefer Adam.”

”Your people killed a friend of mine tonight, Adam,” I spit, knowing my anger is unreasonable, not able to help myself. “And they kidnapped another.”

”I’m sorry,” he says. “I came as quickly as I could. Are Malcolm and Sam safe?”

”I—” Well I just don’t know how to react to that. A Mog showing compassion. Even if Sam and Malcolm said it was true, I still never really imagined it. “Yeah, they’re fine.”

”Good,” Adam replies. His voice still has the harshness of a Mogadorian. “We need to get out of here.”


”You’re hurt, angry,” Adam says, moving cautiously closer to me, like I might suddenly take a swing at him. “I get that. But if you want to hurt them back, I can help.”

-Number Four and Adamus Sutekh, “The Fall of Five.”


She sang passionately, and melodically, but even though Devektra was known for her lyrics, I barely even heard the words she was singing. She was dancing, too, and dancing well, but that wasn’t the main attraction either. And even though she was pretty much the most amazing-looking girl I’d ever laid eyes on, that wasn’t it either.
All that paled in comparison with what she was doing with her Legacies.
She would wave her hands, modulating the texture of her voice, pitch-shifting it eerily. She could flick her wrist and boost her voice’s volume dramatically; she could even target and shape the volume such that listeners in the back of the club would get walloped with sound while while the front of the crowd was merely tickled. With her other hand she manipulated the club’s already sophisticated lighting system, bending its multicolored beams in skillful, dazzling counterpoint to the sounds coming out of her mouth.

-Sandor, “The Last Days of Lorien”