"So things have gotten that complicated," said the Reverend Mother.
Syris nodded, gripping a Holocube in her hand. The virtual image of the Reverend Mother was visible, her arms poised behind her back. "What do you think is our survival rate? You are past the realm of Transcended, after all. I suppose you would have a better understanding of my situation than most."
The Reverend Mother cracked an old, aged smile beneath the porcelain mask. She'd half a mind to tell Syris to abandon the festival. But she knew the girl well. Knew her stubbornness like the back of her hand.
"By yourself, you've no hope of survival. Your best bet is to use the Ninth Circles as shields."
Syris lifted a brow. "How?"
"Force a battle. Send word to various locations."
"Betrayal?"
