Dreynen, that’s my Legacy, one of the few I share with my grandfather, which lets us take away Legacies by touch or by charging projectiles.

“Impressive,” Loridas replies, turning his attention back to the object spread out on the table before him. “Ximic is the rarest of our Legacies, Pittacus. The ability to copy and master any Legacy that you’ve observed. It is not a gift to be taken lightly.”

“My Cêpan used to give me lectures about that,” Pittacus replies. “I understand the responsibility that comes with power. I’ve tried to live my life with that in mind.”

“Yes, and we are fortunate that Legacy found you and not someone else. Imagine, Pittacus, if your friend Setrákus found a way to duplicate your power. To make it his own. Or grant it to anyone he chose.”

Pittacus grits his teeth. “I won’t let that happen.”

Loridas holds up the object he’s been working on. It looks like a rope, except the braided material isn’t similar to anything I’ve ever seen on Earth. It’s thick and sturdy, about twenty feet long, and one end is knotted into a complex noose. The noose portion of the rope has been molded and hardened, one edge razor sharp. Loridas demonstrates tightening the noose and, when he does, the lethal edge makes a shink sound.

Pittacus makes a face. “A little old-fashioned, don’t you think?”

“It has been centuries and you are young, but this is how we once punished treason. Sometimes, the old ways are best. It is made from the Voron tree, a plant almost as rare as you. The wounds caused by Voron cannot be healed by Legacies.” Loridas motions Pittacus over. “Come. Let me borrow that Dreynen of yours.”

Pittacus walks around the table and rests his hand on Loridas’s shoulder. I can’t see it happen but I can sense—Legacy can sense—that Pittacus uses a Legacy-transferring power just like Nine has, granting Loridas use of his Dreynen. Loridas concentrates on the noose. It begins to emit a faint crimson glow, exactly like when I’ve charged an object with my leeching power.

“You will have this charged with Dreynen now, in case he takes your Legacies before you can take his,” Loridas explains, carefully swinging the sharpened edge of the noose. “Collar him with this and—”

“I know how it works,” Pittacus interrupts.

“It will be quick, Pittacus.”

Pittacus takes the rope from Loridas, careful not to touch the charged noose. He clenches the rope tightly, his expression grim and determined.

“I know what I must do, Loridas.”

And we—the ones watching him here in the future—we know that he screws up big time.