I kick at him, but he holds me out, just out of range. I end up swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

‘Say it,’ he repeats, his teeth gritted. I open my mouth, but can’t bring myself to deny what I feel with such certainty to be true. I believe I am Pittacus Lore. I believe I am the one who can and will end this war. ‘You want to go running to New Mexico to find our ship. You can’t believe for even a second it might be a trap. Then you talk about taking on Setrákus Ra, but you can’t even beat me in hand-to-hand combat. You are not him. You’re not Pittacus. So, let’s stop the bull right now. Just say it, Four.’

He tightens his grip on my throat. My vision blurs. I look up into the cloudless sky and it turns red, just like the night the Mogadorians invaded Lorien. I see flashes of the faces of Loric who were slaughtered. Their screams ring in my ears. I see the explosions, the fire, all of the death. I see krauls with Loric children in their teeth. The pain I feel for all of them at that moment is so overwhelming that I know I can withstand whatever is done to me now, including Nine crushing my neck.

‘Say it!’

‘I can’t,’ I manage to squeak out.

‘You’ve got to be delusional!’ he yells, squeezing harder. Now I see the bombs falling on Lorien. I see the torn bodies of my people, my planet being destroyed. At the top of one mound of bodies, I see my dead father wearing his silver and blue suit. Nine shakes me violently, my feet swinging wildly. ‘You’re not Pittacus!’

I close my eyes to escape the visions of carnage swimming in front of me, dreading whatever comes next. I can see Henri’s letter in my mind: ‘When the ten of you were born, Lorien recognized your strong hearts, your wills, your compassion, and in turn she bestowed the ten of you the roles you’re all meant to assume: the roles of the original ten Elders. What this means is that, in time, those of you left will grow to be far stronger than anything Lorien has ever seen before, far stronger even than the original ten Elders from whom you’ve received your Inheritances. The Mogadorians know this, which is why they’re hunting you so feverishly now.’