The balcony railing shook under Queen Arrah’s hands as a rocket slammed into the planet, sending dust and debris soaring into the air. Trees burned on the horizon, their flames leaping, resembling angry fingers. The seconds felt like ages as the battle for the Lasarian home world raged before her. The high-pitched whine of a Kratoan warship reached Arrah’s ears. She pulled the hood of her cloak back and peered up at the clouds as the shadow of the hulking spaceship came into view. Her heart pounded as she watched it descend to the capital city.

Arrah feared Lasaria had fallen.

The Kratoan savages had come three nights before, systematically ravaging her small planet and entering the capital city that morning. She had been jarred awake earlier by the echoes of laser fire and explosions that rocked the walls of her bedroom.

Arrah retreated to the safety of the throne room, closing the balcony doors tightly behind her. Her boots crunched on shards of glass as she crossed the room, each step feeling like the last time she would walk this route. The slivers of shattered mirrors on the polished wooden floor reflected a distorted image of her disheveled appearance and echoed the fall of Lasaria.

She took a moment to glance around the room. Broad white marble columns supported the roof high above her. Tapestries in a myriad of colors and designs hung on the walls surrounding her, each paying tribute to a queen of the past. She stopped in front of her favorite, her gaze traveling over her mother’s tapestry. Queen Kosa was born in the year of the flower harvest, and her tapestry reflected an ornate floral pattern woven with the finest threads of purple and silver. Her mother had died suddenly only months earlier, leaving Arrah as the youngest queen to rule Lasaria.

Arrah had stood in the same spot countless times since she was a girl, in awe of each handwoven stitch. She could still hear the shrill of her mother’s warnings, Don’t touch the art, Arrah. She hadn’t gotten around to adding her own contribution to the walls. Her tapestry would have hung next to her mother’s. It didn’t matter now. She suspected that this room, her home, would be in ruins within days.

She reached out and ran her hand over the stitches, then gripped it with both hands and yanked it down. The Kratoans were not going to take everything from her. She hugged the heavy tapestry to her chest, pulled it off the floor, then proceeded to the end of the room and sat on her throne.

Her mate was out there somewhere with her people, and she hadn’t received a message from him in two days. She cast an anxious look toward the throne room doors, hoping for news of his safety.

She was Lasarian, a race existing in the Omega Rys Galaxy. Her soul was connected to the elements, the spirit of life, and her mate. With training, Lasarians could manipulate the world around them. They called these abilities Magiks.

Long ago, their ruling deity was the Goddess Arlaya. When she had walked among her people, she contained all Magiks in her blood. As her children grew in numbers and prospered, their Magik became diluted, with each being having power over only one type. Lasarian Magiks passed down through bloodlines, spirit healers being the most revered clans. The ability to heal was a rare Magik. As reigning queen, Arrah was the last with healing Magik. Legends held that queens had once been able to restore life.

Lasarians weren’t war folk and were wary of other species and worlds. Kratoan raids and attacks targeted Lasarians as objects used only for their powers. A weakened Lasarian had no control over their Magik, making it vulnerable to being siphoned for use by the enemy.

Arrah recalled chilling tales of her people being captured and tortured, then laid out on barren fields to bring life back into the soil. Others told stories of healers being kept in display cases to be touched when someone needed healing of illness or injury. She shivered and clutched the tapestry closer. She wasn’t about to let that happen to her.

Arrah closed her eyes, thoughts of survival circling through her mind. She said a quiet prayer in her heart that her people would survive to see another day. She knew their last resort was to abandon Lasaria through the spatial veil to another world. Her gaze rested on the only mirror still mounted to the wall on her right. Even to the unsuspecting eye, this wasn’t an ordinary mirror. The glass was the darkest black, with edges that refracted the light into rainbows.

Ancient Lasarians with Glass Magik had created mirrors with materials harvested from their land, then imbued them with a sliver of their soul to create portals. They called them Soul Mirrors. The one next to her was one of only a handful of these portals still in functioning condition.

The Kratoan enemies were ruthless and capable of shapeshifting. They didn’t bother hiding their fierce natural form as they ransacked Lasaria. They were a race of eight-foot-tall beasts with biologically armored flesh. Their energies were dark and black, suffocating the land.

Arrah folded the tapestry in her lap and tucked it into the large bag at her feet, which held her mother’s healing crystals, sacred writings and spells, and other personal items she didn’t want to lose. She settled the thick leather strap over her shoulder and went to stand before the Soul Mirror. Her blue eyes stared back at her. Long waves of platinum blonde hair hung down her back, tousled by stress and fitful sleep. She had dressed in a royal blue battle dress and a hooded cloak, firmly secured at her slender throat. Her leather boots came up to her thighs, and she had secured her blade in the scabbard at her back.