Dawn of the Karabu Excerpt

PROLOGUE

Before the Light, there was darkness ⁘ And the darkness is Karabu; the man-beast

-        from the Book of Ascension, Chapter I, Verses 1-2.

He felt a drop of warm liquid run down his forehead to his cheek. Blood? He instinctively touched it with a gauntleted hand, then felt a second drop hit his cheek while he heard anoth­er one patter against the metal plate covering his left shoulder. No, not blood. Not yet.

A moment later the hiss of increasing torrential rain surround­ed him. He brushed aside a silvery strand of wet hair from his eyes. Blood, rain, mud; it didn’t really matter anymore. The battle hadn’t even begun, yet Commander Arastus already felt exhausted.

He slowly turned his head right, then left, inspecting the knights under his command. Stretched out in two long rows stood several dozen men and women in shiny steel armor that had been molded to imitate their perfect physiques. They were all prime examples of their castes; youthful, athletic, beautiful. For a brief moment a flicker of pride started swelling inside Arastus, a glimmer of his youthful idealism returning, accompa­nied by memories of his academy days and the men and women who’d fought beside him in the past.

The feeling faded quickly—they were all dead now. A seem­ingly endless supply of idealistic young warriors was always ready to take their place. All for the glory of the Children of the Light. A worthy sacrifice to hold back the forces of darkness that threatened to snuff out the Light of Civilization.

That was all that kept Arastus going now.

Though still a reasonably young man at only sixty-seven, Arastus had in the last several years been in a state of perpet­ual weariness. Sometimes he almost wished he’d been born a Middle-Caste, then he’d be a retired old man by now. But Arastus had been born High-Caste, and if he did not fall in battle he would live on for another full century—and more—with no visual signs of age other than the color of his hair, which had already started to turn silver.

Some of the knights beside him were silver-haired too, but most displayed youthful colors; browns, reds and gold flattened and darkened by the heavy rainfall. They are just children. Ar­astus watched them with a heavy feeling in his chest. Some were probably knighted only a few days ago.

Despite their age he knew they would already be well trained and highly disciplined. They stood as rigid as statues, ignoring the downpour, and would remain like that until he gave the or­der to charge.

The grunts, on the other hand, shifted nervously about in their spiky and bulky armor. Smaller and less prideful in their stance compared to the knights, they stood hunched over, clutching spears and rifles. There were several hundred of them, dense­ly packed together in multiple rows in front of Arastus and his knights. He could see steam exiting through the breathing holes in their helmets. The grunts lacked the grace and rigid discipline of knights, but they were loyal to a fault, and in his experience, quite brave. Stupid, but brave.

Dulled by the sound of the rain drumming the metal armor of his soldiers, Arastus could faintly hear the rhythmic chest-beat­ing that signaled the approach of the enemy.

He looked ahead and squinted, but his eyes struggled to de­tect anything in the rocky desert landscape before him. Even on a night with a full moon it was hard to make anything out.

A full moon. Just his style, he said to himself grimly. He prayed he wouldn’t have to meet him in battle, not tonight, not any night for that matter. It wasn’t just self-preservation; he did not wish for the youth under his command to have to face the Warlord in their first battle. He knew many would not live to tell the tale.

The sound was getting closer, and now Arastus could make out the silhouettes of the approaching army. He heard the sound of creaking leather and metal plates softly grinding together as the grunts tensed up, and he saw them clutching their weapons tighter in anticipation. Some of them, the ones with improved night vision, could probably make out individual apes even at this distance.

Though Arastus possessed no such modifications, he could see them all in his mind; furry beasts standing erect like hu­mans. They were a grotesque parody of the human form. They were nowhere near as advanced as the Children of the Light, but their swords were well forged and their crude muskets were just as lethal as any other rifle. Their armor was made of braided leather scales interwoven with small metal plates. Not much in terms of protection compared to full plate armor like the one he wore, but the apes were fast and agile, and benefitted more from not being slowed down. They were savage, but they were also clever, and ruthlessly efficient.

His eyes shifted into focus again on the enemy, and they were close enough now to be seen with his human eyes. A wall of bipedal apes in various shapes and sizes stood before them, all pounding their chests, each impact now accompanied by a short, guttural growl. Arastus had seen this tribal display many times before and knew that it was equally meant to intimidate as it was to showcase physical strength.

His response was the same as always, and like a performer in a well-rehearsed play he drew his sword from its scabbard and all the other knights mirrored the move in one fluid motion. Likewise, but in a more irregular manner, the grunts raised their rifles and readied their spears.

On the other side a large armored gorilla took a few heavy steps ahead of the line of apes, its massive arms swaying heavily before it firmly planted them on the ground, reeled back its head, and delivered a ferociously feral roar. The chest beating stopped, allowing the primitive exultation to echo ominously throughout the rocky landscape. A moment later the ape army surged forward, like wild dogs released from a cage.

Arastus and his knights graciously slid into fighting stances, but stood their ground as the apes dashed across the wet sand on all fours, screeching and howling as they rapidly approached the frontline grunts.

Water, which would soon be replaced with blood, streamed down Arastus’ face, but he did not move a muscle, and neither did the younger knights under his command. In the pale moon­light they appeared as ancient marble statues.

When the apes came within firing range the masked grunts fired a thunderous volley into the charging mass of rabid an­imals, felling many. Undeterred by their fallen comrades, the swarm continued without hesitation. A second volley echoed through the dark desert, yet still the swarm of black fur and curved, yellow fangs moved ever closer.

Before a third volley could be fired the snarling apes leaped over their heads, landing behind or atop the grunts. The blood­thirsty beasts made quick work of them, the wilder ones beat­ing them to death with their bare hands, while the calmer ones pierced their armor in their weak-spots with small daggers.

Arastus and his knights, as if unfrozen, now charged forward into the fray.

After many years of combat, Arastus could no longer quite distinguish the battles he’d partaken in. Trying to tell them apart was like trying to remember a nightmare. In his mind, all the bat­tles, after the initial charge, at their brutal peak, always blurred into a singular delirious pandemonium; the yells of pain and fury, the sounds of civilized men and women nearly indistin­guishable from the mad howling of the beastly apes. Writhing, slashing forms blurred in the darkness. All around him he could hear the sickening crunch of bones and the wet sound of sharp­ened steel piercing soft flesh accompanied by choked gasps, and reedy squeals as life left man and ape alike. Every time, it had been a mad whirlpool of steel and flesh.

But in this particular battle, one moment had stood out to him afterwards. One moment remained etched into his brain long after the fighting had broken off and the surviving knights and grunts made their way back to their camp to tend to their wound­ed and prepare for the next battle. While caught at the center of the slaughter, for a brief illuminating moment, as if caught in the eye of a storm, his mind had cleared and Arastus had seen him.

The experienced veteran’s heart started racing, his eyes wid­ened in response to a fear the battle-hardened man had not felt since his very first taste of combat. Standing at the center of a clearing in the fighting horde, surrounded by the bloodied bod­ies of many slain knights, was the Warlord of the Ape Clan—Xerxes.

There had been no doubt about it. As if his more elaborate armor and the moon crest adorning his back-mounted banner wasn’t enough proof of his identity, he carried with him a pres­ence of command unlike any ape Arastus had encountered be­fore. His animalistic features had been contorted in a fearsome expression of pure, primal hatred. Yet Arastus detected a sharp intelligence, a well-controlled aggression hiding underneath that feral facade.

The moment passed, and like a closing gate the battling crowd of men and apes shifted to block his view, making the moon-crested warlord disappear.

PART ONE

THE CITY

Chapter 1

The road must be trod, even if it means leaving behind the person you were.

-        from Collected Sayings of the Karabu Queen, by The Master Chronicler in service of the Karabu Queen, first ruler of the 2nd Dynasty.

A wave broke against the ancient statue, sending a spray of wa­ter up towards the head. A few drops spattered on the sun-heated ancient stone and a few seconds later there was nothing left but a few moist, dark marks near her feet.

Chara raised her head, allowing the breeze to ruffle her short chin-length chestnut hair. She took a deep, calming breath, tak­ing in the salty scent of the seawater.

Another wave broke against the statue she’d so often chosen as her viewing-platform of the beach, and this time a few cool drops landed on her bare legs. She was clad in nothing but sim­ple ceremonial white robes, as well as the Aglea pendant that she always wore no matter what. The robes were much skimpier than what she was used to as a cliff dweller, but now during the summer they were quite comfortable, and even Chara had to admit that they were quite flattering to her athletic physique. She thought that perhaps she’d take them with her as she would soon have to adjust to a much warmer climate than what she was used to here in the Outlying Regions. Then it occurred to her that they were still ceremonial robes, and that she’d have to find something similar but without the overt spiritual connotations, as well as something more colorful.

She heard another wave crash against the statue, but felt no spray this time. She wondered how long this statue had stood here among the others lining the beach. The waves had eroded most of them into nothing more than vague outlines of what they had once depicted. The one she was sitting on, however, was intact enough to make out the original design, though some of the subtler details had long since disappeared. She was sitting atop a falcon’s head propped up on the shoulders of a lion with a snake’s tail curled up at the base.

She wondered if the other statues had depicted the exact same chimera or if they’d been of some other strange animal combi­nations.

“Chara.”

The sound of his voice echoed across the ragged cliffs lining the beech behind her, but she didn’t bother to look at the source. She knew who it was.

“Chara!”

Was that a hint of frustration she detected in his voice? Fine, she’d humor him.

Chara rotated herself atop the falcon’s head to get a better look at Theo running across the beach towards her. Wearing the same white robes as her, his lean but muscular figure was on full display. That of course was the intent of the ceremonial robes, to allow them both to showcase their perfect physiques. His curly raven hair fluttered about wildly in the strong sea breeze as he tried, without much success, to brush the locks away from his cold-burning blue eyes.

Though a faster runner than she was, the sand was not his element, and he trudged along awkwardly until he finally reached the base of the statue.

He was now close enough to not have to resort to shouting.“What are you doing up there?” he said with a hint of exas­peration. “We’ll be late for the celebration.”

“I just needed some time to think before we leave,” Chara said, trying to sound as aloof as possible to further annoy her childhood friend.

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to think on the way to the city,” he responded more diplomatically.

Chara couldn’t help but smile a little at that comment. Always the pragmatist.

“So come on,” Theo continued, “we’ll be late.”

He was right as usual, the celebration would start soon and it would be disrespectful for them to arrive late.

Chara stood up, but took a long, aching look at the ocean before she started her descent down the back of the chimera. She wondered how long it would be until she would see it again, then it occurred to her that this was probably the last time she’d do any climbing in a very long time as well.

Theo was clearly not satisfied with the slow pace of her descent, tapping one foot impatiently. “Come on, hurry up. We’ll be late.”

Instead of being annoyed, Chara found some comfort in the thought that at least Theo would be a constant in her life for the coming years. Having almost reached the bottom now, she paused atop one of the hind legs of the lion section and said, “Theo. Is there anything you don’t worry about?”

“I worry about everything because I have to worry on your behalf as well,” he said matter-of-factly.

Chara leaped from the lion’s leg and landed with athletic grace right in front of Theo. She stood up, casually brushed some sand off her legs and knees and said in a wry manner; “You’re right, if I’d worry more I might actually make something of myself one day.”

“Very funny,” he said with an all too familiar smile that she couldn’t resist returning.

Cliff Town was not a particularly large town, nor a particularly important one, that is unless you were to ask any of the inhabit­ants of the many small settlements nearby, to whom Cliff Town might as well have been the very center of civilization. Not that strange of a delusion considering that their settlements—little more than a few hovels cluttered together and referred to as vil­lages—were too small to be found on any official map, a privi­lege Cliff Town at the very least had always taken for granted.

Founded atop one of the ancient outposts of Achoris, land once belonging to the dreaded and mythical Karabu King, Cliff Town could boast of ancient history, so ancient in fact, that few people other than scholars even knew of its existence. But to the people of the Naqadian coast it was the hub of Middle-Caste culture, a veritable city in the wilderness, a place that somehow managed to seem both important and quaint at the same time.

The architecture was simple, perhaps even crude, yet man­aged to appear graceful.

The most common style consisted of half-timbered structures with dark wooden frames of load-bearing timber, the empty spaces in between usually filled in with a sticky material usually made from some combination of wet soil, clay, sand, animal dung and straw. Despite the sound of it, the final results, once covered white plaster, were quite striking, the wooden beams often being equally decorative as they were functional, standing in a stark and aesthetically pleasing contrast to the pure white walls. For the more important buildings, the wattle and daub technique was usually replaced with a more expensive stone/mortar infill, evoking somewhat the architecture of the big cities in the northern regions.

Like most established towns in the Outlying Regions, Cliff Town was divided into four large streets, all of which converged at an open marketplace at the center of the town.

For all who didn’t consider it home, Cliff Town was as simple as its name, the last sliver of civilization before you entered wil­derness. But today it was alive with celebration, for today was the day of Chara and Theo’s Ascendancy. The day when the best of the best were chosen to join the elite in Heliopolis, the true center of civilization.

The parade largely consisted of musicians and dancers dressed in multicolored low-cut robes, the latter joyously whirl­ing and jumping about the cobblestone street to the beat of drums and the exciting tunes of double-reeded aulos flutes, their movements seemingly out of control, as if caught in a spiritual rapture, but in fact showing great discipline and mastery of the art. The occasional jubilant outburst and merry laughter punctu­ated the music and added a sense of exuberance to the already joyful celebration.

Walking several steps ahead of the musicians and dancers were Chara and Theo, and spearheading the whole procession was the town’s constable, proudly wielding the Cliff Town standard—a gilded staff with a jade emblem at the apex depict­ing the three tallest mountain peaks in the region, the tallest of the three nestled between the smaller two.

Multiple rows of people lined both sides of the street and every window that could be opened had at least one person either peering out curiously, or enthusiastically casting white flower petals at the passing parade. The black and white build­ings were covered in long silk banners bearing assorted crests and symbols. Some depicted the cliffs the town was named after, others were adorned with royal and militaristic symbols. The most prevalent symbol was that of the Eternal Light of Legion, represented by a sun and its beams reaching out like arms ready to embrace the worshippers reaching up from below.

Theo had never seen so many people in town before. As a matter of fact, it had never even occurred to him that so many people lived there at all. He wondered if some had even come from other towns or settlements just to witness their ascension.

He turned his head to his left and looked over to Chara who, just like him, smiled and waved at the cheering crowd. How­ever he’d known her long enough to see that she wasn’t really enjoying herself, but rather she was dutifully playing her part in the proceedings.

Although he knew her better than anyone else, there were still things about her that remained a mystery. It seemed un­fathomable that anyone could be anything but ecstatic on their day of Ascendancy, but then Chara had always been a bit differ­ent. It was why he’d decided to look after her ever since they were children. She had such great potential, and he hated seeing potential being squandered. He realized that it was a special day for two reasons – not only did he feel pride for his own accom­plishments, but he was also glad to see that Chara had succeed­ed alongside him.

“And to think you might have missed all of this for sitting atop an ugly old statue while staring at the ocean,” he said, hav­ing to raise his voice a little to be heard over the noise of the cheering crowd and the music from the band marching right behind them.

“I much prefer the beach and ugly statues over this commo­tion,” Chara said, her voice barely audible over the commotion. Poor choice of words, Theo thought, for some reason she really did enjoy that spot. Though he really did find those half eroded chimeras quite vulgar.

“Indeed?” he said in mock surprise, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Chara rotated her head slightly to give him a sideways look. “Then why did you risk being late just to come and get me?”

“This is as much in your honor as it is mine.” He said. “Be­sides...” he paused for dramatic effect and added sardonically, “it would be selfish for me to hog all the glory for myself”.

Chara rolled her eyes, but Theo had come to learn that it was as much a sign of humorous affection as it was annoyance.

When they reached the marketplace at the center of town the constable came to a halt, prompting the whole procession to do the same. The band stopped playing and a hush went over the previously lively crowd. The mass of people who had gathered on all four corners of the market square was even more impres­sive than what had greeted them during their slow march down the main street.

All eyes now shifted focus to the elderly man who formally—almost ritualistically—made his way up the podium which had been erected at the center of the square. Despite his age he appeared strong and healthy and he carried a bold aura about him. He was adorned in medals and many other military sym­bols, and attached to his belt hung an ornate, but well-worn sword. A gilded sash embroidered with the same sun symbol as the wall-banners was cast over his still broad shoulders.

As the decorated man walked up the podium stairs the crowd’s silence was motivated equally by discipline and reverence. The constable, Chara and Theo, as well as the band, all stood at at­tention.

Chara leaned slightly towards Theo, trying not to break her pose.

“They invited the Magistrate?” she whispered, her voice tight.

“Of course,” Theo said proudly.

“Who’s next?” she paused for a second and seemed almost genuinely intimidated by her next suggestions, “an Archon? The King?”

I wish! Theo said to himself, deciding to not tease Chara any further; she seemed nervous enough. An Archon would have been a nice touch though, he thought, but he was glad at least the Magistrate had showed up. If he played his cards right, he might one day return to this town as the next Magistrate. No. Why settle for Magistrate? I’ll settle for no less than an Archon. After all, why settle for being the head of a small town when he could be the figurehead of the entire region?

When the Magistrate finally reached the top of the platform he turned to face the procession. All present at the square, including the civilians, gave the formal salute reserved for all high status individuals; the right arm raised with the elbow bent and the palm of the hand facing the recipient.

The Magistrate thrust out both arms, signaling everyone to lowers theirs, then addressed the crowd as a priest would a con­gregation.

“We are here today to honor two of our finest children, two who have stood above all else in both physical and mental piety, and in doing so; honoring our way of life, the way of transcend­ence, and the kingdom of which we all serve.”

His voice was loud and penetrating, more so than Theo had expected from a man of his age. Truly he was a credit to their caste. Then it occurred to Theo that many years ago it would have been the Magistrate—before he was awarded the title—who would have stood in the very spot that he now stood today, receiving similar praise by the previous Magistrate.

“This humble town is honored to have raised and housed two champions, now risen to high stature.” Now it was Theo who struggled to keep his poise, but not for being nervous or uncom­fortable. No, he just wanted to smile. All his life had been in preparation for this day.

“And we thank you for standing as a reminder to all of us that through hard work and dedication it is possible for all of lesser stock to achieve the blessings of the Light.”

The Magistrate paused, and for the first time he looked direct­ly at Theo and Chara. He first gestured towards Chara with his right hand. “Chara, of House Litus, I salute you.”

Theo threw Chara a quick smirk, and he was glad to see that she returned it. That’s the spirit!

The Magistrate now gestured with his left hand towards Theo.

“Theodulous, of House Rupes, I salute you.”

He then raised both hands up towards the sky, “You who have risen in caste, we salute you!”

The whole crowd stood to attention and saluted the two youngsters by crossing their arms over their chests and bowing.

A shiver of excitement ran up Theo’s spine. In his periphery he caught Chara slipping out of her military stance for a second. One day, she too, would look back on this momentous day in her life the same way he did, he thought.

“We now look up at your light with high hopes and blessings, and wish you both success and victory in the great Center of Light.”

The Magistrate looked down at Chara and Theo again.

“May the Light of Legion shine upon thee forever,” he con­cluded in the syntax of a proper prayer as he too bowed to them with crossed arms.

Chara and Theo clicked their heels together and rigidly mir­rored the gesture.

The sound of a bell echoed through the streets and alleys of Cliff Town.

Theo looked up towards the bell tower which was the largest structure in Cliff Town, and by design visible from the market square.

The bell tolled once more, and as the echo faded away anoth­er faint sound took its place. A low hum, rising in volume as the source quickly approached.

The whole crowd looked up at the sky in anticipation as the sound of the great engine grew clearer and clearer.

Then it rose into view from behind the nearby mountains that flanked Cliff Town on all but the one side that lead to the ocean cliffs. Like a large metal whale gracefully swimming through water, the carrier-craft moved in towards the small town. Its great size and enormous wingspan was great enough to briefly blot out the sun as it flew over the market square.

Theo and Chara stared at it in astonishment.

The lumbering craft curved away, its display no longer necessary. By the direction it turned Theo knew it was head­ing towards the town’s modest, but quite adequate landing strip. They would soon say farewell to their families and then board the strange craft to finally be on their way to Heliopolis and the academy.

Theo thought that perhaps he should be sad at having to leave his home, but he’d waited for this day for so long that all he could feel was excitement.

The world lay before him now.

Chapter 2

Their past life was one of indifference towards perfection ⁘ Thus one remains in the middle

-        excerpt regarding the Middle-Caste from the Helios Praxis.

The boarding ramp had been lowered in advance to welcome the two rustic-looking cadets they had come to pick up.

Andreas could just about make them out at the opposite end of the runway; a boy and a girl dressed in dark colored two-piece gambeson jackets and worn canvas pants were conversing with and receiving hugs from a dozen or so elders. In the last few days he’d seen more old people than he had in his entire life and he never could get used to the look of Middle-Cast aging—the wrinkly skin, crooked posture, liver spots. He shuddered. He was thankful that he’d been born High-Caste. Though he acknowledged with humility that he too, in a previous life, had had to go through what the two cadets out on the runway were currently doing. Of course he still had to prove himself, or else risk being reborn as a Middle-Caste again, but he couldn’t help admiring them. They didn’t have the benefit of a head-start the way he did, so in a way their accomplishments were that much greater for it. But he was thankful he wouldn’t have to bear the effects of aging.

“Do not tell me we have come all the way out here just to pick up a couple of rubes?” Capaneus muttered under his breath with a not so subtle hint of contempt in his voice. One of the wealthier-looking cadets, and among the few who had arrived before Andreas, Capaneus was the very embodiment of the elite. Although it was tradition for the cadets that lived closest to Heliopolis to join the trip around all the seven territories, Capa­neus had nonetheless complained the entire trip, his mood sour­ing the further they went into the Outlying regions.

Andreas had disliked him from the moment he met him, but he too was surprised at just how far out they had travelled.

“I was not even aware that people lived this far out. Before we landed I thought we were over animal territory,” Andreas said.

“Did you honestly think they would send us into battle right away, cadet?” Damianos said with a wry grin they’d all gotten quite used to in the last few days. He was handsome, and fairly well dressed, but from the start it was clear that he was from a different class than both of them. Though unlike most of the Middle-Caste cadets he carried himself with a sense of pride you would have expected from a High-Caste. Even though he was much more pleasant company than Capaneus, there was something about his humor that always managed to rub him the wrong way.

“I am ready to fight for the City of Light,” Andreas stated, the impulsive words sounding comically formal in hindsight.

“I have no doubt of that,” Damianos said, “but there is going to be a while before you will see anything but cadets and drill instructors.” He added reassuringly, “Do not worry, you will get to prove yourself one day.”

“Meanwhile we are stuck out here picking up farmers,” Capaneus sneered.

“You do not speak that way of fellow cadets,” Damianos said through gritted teeth, “they have as much a right to be here as you do.”

Capaneus seemed indifferent to the statement and simply mumbled to himself; “Middle-Castes are a waste of time.”

“What was that?” Damianos gently pushed Andreas aside and faced the taller man.

Andreas was about to draw back a few meters, not wanting to get caught up in a fight between the two, when a strong and commandeering voice came from behind them, “Is there a prob­lem here?”

The three cadets turned to see Hektor, the Centurion respon­sible for the cadets, stepping up to them. His decorative armor glistened in the sunlight as he stepped onto the boarding ramp.

“No, sir. Just a small misunderstanding,” Damianos said as he stepped away from Capaneus, throwing him a warning glance as he did so.

Hektor considered the three of them for a second. “Good.” He turned around and walked back into the cargo/passenger hold section of the carrier-craft, placing himself at the center of the large metal deck, then spun around again, arms clasped behind his back as he waited.

The clanking of footsteps walking up the ramp prompted the three cadets to spin around, revealing the two new cadets approaching them. The girl eyed the carrier-craft with wide-eyed wonder.

Chara had never seen anything like it. It was enormous. She knew all about the Adrestia-class model of course, she’d seen pictures, she’d even been lucky enough to see some film of it, but nothing had prepared her for actually walking aboard one. Chara and Theo politely nodded as they passed three cadets on their way up the boarding ramp.

The inside of the combination war/passenger craft was, like the outside, a design prioritizing practicality over aesthetics; the most notable of which was the seemingly random pattern of pipes and valves covering the walls. The large cargo/passenger hold was harshly lit and a few scattered crates was still left after they had unloaded the supplies for Cliff Town—simple cargo transportation was not normally part of a carrier-craft’s duties, but no aircraft ever landed in the Outlying regions without delivering some goods to the isolated region. On several gang­ways criss-crossing above their heads the crew moved about in a casual but orderly manner. About two dozen or so cadets were loitering alongside the port-side hull and they all stopped their chattering as they noticed Chara and Theo entering the hold.

Then Chara spotted the man standing at the very center of the deck. Judging by his decorative armor, she figured he was the Centurion. 

The Centurion stepped aside to reveal a silver-haired woman marching towards them. She had long, slender legs wrapped in a tight-fitting material that resembled black leather. Over her black bodice she wore a short, white shrug-jacket decorated with several golden aglet ribbons, as well as a few silver medals. Casually tossed over her shoulders was an oversized, fur-lined coat that completed her grand and intimidating look.

Despite the fashionable embellishments, the coat with its frilled golden epaulets on each shoulders, and her many dec­orations, was undeniably air force. Captain’s privilege as they called it, was encouraged to distinguish those of high rank from everyone else, and this was certainly no exception. Contrast­ed against the utilitarian interior of the carrier craft, it was like watching a fashion model cat-walking through a factory. It only helped make the effect more striking.

Always the more disciplined one of the two, Theo immediate­ly snapped to attention, and a moment later Chara did the same.

The silver-haired woman came to a formal halt next to the Centurion and performed the standard raised arm salute which Chara and Theo dutifully returned.

The Centurion looked about the hold, taking note of the other cadets loitering about, all of whom were eyeing Chara and Theo curiously.

“Cadets!” he shouted, “fall in line!” and not missing a beat the other cadets jogged into a simple line formation directly behind Chara and Theo as if blocking their exit.

Having the cadets breathe down their necks made the already tense situation even more uncomfortable. The Centurion wrin­kled his nose in disapproval, but chose not to say anything.

The stiff upper lip of the silver-haired captain hid whatever thoughts she might have had on the behavior of the cadets and the two rubes who painfully stood out in their rustic garments.

“Welcome aboard the Talaria,” she finally said. Her voice was plummy and formal, betraying a snobbishness unlike any Chara had ever been exposed to. “I am Kassiopeia, the captain of this vessel.”

She leaned her head slightly towards the Centurion and low­ered her voice just enough to suggest indifference while still keeping it loud enough to be heard by all as she addressed him. “Hektor, are these the country pilots?”

“Yes, Captain,” he said with a pleasant and polite smile. “These are Chara and Theodulous,” Chara was glad that least someone had bothered to remember their names. Hektor con­tinued, “they both passed the aviation tests with some of the highest marks ever achieved by Outlying Middle-Caste settle­ments.”

Chara could hear the row of cadets stir and whisper behind them. Clearly they had not expected that.

“Indeed,” Kassiopeia said, and if she was the least bit im­pressed she hid it perfectly. She addressed Chara and Theo directly, “Well, you may be celebrities out here in the country, but in the capital city you will have to compete with the best society has to offer. And seeing as I will be your primary instruc­tor in the coming months I will see to it myself that you operate to our standards.

“And while on our way to the capital city you are both under my command and will address me as Captain or ma’am. Under­stood?”

Theo and Chara’s answers were given almost simultaneously.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Yes, Captain,” she said.

“Good,” Captain Kassiopeia said curtly and then gave a small wave of her hand signaling to a uniformed man in the back of the ship’s hold to pull a lever. Shortly after the creaking noise of the boarding ramp slowly being raised by large hydraulics filled the hold. The outside light shrank into a small beam on the floor in front of them until it finally disappeared alongside a loud metallic clank.

Chara and Theo kept their focus on Captain Kassiopeia and remained at attention.

A hint of a smirk crossed her face as the captain simply stat­ed, “Welcome to the army.”

She did a stiff heel-turn and walked away. Hektor gave them a friendly wink as she did the same, and Chara and Theo sighed in relief.

The lumbering craft’s engines roared into full power. The cadets were ordered to strap into the seats lining the portside hull as the craft prepared for take-off. Though Theo was quite adept at flying, finding neither the G-force nor depressurization anything but second nature to him at this point, this was an altogether different experience. Instead of being properly strapped into a relatively small jet-fighter, he and the other cadets were seated on small, metal chairs with nothing more than simple leather belts crossed over their abdomen and chests holding them in place. Anyone else might have found the elaborate harness of a Furiae fighter-jet to be choking, and many who never passed the first of the many aviation tests even reported feeling claustro­phobic, but to Theo it made him feel safe, like he was one with the aircraft. This was nothing like that. The intense shaking that took place as the hulk they called Talaria started speeding up on the runway felt like it was going to shake the skin loose off his bones. The drone of the engines was almost unbearable at this close proximity, the large, hollow hold not doing anything to dull the sound, but rather enlarging it into a sickly echo that seemed to accost him from all sides. Chara seemed no more happy about it than he was, her eyes closed almost as if in ach­ing meditation, but the other cadets were evidently more used to it at this point.

Perhaps this was part of their training.

Then, with the familiar pull in his guts, Theo felt the Talaria lift off from the ground and they were finally on their way to Heliopolis. The drone evened out as the engine no longer had to compete with the ground, and Theo felt a surge of relief through his body. He looked to Chara who had now opened her eyes, staring ahead with a morose expression. Theo turned to look in the same direction, and on the other side of the hull, through the small portholes, he could just about make out the three peaks of the Helicon mountains poking out above the clouds. Then it hit him that this was probably the last either of them would see of their homeland for a very long time.

Not many minutes later the cadets had already unbuckled, left their uncomfortable metal seats and scattered across the cargo/passenger hold in groups of two’s and three’s, having clearly already made friends and established cliques. Theo and Chara unbuckled themselves, but remained seated.

Not far away from them stood three cadets, an odd group­ing Theo thought as they appeared to have nothing in common. Their clothes betrayed their social status and places of origin, neither of which seemed compatible. Theo could not hear what they were saying, but the conversation did not come off as friendly, with one of them being especially antagonistic towards the other two. Despite the obvious protests of one of them, the antagonistic one, who also had the most expensive look about him, turned and strode towards Chara and Theo.

“So, you are a pilot?” he said as he planted his feet on the floor barely two seats’ distance from Theo.

“That’s right,” Theo responded, not liking his tone, but trying to remain polite for the moment.

“Why?” the cadet said with a sneer, “afraid of the battle­mark?”

“Show him some respect, Capaneus.” The protesting cadet—who would later introduce himself as Damianos—now stood just behind Capaneus.

“Did you not hear what the Centurion said, this is a great pi­lot. Surely he will bring great glory to the Army of Light.”

He’d been warned that this might happen, not only of the fact that many Knight Cadets look down Flight Cadet for staying up in the air instead of fighting the enemy face to face, but also that he’d be dismissed as a simple rube by some the more upper-class cadets. However, Theo hadn’t given it a lot of thought. Why should his background matter? He was there to serve the Light like everyone else, and he wouldn’t even be allowed into the academy had he not already proven through rigorous trials that he deserved it. He hadn’t denied it could happen at some point, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. Howev­er, he already seemed to have gained an ally, which seemed to prove his own point somewhat.

“That is my only wish,” Theo confirmed to both his new ally and enemy with his right hand on his left shoulder and gave a small, but polite nod.

“As is it for all of us here,” Damianos continued. “We have all come from different regions to give our skills and bodies in battle for Legion.”

The third cadet now approached them as well, confidently reciting scripture as he did so. “To die the death temporary for the glory of the everlasting Light.”

“Calm yourself, Andreas,” Damianos jokingly admonished him with a friendly smile and placed his hand on his shoul­der. “We will all get a chance to fight for the Great City soon enough,” he gave Capaneus a challenging look, “both on the ground,” then turned to Theo, “and in the air.”

Capaneus snorted.

Damianos turned his attention to Chara, “and you, are you as formidable a pilot as your friend?”

“Better,” she responded with a cheeky smile, causing two of the three cadets to chuckle.

“Are you going to stand for that?” Damianos said to Theo with a smirk.

Theo shrugged his shoulders, “Why deny what’s true? She’s the best pilot in the whole region.” He paused briefly as he leaned back into his seat and smugly crossed his arms. “Of course she learned it all from me.”

Chuckling turned to laughter, though Capaneus still wasn’t amused.

“With confidence like that,” Damianos said, “you will both fit right in with the High-Castes in the capital.”

That was too much for Capaneus to take. “You push your luck Damianos. You do not jest about your superiors.”

Damianos moved in closer to Capaneus, his face mere cen­timeters away from him. “I know my place. I also know that I, like every Middle-Caste individual present, was chosen for my physical and mental excellence, granting us access to the high ranks of society. You may be of high stock, but you have to earn the armor and the title that comes with it just as the rest of us will.

“Only the King may grant knighthood,” Capaneus growled through gritted teeth.

“The King may grant all of us knighthood one day,” Dami­anos said softly and with a hint of a smile.

Andreas peered over the taller shoulder of Damianos and once again quoted, or rather paraphrased, scripture to their mu­tual enemy. “Valor is as much a spiritual virtue as that of peak physical condition, Capaneus.” He pointed admonishingly, “for­get it, and your next birth will be of low stock.”

“You sound like a bleeding priest,” Capaneus said frustrated.

“Then you better heed his warning,” Damianos said gravely, then quickly softened his tone and expression as he turned to his melodramatic ally and said, “also, that is not a bad idea, Andre­as. I think you would make a fine priest.”

Not understanding that the fight had been averted and that he was trying to lighten the mood, Andreas responded with sincere soberness, “I would much rather fight for the King.”

“Well, it is a good fallback plan should your military career not work out.”

Andreas seemed both amused and annoyed. “Must you jest about everything?”

Damianos’ only response was a playful chuckle and a pat on the backs of both Andreas and Capaneus, who despite his best efforts couldn’t quite hold his serious mask.

Chapter 3

In their past lives they stood in the way of perfection or broke the holy laws ⁘ Their punishment is to labour all their days and to live with the shame of their grotesque forms ⁘ By fulfilling their caste responsibilities they will be reborn in the Middle af­ter an honourable death

-        excerpt regarding the Untouchables from the Helios Praxis.

Brunt was starting to fall behind. They’d been running for nearly an hour, but Sleek—being a Scout-class grunt—had the advan­tage of a more slim physique, whereas Brunt—being a Berserk­er grunt—was made to be a blunt weapon, slow but powerful. Sleek on the other hand was fast and agile, possessing excellent night vision, all useful for a grunt who’s class had ages ago been created to be able to make a quick getaway and report to their commanding officers should their post be compromised.

And compromised it had been.

Sleek had never witnessed an attack so swift and so effec­tive. The apes had seemed to materialize from the shadows like some unholy demons of the night. The encampment had fallen in mere minutes, all residents, High-Caste, Middle-Caste and grunts alike, killed with swift and ruthless efficiency.

Only Sleek and Brunt had gotten away from the camp amidst all the chaos, though it had been more through luck than skill.

However, Brunt was made for close quarter combat, not pro­longed running. He was of heavily build, stood no more than 1.4 meters in height and had short stubby legs. He didn’t stand a chance. Fort Hadrian was another three kilometers away.

But Sleek had no intentions of leaving his friend behind. He weaved effortlessly between the pointy rock formations jutting out of the desert floor in random patterns, making the landscape uneven and treacherous. Although Sleek possessed excellent night vision comparable to that of felines, Brunt had to rely on the light of the full moon, which provided just enough illumina­tion for him to not crash into any of the rocky obstacles.

A howl echoed through the corridors of stone, sending a shiv­er down Sleek’s spine. They were close, very close.

He turned to check on Brunt, but could only hear the clanking of his armor coming from somewhere inside the maze of rocks. What he did see, however, in the distance, standing atop one of the taller rock formations and silhouetted against the light of the full moon, was an ape.

The sound of Brunt’s clanking armor became louder and Sleek shifted his gaze down to see his friend emerging from behind one of the nearby formations. He was panting heavily, the cold night air turning his breath into puffs of steam emerging from his dented helmet. Glad to see his friend still hanging on, Sleek realized that he’d momentarily forgotten the ape warrior, and his eyes darted back up to the tall rock.

It was gone. Replaced only by the sound of trampling feet getting closer and closer.

“Hurry up, Brunt!” Sleek shouted, “they’re getting closer!”

“I can’t…” Brunt huffed and growled in his already gravelly voice, “I can’t go on much longer. You must leave me, report to the commander, that is your duty.”

He was right, but Sleek didn’t feel right just leaving him behind. “Just try to keep up, we’re almost at the fort!”

That was a lie of course, but Sleek didn’t know what else to say.

Sleek started running again, but didn’t hear the sound of Brunt following him. He stopped again and turned to see Brunt hunched over, his hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath. The steam was exiting his helmet in rapids puffs, resem­bling a small steam engine.

“Come on, hurry!” Sleek shouted as he realized that the tram­pling sound had stopped.

Brunt, despite his exertions, obeyed and started jogging again, but it was too late.

A net flew out from the shadows and quickly entangled him. Brunt’s bulky form fell to the ground with a clank and a thud.

As if pouring out of the rocks themselves, a dozen apes sud­denly emerged from the shadows. They either hadn’t spotted Sleek yet, or were simply too caught up with their immediate prey to care.

Brunt’s animalistic instincts kicked in and the sudden surge of adrenaline gave him a second wind. He resisted his attackers with a ferocity as animalistic as anything his attackers could have offered.

Sleek stood frozen for a moment. In the tangle of furry shapes he couldn’t separate Brunt from the apes.

All that distinguished his friend from the grotesque howls of the apes was a boar-like squeal that pierced through the cold night air.

There was nothing remotely human about that sound, it was pure animal. But Sleek understood it nonetheless. He was say­ing run!

And so he did.

While the apes were busy restraining Brunt, Sleek ran as fast as he could, and without his heavy friend to hold him back he’d be at the fort in just over ten minutes.

He’d heard rumors that apes didn’t always kill grunts, but rather took them prisoner. He didn’t know why, but he hoped it was true. That way there was a slim chance his friend would survive. Or was it selfish of him to think that? Maybe this was a gift after all. Maybe this sacrifice was enough for Brunt to be granted rebirth at a higher status? Perhaps this was a time to be happy for his friend instead of mourning him? Either way, he knew he would never see his friend again.

Sleek finally made his way through the rocky landscape and into the arid plains beyond, and he could see the light of Fort Hadrian on the horizon.

Five minutes later he reached the front gate and none of the guards gave any resistance as Sleek sprinted past them and zipped between the many tents in the encampment.

He slowed down as he reached the commander’s tent. He’d never been to Fort Hadrian before, but based on the tent’s posi­tion at the center of the encampment, its large size compared to ones around it and the two grunt guards outside it was obvious who it belonged to.

As Sleek approached the entrance the two guards blocked his way by crossing their spears.

“Halt!” the one on the right said in a gruff voice. “Have you no shame! You may not enter the commander’s tent with a bro­ken helmet.”

His helmet! He’d completely forgotten about it. An ape had struck him with a mace during the attack. His helmet had saved his life, but most of the visor had been torn off. The ape would have killed him with his second blow had not Brunt struck him down first. But this was no time to fuss over decency, he needed to perform his primary duty and report to the commander as quickly as possible.

“I beg the great Lord’s forgiveness,” Sleek bowed his head to show that he intended to not allow his face to be seen, “but I have important news from the front and reckoned his honor would want it immediately.”

“Let him in,” spoke a coarse but gentle voice from within the tent.

The guards hesitated a moment, then pulled their spears back, allowing Sleek to enter.

Having taken only a few steps into the tent, the grunt immedi­ately kneeled before them, facing the ground so that his face remained covered. Arastus could see that half of his visor had been torn off and that he was trying to hide his inhuman eyes.

He had seen them before. It had been a very similar situation; helmet torn open in combat. But that grunt hadn’t had the chance to hide his face. Protecting his commanding officer had been a higher priority than hiding his face. However, for a brief moment during the combat their eyes had met. He’d stared right into those bright yellow bird-like eyes of his. The grunt had instinctively averted his gaze in shame, and that brief moment of distraction had been enough for an ape to sneak up on him and stab him in the back. He had died protecting his command­ing officer.

Loyal to a fault.

Standing next to Arastus in the well-furnished and decorat­ed tent were commander Theron and Phrixos. Theron was the youngest of the three, his hair just starting to turn silver. A capa­ble warrior, well decorated, but Arastus found him to be some­what reckless and arrogant. Phrixos was an old acquaintance of Arastus, not a friend, but they’d crossed paths for long enough to have developed a good working relationship based on mutual respect.

The grunt was waiting for permission to speak. Theron didn’t seem too pleased about him having entered the tent at all. Aras­tus couldn’t have cared less. Long ago he would have, but not anymore. Plus, the grunt was wise enough to not have entered too far into the tent.

“Report.” Arastus’ voice was commanding but without the edge present in a lot of commanders.

“I beg your forgiveness, my Lord, we failed to fulfill our mis­sion.” There was a tremble in the grunt’s voice.

It is getting much worse.

“How bad were the losses?”

The grunt hesitated for a moment. “I am the only survivor of Fort Antonine, my Lord.”

“Explain!” Commander Theron spat out.

“They came in small groups, not equipped for battle but for sabotage,” the grunt explained, his voice more measured now. “They set the camp on fire, then chased the escaping soldiers into larger, hidden groups of apes. It was absolute chaos, most fled in the wrong direction, only a few made it past the camp site. Only I got all the way.”

“I assume you were one of the lookouts?” said Phrixos, his voice rising in frustration. “Why did you not see them coming!”

Arastus raised his hand, stopping Phrixos from further chas­tising the grunt. Yelling at him would get them nowhere.

“He is not alone in being caught unaware by their new tactics,” Arastus said calmly.

“It is that infernal Xerxes,” Theron growled

“Yes, the moon banner is living up to his name and reputa­tion,” said Arastus. Most attacks in the last year had been carried out at night during the full moon. Even before he had become the warlord of the apes, Xerxes had made a name for himself on both sides of the border as being highly aggressive. Unsurpris­ingly, very little was known about him other than that his clan-name and banner confirmed that he was a devotee of some kind of moon spirit. Though unlike other apes his banner was not just an arbitrary symbol, but had been adopted as a trademark tactic.

“If this continues,” Arastus went on, “they will soon be close enough to mount an attack on Tanagra.”

“The beasts have not come this close in centuries,” said Phrixos, mostly to himself, his chin cupped between the thumb and index finger of his right hand while his left arm supported his right elbow as he paced about.

“If even the Untouchables with heightened night-vision can­not spot them,” Theron chimed in, “what are we to do?”

Before Arastus or Phrixos could respond, Theron looked at the kneeling grunt and pointed accusingly, “Some might even have followed this one.”

“Even Xerxes would not be so bold,” said Phrixos mat­ter-of-factly, though he didn’t seem too convinced himself. “A small encampment yes, but…”

They couldn’t afford to take any chances. Arastus turned away from Phrixos and addressed the grunt. “Soldier, how many apes did you see?”

“The saboteurs could not have been more than a dozen, but the ambush groups were much larger,” the grunt tried to remem­ber, “a cohort perhaps.”

“We cannot risk any losses from this outpost,” Arastus said turning to Theron. “How many lookouts do we have?”

“Only a handful.”

“Get them all up in the watchtowers, and get some labor-grunts, have them light fires all around the fort. That should make the lookouts’ jobs easier.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Theron gave a quick bow, almost a nod, and did a heel-turn as he walked away, casually swerved past the grunt, paying him no attention to him as he exited the tent.

Arastus waited until Theron had left before he addressed the grunt again. “Have your helmet replaced, then report to the lookouts. We are going to need all available eyes out there.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Arastus turned his back to the grunt, allowing him to leave the tent with dignity.

As before, the cadets were scattered about the Talaria’s passen­ger/cargo hold, mingling and chatting in small groups of twos and threes. Some of the small groups had merged, creating larg­er groups of up to six or seven cadets. Theo was engaged in a lively conversation with Damianos, Andreas and a couple of other cadets that Chara did not know the names of. Judging by his body language and the way he’d become the center of their attention, it was clear that Theo was recounting some great, and undeniably embellished, tale from their childhood. She knew that he would at least embellish her exploits as much as he would his own.

However, Chara did not feel like joining the conversation and was standing some distance away from the socializing cadets. Leaning against the hull she peered out one of the many port­holes, watching the cottony skies gently fly by and attuning her senses to the now calm engine hum, letting herself become one with the gentle vibrations. Not realizing it, she was fiddling with her Aglea pendant, running her fingers across the small gilded spoked wheel.

Having reached the end of his story, Theo noticed her stand­ing alone and politely informed his newfound friends that he’d leave them for a moment as he walked over to Chara. She noticed his approach in her periphery and didn’t take her eyes off the view out the porthole.

“It’s strange isn’t it?” she said in an almost dreamlike whisper as Theo came close enough to hear her.

“What is?”

“The sky is my second home, yet this feels so different.”

Theo clasped his hands behind his back and casually leaned forward to peer at the skies through the porthole. “These are foreign skies,” he said. “I’ve sensed it too. All seems so different here.” He looked about the industrial-looking hold, then back to Chara. “Don’t worry, these skies will become our skies soon.”

For the first time Chara took her eyes away from the porthole and looked at Theo. “How do you stay so calm during all of…” she looked around, “…this? I’m overwhelmed already, and we haven’t even reached the capital yet.”

Theo moved a steps to the side and leaned against the hull on the opposite side of the porthole.

“I dunno.” This just feels right to me, like we were meant to be here,” he paused and looked up at nothing in particular as he tried to find the right words, “that I belong with great men and women…” he looked down towards the other cadets, “…like them.”

Chara turned to look at them as well, and saw Damianos ges­ticulating in an exaggerated manner as he recounted some en­tertaining tale.

“Don’t you feel it too?” Theo said in an intense whisper. “These are our people, soldiers, athletes, people who have achieved earthly ascension like us.”

“Somehow I expected more.”

“Don’t let one rotten apple ruin your taste for good fruit, Chara. Once we get to the city we will both experience the glory of society’s finest.”

“You’re right.” The statement felt hollow, she didn’t really know what to think of it all, but she trusted Theo’s judgment and at least she would have him with her when they reached the city. The city, the very thought of it intimidated her. She turned back to the porthole.

“Just think about it,” she said in the same dreamlike whis­per as before. “We’ll be in the presence of famous athletes, celebrities, generals, even royalty.” She faced Theo again, almost pleadingly hoping he’d share at least some of her trepi­dations. “Makes you feel so small doesn’t it?”

“We’ve deserved our place among them. And when we prove our worth to these people, the King himself will have to grant us knighthood. And with a notch of that size on our belts we’re both guaranteed to be reborn among their ranks in the next life.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Theo.” Chara smiled a little. “Let’s worry about our training first, then we can worry about kings.

“I like to plan ahead,” Theo said jokingly. “Besides, it’s im­portant to have goals in life, don’t you agree?”

Chara chuckled. “With ambition this high I wouldn’t be sur­prised if you’d be reborn as a king one day.”

“I wouldn’t joke about it,” he said softly. “If you work hard enough you might end up a queen one day. I mean, if what they say about her is true.” He let the last sentence hang in the air as he pointed to her pendant. Chara glanced down at it, only now realizing that she’d been fiddling with it the whole time.

“That the Queen is a reincarnation of Aglea? For someone with her stature, it wouldn’t surprise me.” She tried to sound casual and dismissive, but Theo had managed to stir her a little.

“Aglea was a peasant like us,” Theo reminded her.

“She was also High-Caste,” she said dismissively.

“The holy texts are historical apocrypha, meant to encourage, not to dissuade, Chara, or at least that’s what you always kept telling me during our lore studies. The whole point of the Algea story is that even the simplest person can achieve transcendence if she commits to her full potential.” He paused for a moment as he let the lecture sink in, then trying his best to hide that smirk that always accompanied a tease or some confident boast, “if you don’t believe me you can ask the Queen herself one day.”

“Oh, you’ll see to that won’t you?” she said, placing her free arm on her hip.

“If you’re not gonna do anything about it, I’ll have to do it for you,” he said, not even bothering to hide his smirk this time.

Chara rolled her eyes, but genuinely felt that her spirits had been raised. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Perhaps she’d have to learn seeing things the way Theo did. Everything seemed so crystal clear when he explained them, like destiny was simply unfolding itself as it was meant to be and all they had to do was to not falter from the path laid out before them. It all seemed so strange and confusing to her, but she trusted Theo would help guide her in the right direction just like he’d always done.

Her musings were interrupted by the blaring sound of an electronically distorted voice coming from the carrier craft’s many speakers.

“All hands prepare for landing. Repeat, all hands prepare for landing. Passengers, return to your seats.”

All the cadets snapped out of their conversations and quickly and efficiently marched back to the seats alongside the port-side hull. Chara on the other hand leaned in closer to the porthole, her nose touching the cold glass as she tried to catch a glimpse of what lay on the landscape barely visible below the Talaria. For a few seconds she saw only pink clouds bathed in the rays of the setting sun, and the occasional field or grassy hill seen through randomly scattered openings. She was about to give up and seat herself with the other cadets, but then she caught a glimpse of it. Appearing briefly, but as clear as day through a large opening in the clouds that seemed to have formed just for her, was the capital city of Heliopolis. A marble city bathed in coruscating sunlight so radiant it almost appeared to be made of pure light, its highest peaks so tall that they nearly penetrated the skies above.

Once again the electronically distorted voice blared through­out the cargo/passenger hold. “We are coming within range of Heliopolis. Prepare landing procedures.”

Theo, whom Chara only now noticed had not joined the other cadets, gave her a not so subtle pull on her arm as he peeled her away from the porthole and they both compliantly, though belat­edly, buckled in as the Talaria began its decent towards the cap­ital city of the Children of the Light. The Center of Civilization.

A few minutes later, as the carrier craft shook and bounced a little as the landing wheels touched the runway, it occurred to Chara that their journey had only just begun.