by Marc Mulero
All four of the soldiers halted on the speaker’s command, who turned to face their prisoner. “Faction property now, unfortunately. Once examined, I imagine they will be returned to Kor Vinsánce, where they likely came. But for you… I would think of this as a new beginning, with others of the same affliction.”
Eres began to boil. “You speak as if I’m sick…”
“You’re not in my eyes, kid. Anyone who sliced up a few rebellion limbs is okay in my book. It’s just the way of things – politics, rules, agendas, biases. Cards got stacked against ya. Pains me a bit, because I know you’re a good egg.” The ranger pulled out a device that looked something like Eres’ live map. He could see on its transparent display that Eres’ Kor picture was pulled up with a list of information. “We will do the courtesy of informing your house mother in Pouisum.”
Eres’ eyebrows furrowed for a second, as he almost forgot the town in which he was supposed to have come from for Kor purposes. “Thank you,” came out of his mouth instinctively, while the thought of his ooma became loud in his mind’s eye, and how he wouldn’t even get to say goodbye to the person who raised him. Once he was locked up in the Faction headquarters, it would be over. No one would be able to get to him, not even his father.
The shider started to peek into view past the hill. Within the thorny vines of Jungoo on the wrong side of Dolseir, sat a skinny pyramid of crimson and grey, looking like a miniature rocket about to take off. Instantly, his memory was jogged. Schematics and stories that Eres had read about in his favorite chair filtered to renew excitement. He never dreamed he would be able to ride in one. This was supposed to be a happy event. Why did everything have to be ruined because of his gender, or lack thereof? What was the big deal?
What would Illiad do if he faced such injustice? He wouldn’t fold, like I am. He would at least try to talk his way out of it… to see the girl he loved again.
His brain began to cycle, looking frantically for a way to relate with the one who sympathetically gave him the time of day. Then it clicked – the black sabers bouncing at the ranger’s hips had cursive Umboro reflecting in gold as he walked. One said “Rudo” for the physical world, and the other read “Gushda” for the Eternal one. This man was a believer in all things Eres struggled with. A man of Mustae. At this point, he’d seen enough to be convinced, or at least speak genuinely on the topic.
“Sir, you study Cremolas? You believe in the grace of our people?”
The soldier retracted his mouth cover. “Sie, the ancient way means much to me. And you?”
“I struggle, sir, in moments like these, where injustice falls upon me just for being born.” Eres mimicked Illiad’s style of speech.
The ranger rested a hand on Eres’ shoulder, taking the opening to bring a teetering soul back into grace. “Mustae works in mysterious ways, kid. She sends us here, there, to war so one day we may experience peace, to confinement so one day we may enjoy freedom.”
Eres fought hard to not roll his eyes, and instead kept a cool demeanor. “Perhaps you’re entertaining me by her grace too, to hear a student’s plea.”
The other rangers looked at one another, but the speaker held a hand up to calm them and dropped to a knee so the boy was now looking down on him. “I am Drade Altus, Elite Ranger class responsible for counter-insurgence, knighted by the Imperions and sanctified by the All-Mother. I kneel to you, Eres Dawn, protector of your people despite them discarding you to authority. How can I aid a child in reclaiming vis faith?”
“A word to Keeper Decalus, that he knows of my fate before it’s too late. Before I’m inducted to wherever it is that Dawn’s go. Kor Vinsánce is my home, Sir Altus. I ask you to imagine your home, how much you care for it, those you love, how you look forward to seeing them on your return from duty. I want you to imagine that all taken away.” Eres pushed hair from his face so his eyes could speak to his seriousness.
“In truth, Eres, I would let you free now to reapply that mask and live as you were… if not for the proctors’ claims. You must be debriefed at the very least, to satisfy Faction suspicions and gain intel on the mad student that turned on your Kor.”
Eres sighed heavily, feeling like a failure, reminded that he was nothing like the hero in his books despite being hailed as one.
“However,” Drade hit Eres’ arm to get him to focus, “I will personally return to Vindom Decalus and share your aspirations. Surely your actions and words carry some weight, which could help Vinsánce’s keeper.”
Eres felt a shred of hope. “Are you just appeasing a lost Dawn?”
“Never.” Drade got back to his feet and held out a hand. “On my word, I am honoring the wishes of a graceful Umboro.”
After a long moment, Eres offered his hand back to seal the deal. “Ashen da.”
Drade smirked at Eres and nodded before covering his face once more.
Off they went, their prisoner’s spirits lifted a little higher. The Factions didn’t seem so bad, despite them forcing his father into a forever game of cat and mouse.
Maybe I will get to see you again, Windel. Maybe you can wait for me…
Just then, all heads were torn toward the sky, where in the not so far distance, bursts of deep purples and valiant blues began to creep closer. Clouds began to form just twenty feet overhead. They seemed angry, like they carried a powerful god’s wrath within them… or maybe it wasn’t a god at all.
“Fata,” Eres whispered. He was excited at first, if it was him, but then he thought of the consequences. The deal brokered all by himself would be undone. If Agden acted now, would Eres be boundless for the rest of his days? Or maybe Agden, too, would try to reason with the rangers.
The next minutes held his answer. A once sunny day instantly turned to grey, almost black, as the low hanging mists surrounded them. Clangs of thunder shook the ground. It might as well have been an earthquake the tremors were so severe.
“A storm, with almost no warning,” Drade said to his peers. “Let’s make a run for-”
Drade’s voice dropped along with his body, deep into the ground. The cylinder-shaped hole quickly closed up, like the soil itself was digesting him.
“No! Sir Drade!” Eres fell to his knees and scratched at the dirt to find him.
The other rangers pushed Eres out of the way to go take a look. Hands touched the hilts of their blades once they realized that this was the work of Reach. Another hole opened beneath them, but the three other rangers skipped back just in time, sabers now drawn for battle.
Agden descended from the sky like a fallen angel. His scraggily cloak and blackened Glite armor spoke to his allegiance to no one. Boundless. His mask was even sleeker than the rangers’, higher tech from his travels no doubt, but in rogue colors.
Chemical reactions sparked all around him to bolster his grand entrance, and when he held up his fists, two intricate blades traced alongside his forearms. He was breathing heavily, and appeared unhinged compared to any of the other times Eres had seen him.
“Fata, no!” Eres’ voice was lost in the noise.
Agden dashed forward in that instant, ducked two swipes that were meant for his head, and lit each of his blades with Crule one at a time. Like burning puffs of a pipe, the blades ignited and darkened, leaving cuts that were painfully accurate, meant to disarm rather than kill.
The true master had arrived.
Operating in a realm all his own, Agden was moving with speed that even elite rangers couldn’t keep up with. He sheathed one blade, summoned Reach to close the inflicted wound he’d just made, and with the palm of his hand pushed the first of three rangers one hundred feet back into the depths of Dolseir, causing dirt and grass to kick up as the vines took him.
After seeing incoming movement in his peripheral, he parried two blades with one. His attention had shifted, and not to the benefit of his attacker.
Wham!
Metal on metal. His defense swiftly converted to offense, weaving in between strikes, until finally, it was time
. With a swift flash, the ranger’s oblique was sliced, blood pouring down his Glite.
Agden switched roles once more, extending a hand down that enclosed the wound with bark and sent the man face first to the floor. Again, the shrubbery took another Faction soldier far away, muffled shouts escaping further into the distance.
Eres turned to follow his father’s bloody orbit around him. After witnessing a rebel army, a Swul, a Colliding Sphere Champion, and many more in action, it was the Skrols who still impressed him most - Wudon’s display, and now his father’s. They were his idols, what he still wanted to be in this mess that was his life.
More dancing landed Agden behind the last of the three rangers, the one with Eres’ gifts strapped to his belt. He snatched what belonged to his son, and with two blinks of Crule, traced the rangers back, leaving searing lesions before he could turn to defend himself. When he finally did, though, he was staring at the spinning fan of an impeller. It triggered to launch the lone ranger high into the heart of the storm, finally leaving a father to consult privately with his son.
Eres was brought back from the mesmerizing show and dove to where Drade had been buried alive. “Fata! He’s going to die under there… there’s no air!”
“You are a caring boy, Eres.” Agden retracted his mask to reveal a look of concern.
“He’s a good man. He was going to talk to Keeper Decalus on my behalf!”
With a turn of his wrist, Agden opened a hole so the ranger could breathe. A tormented gasp for air came from it, so loud that it bellowed through the storm thundering around them.
“You will make a fine Skrol, better than I ever was.” Agden seemed so sure of his words.
He then gathered Eres’ items, handed them to him, and held him tightly in preparation to hop.
“Will he be able to get out of there?” Eres’ gaze was still drawn to the hole.
“By the time we’re long gone, yes.”
Agden’s impeller revved before propelling them far down the path that Eres traveled daily to Kor. The winding road slithered under them, until with another click, they landed softly, far out of reach from any other living thing. The storm still pulsed to make sure of it.
Agden waved away endlessly falling leaves from his path as he dragged his son deep into the forest. For this first time in years, Eres appeared as a child, hand over face to shield from sharp spurts of rain, body awkwardly following the arm being pulled by his father, wondering all the way what the endgame was. And when a familiar air pocket formed around them, he had a feeling he was about to find out. Feeling the winds suddenly stop, and strands of hair delicately falling to frame his face, he took the opportunity to brush and wring his clothes before eventually looking up at his father’s wind-burnt face. There was less love in it, more urgency. Something was terribly wrong, as Wudon had warned.
“It is…” Agden sighed heavily. “It is time, my son.”
“For what?” Fear became evident in Eres’ voice. He had never seen his father act this way before. “Wukaldred believes you’re ready to bear the burden.”
Eres stomped his foot. “Why does everyone keep starting in the middle of the story? Ready for what burden, Fata?”
Agden turned away with shame. “That… was your mota’s wish, son. It pains me so that we are here, now, so far from the time when we were once whole.” He looked up to the mess of dark clouds between endless trees. “Mustae knows I did my best to uphold your wishes, Miyannas. Oh, Eres, your mother was so beautiful, so very much like you.”
Eres’ eyes began to water, not because he remembered what his father was talking about, but because he didn’t. All he really knew was that small shack, his ooma’s lessons, and the books that sated his imagination… nothing of what his father held dear.
It’s like he loved my mother enough to spend time with her… but not me. Was I such a nuisance? Or maybe that’s just the way of things. Maybe having a real boy is what he wanted, not some half-breed. No breed, truly.
He opened his mouth to vocalize some of this turmoil, but closed it just as fast.
“But I fear circumstance is now pushing me down a different road… you must be informed of the Silent War, and our stake in it. We are losing, Eres.”
Eres’ face contorted in disbelief. “You’re a Skrol, Fata, there’s no group more trained and disciplined as you. You can’t be losing.”
Agden’s chest puffed for moment, feeling proud that his child thought so highly of him, but it fell just as quickly. “We are a group trained to be alone, separated, for centuries, Eres, generations. Trained with all of our being to stay sane amid endless knowledge stored in our espers – to be a one-person army if threatened. But tell me, in that capable mind of yours, what happens when a Skrol defects? Decides that the secret is better unified than disbanded? What happens when someone with the same skill starts walking a different path, one of combined strength and plentiful resources?”
“Seren Night. He is the defector.”
“Yes, son, of course.” Agden waited for him to steer back to the question.
“Then… you become a treasure hunt?”
The Skrol smiled sadly. “Exactly.”
“His hands were decorated when I saw him. Does each esper mark a fallen Skrol?”
Agden’s irritation was evident. “The mere fact that such footage reached Kor defies the entirety of this war’s rules. Each party knows not to reveal anything to the public. One Skrol was careless, though. The one that you saw lying on the floor. He bequeathed his octor to his sister, a normal citizen who couldn’t even begin to fathom her brother’s purpose. She released the footage blindly, carelessly, and now we are more than just whispers. The fools.”
“But how does bequeathing work? I don’t understand the ins and outs of a sufias. No text explains it.”
“No text on this sphere,” Agden corrected.
“Hm?”
“Unfortunately, there’s no time now to discuss the intricacies of an esper… but there will be time to learn, soon, within your Skrol training.”
Eres’ eyes lit up. “I’m going to be a Skrol?! Are you going to teach me, Fata? I would do anything, for as long as necessary. Take me under your wing, plesus.”
The same sad smile plagued Agden’s expression as he approached and caressed his son’s smooth face with a calloused hand. “No matter how the training begins, or ends, just know, I will always be with you. Just a thought away.”
“What do you mean?”
“Listen, son. The questions to be answered right now are more immediate, more dangerous. Pressing.”
Eres’ silence implored Agden to go on.
“Seren believes that the Skrol secret must be reformed, that ulmanity, meaning the collective races that inhabit our spheres, is flying blind. We have purpose, we work, we fight, learn, love, hate, all without truly knowing why. It is a convincing argument that can turn even the most devout Skrols. The secret has always been enticing. But there is one thing that Seren never really believed, one thing that is essential and true – that the first Seer was a humble and happy person before it came to him. Before the secret drove him to the brink of madness.”
“You knew the first Seer?” Eres could hardly believe it.
“Yes. The Founder, they called him.”
“How do you know this basis is fact, and not just some story?” Logic pushed the question out.
“Because, son, that is what my esper holds.” He brought his ringed hand between their faces, the same amber of Eres’ eyes glowing before them. “I can feel his pain like a splinter in my mind, the regret for ever seeking the truth. I can experience it all, and know not what it is. In his last remnants of sanity, the Founder used his incredible Reach to break the truth into many pieces, in the form of espers, and deemed the origins something never meant to be realized by ulmanity again.” He allowed himself a breath. “Now though, as you see, Seren Night will stop at nothing to steal what we have been tasked to protect.”
Eres suddenly
became defiant in his posture. “I’m ready to play my part, Fata. Let me in.”
Muffled thunder shook the ground at their feet. Sparks of fluorescent colors still surged all around like a fireworks show. Though the air pocket that insulated them from the chaos that Agden brought, though it allowed a connection between father and son in the strangest of places, it just couldn’t contain his curiosity.
“Consider this visit your induction into the Skrols, my son. You are worthy. Brilliant. Ready. Though I would’ve preferred you experience a few more years of Vinsánce, it appears circumstance thrusts us all into motion.”
Eres was beaming at the declaration, feeling as though he was being knighted within the heart of the storm. For all of those nights that he’d retreated into his mind, into his stories, for all the times he found himself sedentary in his chair when he knew deep down of the adventure being had by others – his father among them - now he was ready. It was his turn.
That’s right. The time for inaction had passed. He could trace how he’d crawled out of that cocoon, Kor being his first step, and the war within it his second. It felt as though a fire had been lit under him to force him out of the mental well he’d been stuck in. Because of his situation, being a Dawn, he had to rush through everything against his will. But then it hit him again - he wasn’t ready to say goodbye – not to Windel or any of his other friends. Drade had given him faith that he could return, but that was lost when his father rescued him. Windel… she would go on to live out a normal life in Kor, a good life, without him.
Eres looked away from his father. “It would never have worked anyway. I am a Dawn, not meant to be with anyone. Farewell, Windel. I do love you,” he whispered into the air before turning back. “Okay, Fata, I’m ready. Where are we going?”
“Through the reaches of time. You will learn what Gushda really means,” Agden promised.
“What about Ooma? I have to tell her.”
Agden grinned. “Lorfa will be the one escorting you.”
