Kastori Revelations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 1)

by Stephen Allan

  Contents

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  62

  63

  Epilogue

  Preview of “Kastori Devastations”

  Thank You

  Bibliography

  Copyright

  Dedication

  To Derek, Liz, Lisa, Toph, and Jennifer, for giving me the feedback and encouragement to always push forward.

  Author’s Note

  The first time I ever came across the concept of fantasy worlds, I was seven years old, sitting in my grandparent’s living room, just a couple of days after Christmas. My uncle handed me a wrapped box that had the exact dimensions of a Super Nintendo video game. I eagerly ripped it open, and there sat a new game I had never heard of before.

  Final Fantasy III.

  I looked at the game confused. Who was this white little muppet-looking creature on the front? What was with the ugly-looking building on the back? “MagiTek?”

  I shrugged and muttered, “Thanks.” For months—if not years—Final Fantasy III sat on the shelf in our living room, collecting dust as effectively as my parents’ old vinyl records.

  Then, one day, as most kids do, I ran out of money and had no more holidays or birthdays to get video games. So, begrudgingly, I unwrapped the plastic from the box, pulled out the cartridge, popped it in, and turned it on.

  I knew I’d done something right when the screen flickered with lightning, ominous music began playing, and then an operatic cry punctuated the title screen.

  I loved Final Fantasy III. Magic! Interesting, complex, contrasting characters! Powerful creatures! An evil empire! One of the most disturbing villains ever! It took me a couple of years to beat the game—school, the futile pursuit of popularity and other things got in the way—but when I did, I was enthralled. I loved it. I wanted more fantasy. I bought more Final Fantasy games. I read all of Tolkien’s books. I loved these imaginary worlds where the creator got to make all the rules and environments—and fantastical and beautiful they were.

  But it didn’t completely stimulate my imagination in the way that one particular movie from 1977 did, as I imagine it must have for all sci-fi/fantasy nerds at the time.

  The first time I saw Star Wars: A New Hope, a different uncle was babysitting me, and he popped the movie in. The epic, famous Star Wars theme blasted from the TV, and I curiously read the scrolling text. The space chase scene opens, and then he enters.

  Darth Vader.

  I was enthralled by this sadistic yet complex villain, who seemed to have complete control over everything and command everyone’s fear and respect. I wanted to wear his mask.

  So, once again, I consumed all things Star Wars. I had added an element of space, family dynamics, and epic sword fights to my love of high fantasy and magic.

  And for the first twenty-seven years of my life, I mostly stayed in the role of consumer. I watched Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings movies and loved it. I read Game of Thrones.

  But then, in the fall of 2015, I wanted in.

  I had a world that blended the magic of fantasy with the space travel of sci-fi in my head. I envisioned a dynamic soldier leading a rag-tag team to a new world. I painted in my mind a massive beast, one that would make dragons from books like Eragon tremble. I created a magic system similar to the one in Final Fantasy.

  And now, months after writing the first draft, “Kastori Revelations” is finally here.

  If you love Final Fantasy and Star Wars, you’ll recognize a ton of elements of each universe in this series. If you don’t, you’ll still recognize certain components of fantasy—magic, high stakes, great monsters, and interesting characters.

  I never imagined when I begrudgingly thanked my uncle for Final Fantasy III that it would lead to me creating a universe based off of it and one of the greatest sci-fi/fantasy universes.

  But now, I have to say, that was the moment that started it all and led to this novel, my debut fantasy work, “Kastori Revelations.”

  1

  The speckled sea of stars provided infinite light but zero hope. Crystil propped her long, well-defined legs on the control panel of the Omega One spaceship with her arms crossed. Wearied stoicism glazed over her dark brown eyes and white skin. Her mind relived the traumas from what felt like the day before but had occurred two years ago.

  Everyone I love is dead.

  Dyson. My husband since 24, my lover since 16. Just four years of marriage. Gone.

  Emperor Orthran. The man whom I served since 20, the man whom I swore everything to. Annihilated by explosions. Gone.

  And everyone else on Monda. Gone.

  Just Emperor Orthran’s kids and I. Some ragtag team we are. Gotta be a dream, right? Maybe I’m still on Monda, with Dyson, cuddling. Maybe I’m still in the chambers with Emperor Orthran, figuring out our next course of action against the magicologists. There’s no way this all ended as it did. Emperor Orthran promised us peace.

  I wish they wiped our memories after two years in those pods.

  She shifted in her seat, sitting back up in an authoritative position. It didn’t remove the pain, but it at least gave her the illusion of controlling the future.

  She reviewed the itinerary for the day, the one anchor of reality that she could lose herself in. A schedule gave her a purpose and forced her to stop thinking about the past. She couldn’t help Cyrus and Celeste, the 24-year old son and 19-year old daughter of Emperor Orthran, grow if she kept wondering why Dyson’s ship had crumpled up like a useless piece of paper.

  She’d already eaten breakfast, a meal of eggs and mixed vegetables; reviewed the notes Cortanus, the voice and artificial intelligence of the ship, produced from her verbal analysis; created a training regiment for the martial arts kaido that the other two could use; eaten the same meal for lunch, and read the report from Cortanus on their new home, Anatolus. According to that report, the likelihood of the planet’s existence had reached 99.97 percent based on scientific measurements the ship took.

  Except that 0.03 percent happened on Monda. I’ll wait until it’s confirmed, and then I’ll wait until I see it with my own eyes… and then I’ll probably wait until I’ve actually set foot on the planet.

  The rest of the schedule included learning to hunt in frigid, wintry conditions, and she edited out the notes on the terrain and wildlife they would encounter. She didn’t want either Orthran knowing what kind of terrain or dangers they would face. She d
idn’t have that luxury in Emperor Orthran’s army, and she wasn’t about to make things any easier for the kids.

  After that, they would have free time before dinner—the same meal—and they’d review the day and their mission. Crystil included the latter for herself more than the other two. She needed the reminder of why she had to keep going. She demanded undivided attention from Cyrus and Celeste before but could’ve cared less if they fell asleep during the general review.

  She closed out the daily schedule and looked at the emptiness of space.

  “Training begins in thirty minutes, Crystil,” Cortanus said. “Do you wish to review anything in the meantime?”

  Crystil did not react. On the blank canvas of the black space and white dots, she mentally projected the images of what had happened on Monda. She saw the first time a magicologist used unfathomable powers to bring an airship down by manipulating the weather to electrocute the vessel, killing everyone on board. In a rage, she’d shot the magicologist with her sniper rifle, a Nakar 11, but had wasted five bullets when one would have sufficed. She learned quickly from her commanding officer emotions played no part in battle, even if she could never truly eliminate them.

  “Lock them up until the mission is done,” he’d say.

  She saw herself in the back of the emperor’s meeting room, serving as Emperor Orthran’s bodyguard. The Emperor assured the Council of Defense peace was at hand. And then…

  “Remind me, Cortanus,” she said. “When is our projected arrival to Anatolus?”

  “It is approximately one week away, Crystil.”

  Crystil silently nodded, doubt gnawing at her. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her taut, freckled arms behind her head.

  “And we still don’t know for sure about the existence of this planet?”

  “Scientifically, no. However, given the percentages, if I were human and to gamble on this, I would bet significantly on the planet existing.”

  “Delightful,” Crystil said.

  The statement of gambling reminded her of Dyson. Oh, how that man loved to play cards and bet on races.

  Dyson…

  His name triggered a morbid curiosity. She had so far not yet replayed the ship’s record of the past. With her memories so fresh, she didn’t have to.

  But… perhaps if she did, she wouldn’t feel as much pain. Perhaps it would dull the heartache.

  “Cortanus,” she said. “Show me the recording of what happened two years ago when we left Monda, before we entered hibernation.”

  An aware intelligence, Cortanus hesitated. It eventually played the scene from when they left Monda. As soon as the image showed, Crystil felt overwhelming heat in her body as her stomach knotted. She felt she’d made a mistake, but had to see the whole thing through.

  Fifty ships had left, including hers, as the Emperor had decided that the magicologists would annihilate them. The enemy had become too powerful. Crystil wished, watching, that the empire had smashed the threat to smithereens while it was too weak to attack a single unit, let alone the entire empire. Of those fifty ships, a dozen never made it out of the atmosphere, incinerated by the magicologists. Several more crumpled into nothingness, including Dyson’s. His was the one next to Crystil’s ship.

  They had escaped only through pure luck and having the lead position. Had even one ship gone ahead of them, Crystil knew her hibernation would’ve become a permanent respite.

  Cortanus, in the recording, announced that no more magicologist attacks could reach them.

  Then a massive explosion came from Monda, so large that it seemed debris from the blast might reach their ship.

  “No!” Celeste cried out, so piercing, saddening, and disturbing a cry that even Crystil, the hardened soldier, felt trembling empathy for the girl. Crystil had heard such a scream only once before, and knew why a cry like that would come.

  Crystil shifted into commander mode, ordering the remaining crew members into their hibernation pods. Only Celeste did not move, paralyzed and grief-stricken by the apparent destruction of her home planet.

  Crystil couldn’t blame the daughter of Emperor Orthran for her behavior, but empathy did not stop her from placing Celeste into her pod. Before she did, she promised Celeste she would carry on the emperor’s hope of prolonging humanity on Anatolus.

  Once she had placed Celeste in her pod, Crystil entered hers. She laid down on the bed, closing her eyes and wanting the horror to end. The last thing she remembered was the engines roaring.

  “Enough,” Crystil said.

  The recording stopped, but Crystil’s feelings did not. If anything, seeing it a second time triggered stronger emotional responses. She felt pain at how easily Dyson had died. Sorrow swelled at Celeste’s response to her father’s death.

  And more than that, it was a reminder of another terrible truth. Of the ten people who had gone into hibernation, only three survived. Herself, Celeste, and Cyrus. Cortanus had data on why fellow soldiers had died, but the data concluded the system had malfunctioned in delivering nutrients and water to them. Nothing could have saved them.

  She ejected the seven soldiers into space, their bodies floating hundreds of millions of miles from home. To keep them on meant keeping on literal dead weight. They would do the same to me if I were dead.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you before training begins, Crystil?”

  You can’t bring Dyson back. You can’t bring Emperor Orthran back. You can’t save Monda.

  “Just keep my hope alive for Anatolus,” she said.

  Cortanus went silent, and Crystil looked back at space. The knowledge that what once was, never would be, brought a sniffle and a gasp from her. Tears fell down her face.

  When the time came to train Celeste and Cyrus, she quickly wiped the tears away and made sure no evidence remained of her emotions. The commander adopted a hardened face, stood up as straight as she could, and walked toward their quarters, the thud of her boots announcing her arrival.

  2

  Cyrus lounged on a black cushion, folded out from the inside of the ship, with his boots propped up, one arm behind his head, a smirk and his favorite novel, “Sandcrawlers,” on a screen in front of him. To his left lay an unkempt bed with egg crumbs, and in front of him, behind the book screen, was a window showing him the space he’d long dreamed of visiting under better circumstances.

  “What I would give to ride one of those suckers,” he said as he skimmed the novel.

  The sound of footsteps filled his ears, and his body shivered. Here comes the Ice Queen, he thought. If she only learned how to do things like my father. To actually connect with people instead of ordering them around like bots. She’d be the kind of gal I’d want to ride a Sandcrawler with.

  The thoughts of his father made him flash back to the last time Cyrus saw Pops—when he told Cyrus he’d see him again someday. He wished his father hadn’t treated him like he was eight, but given the situation, he appreciated the false hope. When he got on the ship, he immediately made his way to the hibernation pod. He heard his sister’s awful cry, the worst thing he had ever heard in his life, and put himself out before he could find out what had happened.

  A firm knock came at the door.

  “Sup,” Cyrus said, hoping to somehow melt the Ice Queen’s chilly exterior.

  He stood and braced himself as his door slid open. He felt relief when he saw the white boots of his sister, Celeste. She stood with a nervous smile and the bangs of her auburn hair covering her blue eyes. She brushed her hair to the side and softly said, “Am I interrupting anything?”

  Cyrus put his hand on his chin, as if deep in thoughts of the philosophy of the mission, and laughed.

  “Only my reading time, which you know is the best part of this ship,” he said, stating a fact sarcastically.

  He waved Celeste in.

  “Funny,” she said as she sat on his bed, but not before making a disgusted face and brushing crumbs off. “You know someone else can be the best part as wel
l.”

  Cyrus laid on the couch, stretching his legs out.

  “I’m sorry, I have to get permission from Queen Crystil to do that,” he said. “At least the good news is the way she commands us, we’ll need permission to die.”

  Cyrus shot Celeste an encouraging smile, but she could only give a half-hearted effort back. Her expression quickly turned to one of concern, her head bowed and her hands resting in her lap. Cyrus had seen this face far too often since they woke up. He feared his sister would give up hope before they made it to Anatolus.

  “Sis, are you OK? Talk to me. Let’s make things awesome.”

  She looked up.

  “I just wish you and Crystil would get along and not want to murder each other at the end of each day.”

  Cyrus groaned in an exaggerated manner. Celeste did not change her expression, and as much as Cyrus wanted to crack remarks on the topic, he knew respectful harmony beat ugly tension.

  “I know, I know. But I don’t even think we need to get along. I just think we need to cooperate better.”

  “It’d be a start,” Celeste said. “But you guys don’t have to just tolerate each other. You two have a lot more in common than you think. Even if you two could not be more different in presentation.”

  “OK, yes,” Cyrus said, holding up his hand and counting off. “We’re human, one. We breathe oxygen, two. We’re two of the last three people in existence, three. We’re—”

  Celeste finally smiled without reservation. She knew Cyrus understood her point through his sarcasm.

  “Besides, worst case, we don’t find any water or food, we have three years of supplies here. That’s not too long to have to tolerate us.”

  “Three years,” Celeste said wistfully. “I have my doubts you guys will get along for three days.”