“Papa?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Won’t Aimin get angry that we listened to the old preacher’s sermon?” asked the little girl in the bright blue frock that matched the color of her large eyes, a trait she had obviously inherited from her mother, a striking woman seated opposite her, beside her burly husband.

A broad smile formed on the man’s face, one that contained a hint of approval, something that the child clearly sensed. She, like all children, was highly sensitive to the emotion of adults, far more so than we give them credit for.

With a subtle push on the fabric of Space, Mainak altered the flow of air in the main dining chamber below, and then dedicated a larger portion of his Crown to the table holding the family of four humans.

Enfolders, even Maestros like himself, lacked the fine-tuned control that a Material Manipulator could achieve when trying to affect matter. It required constant micro-adjustments using Space to guide the flow of air. The end result was slightly clumsy, but adequate for his purposes.

The group of five Initiates seated in the table adjacent to the human family was engaged in an animated discussion about the futility of Manipulation, and as a result, took no notice of his efforts. Disappointed not just with their narrow view of life, Mainak instead turned his attention to the last member of the family, who was in the midst of exploring his mother’s dense locks while being firmly ensconced in her bosom.

“The Tenets encourage you to broaden your horizon. Learn new ways of life. Do you remember, Freya?”

The girl bobbed her head, listening raptly, though Mainak sensed some of her attention was split to absorb the receding words of the Sadhu-ji, the same one Mainak had heard a fortnight earlier, as had the girl, by all appearances. Even the thick wooden walls of the tavern, which could generously be termed a restaurant, failed to block out the old man’s deep piercing voice.

“As long as we have faith in Aimin, and abide by His teachings, he won’t get angry,” the father finished, and started on his pav bhaji. The large piece of fried battered loaf filled with spiced chickpeas paused a hair’s breadth in front of his open mouth when the next question left his daughter’s lips. She had already finished her own pav.

“Won’t Om get angry that we pray to Aimin more than to him?”

“No,” came the certain reply.

Spurred on by the certainty, the precocious girl came up with a question that left her father speechless. “Why not? You said Aimin will punish us all if we worship Om.”

This was apparently an ongoing discussion between father and daughter, because Mainak had not noted this particular bit of wisdom from the middle-aged man before. Given the thick calluses on his palms and bulging triceps, he must be a crafter of some sort, though an affluent one, or else he would not have been able to afford a single meal in this place. Neither would he be invited to spend time in Ridmanya, where only a handful of humans resided, none permanently.

Entrapped by his own words, the piece of straw the man chose to clutch at was called innovative interpretation of the Tenets, a crime many before him, including past Emperors, were guilty of. At least, his embellishments were born of ignorance. Some, like BrightHeart, did it purposefully, to invoke the necessary mass-reaction needed to justify a full-scale invasion of a neighboring country.

“Omism is the aditaru’s way of life, not ours. It’ll bring heartache to most humans, and so Aimin advised us to keep the Tenets in mind. The punishment I mentioned,” he glanced around, fumbling for the correct word.

“Was indirect. Ruin we would bring upon ourselves,” the mother explained, a bit too loudly, though her kernel signature indicated it was an unintentional mishap brought on by the baby’s overenthusiastic tugging of her hair.

“Ruin?” asked an affronted Initiate from the neighboring table.

Fatewardens have an warped sense of justice. Mainak’s subtle push had somehow, over time, changed the flow of the frivolous fluid named air by just the right amount for the woman’s words to be heard clearly by the Initiates. Submerged deep in the barrel as they were, their reaction was swift, and unfortunately quite predictable. Fearing his intervention would be required sooner than anticipated, Mainak got to his feet and leaned down from the second-story balcony.

“I meant bring ruin upon us,” the flustered woman explained, not that it did much good. The tipsy Initiates were well beyond reason by this point.

Staggering to his feet, a young man of medium height and greenish-red complexion flared his nostrils in disbelief. “You would stoop so low as to compare veneration of Om with ruination of the soul?” he said, looming over the seated humans.

“Perhaps ruin was too strong a word.”

“We meant no offense, and respect your way of life,” began the man in his wife’s defense. “It’s just that…”

Any further apologies were interrupted when a second young man, equally drunk, decided to join the heated exchange by way of spreading oil. The only member of the little cabal possessing a modicum of common sense – and alcohol tolerance – tried to intervene, but was shrugged off with reckless abandon typical of the drunk.

“Seems you need a lesson in that way you spoke of, a way you secretly despise and envy, like all humans.” His pathetic attempts to form a Shield over the crafter’s head was instantly and emphatically shut down when Mainak clamped his own Shield over the entire table of red-faced Initiates.

“Enough!” he said in a voice barely above his normal volume, yet they all heard it. Jumping off the narrow balcony where his own meal was all but finished, using Shield to slow his descent, Mainak floated down to land between the two tables, and then fixed the five young Initiates with a glare that reduced them to a mass of apologies. His thunderous expression, flaring kernel signature and dense dark-violet Space essence left in the wake of his descent left no doubt, even to the dozen or so mundanes in the room, that he was not someone to be trifled with.

Five sets of eyes took in his one opened and three Awakened Chakras along with the blinding kernel signature. Then, their eyes widened further upon noticing his white cloak with light-green trims. The consequent reaction was swifter than their ill-advised bout of anger.

“Forgiveness Maestro!!” cried the lead troublemaker, in a voice and with a choice of words which were oddly reminiscent of the child he had met on his way to Nava Niketan. Unfortunately, Awakening the Heart and being blessed by Om with a fully Awakened Lineal Spine, had done nothing to disperse the gloom of intolerance from the souls of these youths.

The second Initiate, one with an overabundance of accelerant in his mouth, was about to voice his protests when the only sensible member of the group – a half-aditaru – whispered something in his ears which caused him to gulp in palpable fear.

“We humbly request the Commander’s mercy.”

While the rest mimicked his words, in fright if not in sincerity, Mainak turned to his left where the proprietor of the establishment had materialized out of thin air. “The prefect and the on-duty Maestro are on their way,” informed the deep gravelly voice.

“Thanks, my old friend.” Mainak turned from the tall willowy bearded aditaru to the human family who looked about ready to melt into the wooden floor. “Sorry for the inconvenience. Accept my apologies on behalf of the Rangers. These misguided youths,” he said indicating the distraught Initiates, “will be the next to offer their sincere apologies, if they ever hope to become full-fledged Rangers.” His eyes sought the young aditarus – one female and four males – all of whom appeared to be on the verge of tears. “After the Maestro from the Training Hall gets here.”

Both the crafter and his wife were on their feet, and graced Mainak with a precise bow, in the aditarun manner, hands to the side. The young girl copied the bow to the best of her abilities, though her signature and wide eyes indicated she was not as well-versed in aditarun etiquette and societal structure as her parents.

“Don’t trouble yourself on our account, Maestro Ranger,” said the man, shooting a meaningful glance at his wife. “We should’ve been more circumspect with our words.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“You did or said nothing wrong,” Mainak assured them, mentally making a note to research the background of this human family more thoroughly before departing for Jivanpur. “Your words were taken out of context.” Then, he added as an afterthought, “as for the words themselves, intricacies of the Tenets are not easy to navigate, even for a seasoned scholar.”

“True. Which is why the later addendums set forth much stricter rules. The First Disciples who composed them were aware that for simple everyday folk like us, the line between exploration of other beliefs and converting to those beliefs can be quite thin at times, especially in these changing times.”

By now Mainak was all but certain he was dealing with a refugee from Aiminia. Whether the man, and his family, had left willingly or were driven out was another question altogether. In the unlikely event they were emissaries, their movements must be constantly watched. His earlier desire to dig into their history grew stronger, and a wry smile formed on his face.

Maybe he had been a little too hasty in his earlier judgment concerning the man’s background. “But times are always changing.”

“Which is why I believe the last Tenet is the most relevant of them all.”

All the other eight Tenets should be considered flexible, to accommodate for changing times. Nothing stays the same. Not even Aimin.

Mainak pondered those iconic words on his way to the top of the world.

There was not a lot of room left for innovative interpretation of that particular Tenet. One could even argue it facilitated subjective interpretation of other Tenets, but not of itself. The man had spoken the truth. Religion must change with the times to stay relevant. But the very concept clashed with one of the most widely accepted views regarding Omism.

That Om was eternal. Changeless. Constant.

Of course, Omism being what it is, there was a small school of thought which insisted Om changed with the Cosmos, as He was Cosmos made manifest.

But it was perhaps a reflection of the general aditarun mindset that this particular school was so obscure that none but a handful of outliers like Mainak had ever heard of it. Since it lacked a well-defined structure like other religions, no concept was considered sacrilegious in Omism. But the idea that Om was ever-changing – evolving – was one that came close.

Looking at his surroundings, Mainak wondered if it was not the most fitting place for such lofty thoughts.

Below him were clouds. Thick light-gray clouds that hid the ground, eight thousand feet underneath. Even the Platform holding the tavern, Akash-Taru – literally, Sky Vine – was obscured by layers upon layers of billowing clouds. The western Monsoon, one that brought life to northern Anantika, was in full swing.

Mainak’s eyes grew soft as he beheld the scene directly in front, where Sindria met the infinite sky.

The curvature of space was visible as a massive arc that encompassed the whole planet. Endless vacuum of Space and the tiny speck of land and water known as the planet of Sindria – the world and the rest of the Cosmos, bridged by Great Vines.

The Great Vine they were climbing happened to be one of the largest and oldest in all of Maharanya, with the penultimate Platform being located at an altitude of ten thousand feet. It was a good thing too, as any higher, and even the hardiest aditaru would have trouble coping with the cold.

The Vine, of course, did not end there, growing several thousand feet more to the Terminus which was a Platform of special significance. Small as far as Platforms go – barely a hundred yards wide – it acted as a great big filter, sucking up raw essence from the vacuum of Space, in the process replenishing the essence lost through the natural rotation of the planet.

“Any new correspondence?” Mainak asked, tightening his woolen coat and rubbing his palms to keep them warm. Insulated as the elevator was, his aditarun constitution ensured he still found the air chilly.

The only other occupant in the mid-sized elevator made of bamboo and blood-vine gave a non-committal shake of his head. “A couple, though I feel they are not from those you hope to hear from,” said Rabi, the proprietor of Akash-Taru, and Mainak’s long-time friend. Stroking his thick jet-black beard, a rarity among aditarus, the tall middle-aged man asked, “When was the last time you heard back from them?”

“Couple of decades, approaching three. Two missed windows,” Mainak’s shoulders dropped. “I fear some ill-fortune has befallen them.”

“One is unForeseen circumstances. Two implies an act of Om. Three constitutes a calamity,” said Rabi. As one of only three mundanes to be a full-time member of the Rangers, his old friend was intimately aware of the dreaded proverb coined by one of the founding Rangers belonging to the First Generation. “Give it another decade before letting your imagination run wild.” Then, a smile broke out in the midst of the beard. “I still remember you three, all newly-minted Novices, roaming around in my tavern, no less drunk than those five idiots.”

A spontaneous smile eradicated the melancholy from Mainak’s Heart. “We could handle our liquor better than them, surely.”

“Training, Som called it, if I recall correctly.”

“You do. For when we are visiting foreign lands and are surrounded by enemies, he claimed. Always had an overactive imagination, head lost in the clouds,” Mainak said as memory of his youthful days brought the hidden pain to the forefront of his mind once again. He had not laid eyes on his two best friends – his only close friends – in over thirty years.

“And when Som got going, none but Mahi could stop him.” Rabi said with a morose shake of his head. “The most grounded soul I have ever had the good fortune to know. Stonehorns could learn a thing or two from Mahi. And in between those two ends of the spectrum were you; an oddball made of idealistic dreams and hard-bitten truths. A trio of unlikely friends.”

“Yes. Neither Mahi nor I knew our biological parents, while Som was the last living bloodline of one of the Forefathers. Just goes to show that like minds can overcome any and all social obstacles.”

A frown formed on Rabi’s face as the elevator started picking up speed. They were nearing their destination. “Do you know what their last mission entailed?”

“No. But I can hazard a guess,” Mainak replied, gritting his teeth in frustration. “Aiminia.”

“Even the Hawk would not be able to get the better of them when they are together.”

“The mission was a joint venture. But anything can happen out there. Maybe they got separated.” A hint of despair entered Mainak’s voice. “In fact, I know it in my Heart that they did get separated. And I was not there to watch their backs. As I should have been.”

“Who was the last correspondence from?”

“It was from Mahi, who intimated that he was starting to develop feelings for a human woman, one who was the mother of his child. That was twenty-eight years ago. The tone of the letter also hinted that Som and he had become separated, and not by choice. If only I had pushed the General harder for inclusion in the mission.”

“Time is the most elusive of all the Aspects of Reality. Since the Tome was never employed by Anantika and Aimin, those rare few who could affect Time barely managed to unlock a tiny fraction of all its potential. Not even Manifolders like Julibar or Chiranjeev possessed the ability to roll back the wheel of time. As I said, give it another few years. In the meantime, concentrate on your own mission.” A slight pause followed. “Anything I can help you with in that regard?”

“More information is always useful,” Mainak began, wondering how much to reveal, and how much Rabi was already aware of.

“Especially about your peers? Or superior?”

“Let us say, for the sake of argument, it is the latter. For instance, an enigmatic Ranger who, acceding to the wishes of the Deeshayer, has come out of retirement in order to undertake a mission of some import.”

Instantly, Rabi’s mood grew serious. “Enigmatic, huh?” He stroked his beard, eyes on the infinite expanse above them. A firmament filled with glittering stars stared back at him, promising mystery and mystique. “Only Ranger who comes to mind when I hear that word is a man named Jeevanil.”

Despite his best efforts, Mainak failed to withhold the surprise from his face. “Hypothetically speaking, if my superior is this Jeevanil fellow, what would your suggestion be?”

“All the rumors I heard seem to indicate he is both an extremely talented Maestro and a highly effective leader.”

“But?” prompted Mainak.

“He voluntarily accepted retirement after the last mission, which was over two centuries ago. Supposedly, his mind….is not what it used to be. Some manner of ailment, perhaps. He is far older than he looks. Must be approaching six hundred by now.”

The man had looked no older than five-hundred only a week ago. But then again, those with purer bloodlines could live up to a century longer than an average aditaru. “You have met him?”

“Once. Maybe sixty years ago. Interestingly, he said something that puzzled me to such an extent that even to this day I recall it vividly.”

“What did he say?” asked Mainak as the lift ground to a halt.

As always, after exiting the elevator at the top Platform of Akash-Nandan, Mainak was instantly struck by a combined sense of bone-numbing cold and mind-numbing wonderment.

In front of him, covering three-quarters of the surface area of the Platform was the largest Glider Station in Maharanya where gliders from nearby Vines landed before heading out to distant northern and eastern parts. Shading his eyes against the glare of the twinsuns using his right palm, Mainak peered at the elegant wooden constructs that defied gravity with the help of imagination.

Stonehornish ingenuity and human resourcefulness, combined with aditarun craftsmanship and guile. Three races working together – at times grudgingly, most times unknowingly – had produced nothing short of a miracle. A means of communication that rivaled the mysterious stonehornish beacons, but worked everywhere inside Maharanya. An excellent option for Groves that lacked Teleportation Hubs, which sadly characterized the majority of Groves.

Taking a narrow lane to the left, the two of them hurried towards Rabi’s unofficial residence. Even with layer upon layer of woolen cloaks, the relentless cold was starting to take hold of Mainak’s body and Crown.

After leaving the sparse crowd behind, Rabi’s deep voice answered, “He said true friendships can transcend generations, last across lifetimes.”

Heart thundering like the clouds beneath him, Mainak was suddenly glad his otherwise perceptive friend lacked the ability to sense kernel signatures. “Lifetimes?”

“Precisely what I asked myself when I first heard it,” said Rabi. “Not many aditarus subscribe to that school of thought. At least, not anymore.”

“Did he elaborate on that?”

“No. Only replied upon asking that the meaning would become apparent to the right person at the right time. You two should get along just fine, in case he happens to be your superior, that is. Both of you are oddballs,” Rabi finished with a laugh, blessedly unaware of Mainak’s worries.

Could it be that his secret was known to one more person than he had feared?

He would need to watch his words around Jeevanil, who Mainak felt was more than he seemed. Far more.

“Tell me everything you can about that encounter.”