Less than a bell later, just as the red giant Surya was about to dip below the horizon in a shower of bright vibrant iridescent red, Ray headed for his customary weekly rendezvous with Valkor.

As always during these clandestine meetings, he was on foot and had discarded the gray Cleric cloak signifying his status as a Power Cleric, and wore simple cotton pants and shirt. It would be inconvenient for both Valkor and himself if his true vocation became known. Especially so for Valkor.

As the Tenets of Allfather states, life of a human being, no matter how despicable he may be, is precious, though Ray had always found this to be the most…contradictory, no, most confusing of all the Tenets. His Heart understood it. His Crown didn’t.

At the intersection of Terans Street and Gumna Avenue, Ray stopped, casually taking a seat on a bench beside the road. It was a crowded part of the city, particularly at this time of the early evening when craftsmen, traders and low-ranking administrators returned home from their jobs. The Laughing Lion, a modest and not-too-popular inn, was located just opposite him, on the other side of Terans Street, at the dead-center of the Rift. It was in an affluent neighborhood, but not overly so, and also happened to be far from the Uni, two of the reasons why Ray had chosen this place.

Reasonably sure that he wasn’t being followed, Ray gingerly got to his feet. After only a couple of near-collisions with palanquins and rickshaws, he managed to cross the street, and following a final glance at his surroundings, entered the busier-than-usual inn.

If one doesn’t stand out physically or behaviorally, the best place for anonymity is in a crowd. With his medium height and build, chocolate-brown hair and light-brown skin-tone typical to most Arunians, and years of experience working as a covert operative in a foreign country, Ray blended in seamlessly with the patrons, most of whom were from lower-middle class background.

Locating the ramrod-thin Karim, he gave an almost imperceptible nod. In reply, the shrewd and discreet innkeeper gestured with his head, leading Ray to a private room on the second floor. Once inside the modestly furnished room, Ray surveyed it with his senses. Only after he was completely satisfied did he settle into one of the three chairs in the room to wait patiently.

Within a fraction of a bell, Karim returned with a bottle of Kanil and two glasses. “Anything else, sir?” he asked, voice dripping with subservience.

Although Karim had been paid handsomely, perhaps even extravagantly, for his discretion, it was the knowledge that Ray could snuff his life out with a thought which kept him submissive and loyal. If one could call that loyalty.

“No, thank you. If he’s here, send him in.”

Dressed in his usual worn workers’ clothes, Valkor entered soon thereafter. Giving Ray an amiable nod, he slouched in his chair, trying to give the appearance of nonchalance. He even succeeded. One of the reasons why he had been hired. Bearded, dirty, unkempt but excellent at his job, Valkor had come highly recommended.

“So, what do you have for me?” Ray saw no point in prolonging this meeting any longer than he absolutely had to.

“Your boy entered Cornier’s place, again. Spent the whole night. Left mid-morning.” He poured himself a glass of Kanil and gulped it down like ale. “Seems he’s become enamored of a young woman. Will know the name within the week.”

Ray grimaced. Waste of good wine. But the news was definitely promising.

“Keep watching him.”

“Will do.” Valkor nodded. “Must say, the old boy has stamina,” he said with a meaningful smirk, one Ray ignored.

Instead, he produced a leather purse from deep within his carefully camouflaged dimension bag, and threw it to Valkor, who caught it, bounced it on his palm to judge the weight, then opened it to make sure all ten gold coins as agreed were indeed there.

Ray had impressed upon Valkor early in their dealings that most of the gold was for his silence and discretion. Not an uncommon occurrence in the man’s line of work, but it never hurts to make sure.

“The wine’s all yours,” Ray said, wondering if he’d finally found a way to get leverage on Principal Power Cleric Jamal.

If not leverage, then perhaps one of Madame’s girls could be used to provide the distraction necessary for Compulsion. Compelling a Power Cleric as strong and skillful as Jamal would be nigh on impossible if he smells even a whiff of deceit. However, if he could be Compelled through another person’s physical contact, a person who Jamal trusted, then the probability of success would improve considerably. Of course, that person herself would need to be a Cleric with appropriate skills. Something for Medilam to worry about. He already was familiar with that particular household. Intimately.

It is best this way, Ray reminded himself on his way to his next destination after a quick change of wardrobe.

Night had long since enfolded the ancient capital of Gaia. Both the moons had risen, and both were close to full, providing enough illumination to even read by, a rare sight that occurred once every couple of months. Most of the gaslights and a few of the newer electric street-lamps were lit, but they seemed almost unnecessary.

As a woman and her ten-year-old daughter passed Ray, his gaze lingered on the two. Even though he had done many despicable things in his life and would do more such things in the future, it would be worth it. It would all be worth it.

The end goal was noble, as the High Priest had told him that day. It would mean conquering a heathen country without any significant bloodshed. The Tenets would replace the blasphemous Lore and the Om nonsense. The Day of Reckoning was near, a day that would usher in an era of enlightenment and unity for the whole continent, eventually the whole world.

Ray didn’t know how his mission would contribute to that goal, but he understood knowledge should be compartmentalized, lest capture of one single individual reveal everything to the enemy. Someday, when that goal is achieved, and humans are, once again, all unified under Aimin, and the aditarus have been eradicated, he would be able to explain to his friends at the University, a place where he has spent more than half his life, why he betrayed them.

But betray them he must.

Ray shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate on the present and hailed a hand-pulled rickshaw, heading for the powercar depot just outside the city. He was scheduled to be the Power Cleric on charging duty today.

About half a mile outside the city limits, located in a sparsely inhabited neighborhood, the depot was a daunting structure. Consisting of several interconnected buildings, most of them used for storage, processing, and maintenance of the power charging boxes, it sprawled across almost an acre of land. A relatively smaller portion of the compound handled traffic. The depot also acted as the place of initial admittance for prospective Material and Power Clerics. With only one University in a country as vast as Arunia, the charging depots played a vital role in recruiting potential Novices. Most large cities and even some smaller ones had a depot in the outskirts.

Like all Master Clerics, Ray had been required to spend five years in the field, most of it in the city of Fukril, the capital of Northern Satrap, on the shores of the Boundless Sea. A nostalgic smile spread across his face. Those were days of relatively few worries. He didn’t have to worry about having to kill his fellow Masters in their sleep, or sleep lightly himself fearing they might do the same.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

After entering, Ray signed in at the duty roster at the guard desk in the entrance foyer and hastened toward the charging room, or the ‘Ice Room’, as the mechanics called it. He found Kirsten, the mechanic on duty, waiting anxiously for him in the anteroom. After giving the man a greeting nod, Ray quickly donned a tiger-skin cloak from the small cupboard near the back wall.

One of the most competent mechanics Ray ever had the good fortune to work with, Kirsten was short, lean and didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. Looking at his perpetually scowling face, one could be forgiven for thinking him absolutely devoid of any humor whatsoever.

At first glance, he appeared to be deep in thought, wrestling with some problem known only to him. And he usually was. After working with him for close to a decade, Ray had learned not to ask. If it mattered, Kirsten would ask for help himself.

“This shouldn’t take too long,” he said to Kirsten.

“Yes, Master,” replied the mechanic without seeming to break his line of thought.

Thankfully, today Ray was in good physical condition, having done almost no active Energy Manipulation. He disliked charging duty on days when he either needed to or was required to perform a great deal of Manipulation. It left his Crown and kernel signature vulnerable to reading. But with only four or so Power Cleric Masters in Jivanpur at any given time – those that were active and lucid, that is – it was an unavoidable by-product of the law introduced by the First Emperor, Arun. This way the Clerics would be seen by the public as being beneficial to society. Healers were also required to provide assistance in numerous Royal Hospices or Healing Halls throughout the country. Similar services were required of Builders, Artificers, Alchemists, even Sigilmasters like his good friend, Spencer.

Personally, Ray thought the Clerics should be doing even more, especially in war proceedings. One must always use the Gift of Allfather to the fullest possible extent.

The main chamber was an immense room one story below ground. It needed to be large so that more heat could be gathered, else there was a distinct possibility that the Cleric would die of hypothermia, as the heat being directed into the charging rods needed to come from the surroundings. And the surroundings included the Cleric’s own body. There was no isolated system in the Cosmos, as Spence was fond of saying.

At the center of the stone floor, on one of the three tables in the room, he found the storage box and three black rods, each about four feet tall, with a diameter of two digits. Sitting down in a chair and taking one of the rods in his hands, Ray made himself comfortable, an easy enough task with the plush chair, built on his recommendations by Huntwig.

He then closed his eyes, letting his essence senses drift.

Glowing pinprick orange embers of light floated everywhere around him, caressing his skin, stroking his hair, even entering through the nose. Ray willed them to gather around and within him, then mentally directed it into the strange rod through the Palm Chakra of his gloved right hand. Ice formed on the floor beside his feet, gradually spreading outward in a fractal pattern, extending right to the edge of the vast room. His breath started to fog.

After a while, a loud beep sounded and a soft green light could be seen at one end of the rod.

Remarkable creations, even if it required the help of heathens to manufacture.

After finishing all three rods, Ray promptly put them in the specially designed box, made from a dark glossy ceramic substance, again built by the stonehorns, to entrap the heat within the rods.

Exiting the chamber, he handed Kirsten the box, took off the stuffy cloak and headed for the study of the on-duty Cleric.

As soon as Ray entered the room, located in the western part of the massive complex, he knew something was amiss. Gavin, the Guard captain who acted as the supervisor for the three potential Novices in residence, was pacing the floor with his distinctive hobbled gait.

Ray sank into the chair behind the large oak desk. Feeling the inevitable effects of Manipulating a large amount of Energy, he quickly poured himself a glass of lager. Then, hoping to divert Gavin’s attention from his infirmity, Ray cleared his throat. “Lager?”

“No, thank you.” Gavin could barely contain his anxiety, but remained silent. He knew better than to interrupt Ray after a charging session.

After slowly drinking half the lager, Ray could feel strength returning to his muscles. Also, his Crown no longer felt sluggish.

“Problems?”

“Yes, Master. You could say that.”

“I did say that.” Ray didn’t bother to hide his disdain. “Who? Jovan?”

At eighteen, he still hadn’t experienced the Second Awakening. Of the three potential Novices living here, he was by far the oldest, and as such, represented the biggest risk.

Gavin gave a dejected nod. “I have even tried starvation.”

Ray gave the Guard captain an irritated glance. “That was ill-advised. If he is too weak to move, how is he going to Manipulate Energy? A small portion of the Energy comes from the Manipulator. Surely you must know this.”

Gavin, who had been assigned this task for over two months, looked suitably chastised. “I did,” he lied. Even in that, he was utterly inept. “But since nothing else worked…”

Ray wondered how he had managed to land this relatively easy assignment. The most likely cause, of course, was politics. The man was a living breathing testament to the drawbacks of nepotism. He didn’t seem to possess much of a brain in that egg-shaped head of his. Even his torso somehow reminded Ray of an egg. An egg on top of an egg. Not a pleasant picture.

“There are other methods we could try.” Methods frowned upon here in Arunia, deemed too extreme. But Ray knew from personal experience just how effective those methods could be.

And how traumatic. But he’d survived. So will Jovan.

Having decided on a course of action, Ray quickly finished the rest of the lager and got up, motioning for the captain to follow.

“The key to unlocking the Second Awakening, indeed both the Awakenings, is rage.”

He knew what he had planned would work, and since it wasn’t strictly prohibited, he decided to give it a try. Given his past opinions, opinions widely known in the Cleric circles, not trying would definitely raise suspicions. He had known one or two Power Cleric Masters, even here in Arunia, who had tried it in the past, with varying success. Ray would have to inform Jamal about it afterward though.

As the senior-most Power Clerics after Jamal, Ray was in charge of recruitment here at the depot. It was his duty to ensure all those who walk in here having experienced the First Awakening develop the ability to Manipulate Energy.

Some do. Rest die a violent death.

Most people become aware of their ability to Manipulate Energy at a young age – between six and thirteen – almost always by accidentally starting a fire in a fit of rage. It is called the First Awakening by the Cleric scholars. Thereafter, the Stomach Chakra remains in an opened yet dormant state, slowly accumulating kernel. It doesn’t necessarily imply the child is ready to become an Acolyte or Novice Power Cleric. Indeed, they can’t even consciously repeat the feat until a similar event occurs, usually when they are into their teens, called the Second Awakening. Some, like Ray, experience the Second Awakening as early as age twelve, while in the case of others, it can take up to seven more years. There’s often a short dormant stage following the Second Awakening as well, lasting no more than a year.

But in one out of ten cases, the person may never experience the Second Awakening, even after exiting their teenage years.

They are ticking time-bombs.

After an unpredictable number of years, they blow themselves up, and anyone unfortunate enough to be near them. Since most of the said victims tend to be their loved ones, parents often bring their child soon after the First Awakening. A competent Cleric, of course, could sense the buildup of dangerous amounts of essence in the Stomach Chakra preceding such a tragic event, but for every Cleric there are over a million mundane individuals. As a result, to most, a dormant Stomach Chakra is more of a curse than a gift since even after going through all this trouble, Power Clerics are doomed to die young. Most don’t live past age forty-five, with a rare few clinging onto the breath of life for five more years. At thirty-five, Ray was still in the prime of his life. Also, as a precaution, he always kept his Energy Manipulation to a minimum.

After all, a Mind drunk on Power sooner or later finds Madness.

Ten years wasn’t long, but it’ll have to be long enough to accomplish his life’s goal. But then again, Power Madness can catch up to you rather quickly. Ray said a silent prayer to Allfather.

“Who are the two most brutal hand-to-hand fighters in your squad? Oh, and we’ll also require a healer. Not a Cleric though.”

“Sir?” Gavin asked, thoroughly confused.

“Best way to induce rage is through a fight. An unfair fight.”