He waited for her at the gate, but she did not come.

The bell tolled, and the students in the courtyard streamed into the golden hall in their purple gowns. Isaiah Issacson followed them without a word.

The Aarata Academy of Advanced Automaton was a prestigious college jointly run by the Asmers and the Aegis World Council, for the alien migrants whose life span far exceeded ordinary humans. The courses offered at the academy would have taken a decade to complete, which was not long for many of the aliens, but not many humans wanted to spent ten years on a degree. Only the most gifted and dedicated ones could hope to compete; Isaiah, a 23-year-old human, had managed to finish his studies in five years.

He was the third to do so and the first of his kind, yet the sense of achievement had eluded him, even when the headmaster handed over his degree.

“I expect great things from you, Isaiah,” said Lu Funnox in Ledin, the official language of the Leiten Federation.

“Thank you, sir,” Isaiah replied in kind.

He had mastered Ledin in his spare time while others relied on Translation Devices that were unreliable.

A loud applause filled the hall, but his world was silent. A profound emptiness was eating at him. For five years he had sacrificed all his time to attain this prestigious plaque of silver, and yet he was the only person in the ceremony whose family did not come.

He never expected his father to show up, but he had hoped to see his mother at least. Now he knew it was foolish of him to cling to hope.

“The nerves of her,” his friend Jesus had told him privately. “She was the one who wanted you to attend a fancy boarding school, remember?”

Isaiah exited the stage light and returned to his seat.

A human named Damien Dresden patted him on the shoulder, but he barely felt it. Did he select the wrong degree? If he had studied medicine or law, would she attend his graduation?

He pondered to himself, wondering where he went wrong.

The rest of the ceremony was over in a blink of an eye.

Outside the hall, Isaiah stood atop the marble stairs, watching the guests embracing the graduates, posing and celebrating the beginning of a new chapter.

Jesus was busy photo-bombing the others, poking his Afro into the frame, flashing his teeth and making weird faces.

“Sai!” Damien called out from the crowd. “Take a photo with us!”

Isaiah could see the young man’s parents behind him, dressed in a formal suit and dress.

He approached the family and shook hands with them.

Mr. Hubert Dresden was the CFO of Cerberus Technology, the largest interstellar weapon manufacturer for mankind. Mrs. Karla Dresden was a scientist from the University of Newton. The Dresden family moved to Aegis to join their son after he was accepted into Aarata.

Despite Damien being the closest thing to a friend, Isaiah could not bring himself to know him better.

They might as well be aliens from two different planets.

“My boy told me you’re a genius,” Mr.Dresden smiled warmly. “I’m something of a genius myself, but I must say, your accomplishment is quite astounding, especially for an Orian-“

“Honey!” Mrs. Dresden gasped, turning to Isaiah with a look of apology. Even Damien looked somewhat embarrassed.

“What did I say?” the old man asked, glancing at his family.

“Especially for an Orian? You’re hopeless, Dad.”

“I was complimenting him!”

“Forgive him, my dear. My husband hasn’t taken a single sensitivity training in his life,” said Mrs. Dresden.

“It’s alright. No offence taken,” Isaiah smiled.

Before their settlement on Newton and Aegis, mankind had been drifting in space for a period known as the Empty Voyage.

The humans of the First Fleet consisted of three core ethnicities:

Laryan, Orian, and Athion.

The Laryans had pale pinkish skin and colourful irises. The Orians were dark as onyx, with strong wire-like hair and chiselled jaws. The Athions had eyes like small daggers and a natural tan.

And though they were human, the difference in their features was enough reason for tension and conflicts.

The Laryan flagships were larger and more advanced; the Orians and Athion flagships were small, numerous and in shamble. No one knew how this came to be, but multiple schism broke out between the ethnicities and colourism soon became ingrained in human society.

The frictions persisted even after the Concord when the Exalted Races helped mankind settle on Newton.

Many humans of colour migrated to a nearby planet now known as Aegis. From time to time, civil war would break out between the two planets until the Pristinians, their overlords, intervened.

In recent years, lawful discrimination on both planets has ceased to exist, and most people on Newton called themselves Newtonian regardless of their skin colour, and yet stereotypes and prejudices never fully went away, and no amount of sensitivity training helped.

Mr Dresden was gracious enough to apologize to Isaiah as he guided him toward a shiny Hover Car outside the gate.

“A Vapour, Dad? Isn’t that too sporty for a old man?”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Hey, I’m still young at heart!”

The Dresden insisted Isaiah join them for dinner and urged him into their car. The hover engine whirled, and the car lifted off the ground, soaring towards a restaurant downtown that served Spirit food, a style of cuisine named after an Orian flagship. Mr. Dresden insisted on making up for his mistake earlier, and Isaiah did not have the heart to tell him he preferred a good burger. He was happy to celebrate this day with someone.

The restaurant was on the corner of Esteem Street. It was small and unassuming, with antique furnishings and a full Orian staff.

The waitress smiled oddly when she saw Isaiah trailing the Dresdens.

She seated them by the window and handed them the menu.

“I’d like to order the honeysuckle ribs. Do you use authentic meat?” said Mr. Dresden.

“Most meats are lab-spliced these days, but our veggies are organic,” said the waitress. “I recommend the fried beans and cheese.”

“I’ll have the fried bean and cheese, then."

Mrs. Dresden ordered a mock-fin soup and cheesy rice and passed the menu to Damien, who asked for the honeysuckle ribs with fries. The waitress jotted their orders into her ultra pad and turned to Isaiah.

Her manner of speech changed, and she was speaking to him in slang.

“Ya orderin’ or are ya just gonna sit there lookin’ cute?”

“I’ll have the rib as well, but hold the fries. Thank you.”

He handed her the menu, and she paused for a beat.

“Your food will be with you shortly. Anything to drink?” she said, reverting her mannerisms; Isaiah was sure he had offended her.

No doubt the waitress had expected him to speak slang, and Isaiah never learned how to do it properly.

He once lived in the Upper West with her mother until she remarried a man from Newton. She asked him to move in with his father and, due to his upbringing, the Orian kids at school often called him Uncle Sam - a famous Orian slave who preferred the company of their oppressors - and mocked him for ‘sounding Laryan.’

Isaiah never bothered learning slang after that.

As the Dresden family discussed their future and their upcoming family trip, the space between them seemed to expand.

“So this is what a favourite child looks like when he’s grown up,” he thought to himself.

Damien had fostered lasting friendships with many aliens during his time at Aarata. Even though it had taken him eleven years to complete his degree, Damien had a fulfilling college life.

Isaiah was the opposite. He was quiet and aloof and preferred to work than to socialize. This alienated him from his peers, who were already aliens from other worlds to begin with. Whenever he tried asking girls out on a date, he would always get cold feet remembering the time he was called a creep during high school for no reason at all. Sometimes Isaiah wondered if he had been born with some kind of defect.

He listened to the idle chatter as he drifted further and further away until the food arrived. The fried beans and cheese sizzled in a cast-iron pot. The Honeysuckle ribs were coated with a crispy layer of sugar, with rich marrows leaking from the bones.

Sensing the envious gaze of Mr Dresden, Isaiah offered to exchange their dish. The man shook his head, insisting he had made his bed.

“So,” Mr Dresden said while they ate. “What’s your plan for the future, Isaiah?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve always wanted to do something beneficial for mankind.”

“In that case, why not work for us? ”

Damien laughed. “I’m not sure working for Cerberus counts, Dad.”

“Oh, please. Do you have any idea what we’re doing for humanity? Our weapon systems are improving faster than any other civilization in the sector, and our power armour can rival even ones from the Feds-“

“And still nowhere near as good as the Pristinian.”

“No one can produce anything close to what the Pris are building. They don’t call them half-machine gods for no reason.”

“That’s my point. The Pristinians are responsible for the safety of the entire sector. Why would we ever need better weapon systems? Are we expecting another Civil War?”

“We’re not only making weapons and armours and missiles, you know. We’ve built plenty of service robots for old people and our scientists have been working on a new project with the Pris-“

Mr. Dresden caught himself mid-sentence.

“Sorry. It’s a confidential project.”

“That’s okay. I haven’t got enough work experience for a corporation like Cerberus, but I appreciate the offer. Thank you, sir,” said Isaiah kindly.

He had decided long ago to never build his fortune on the suffering of others. Mankind had suffered enough from the weapons they built.

“If you ever change your mind,” said Mr. Dresden said, giving Isaiah his business card. He then pulled out a key card and presented it to his son.

It was the key to the shiny Vapour outside.

“You were right, son. The car is too sporty for me.”

Damien tightened his brows, as if unsure what was happening.

Isaiah urged him to accept the present. “You deserve it,” he said, twisting his face into a mechanical smile.

Realization sank in, and the young man stood to embrace his father. His mother rose to her feet too and pulled her son into a fierce hug. The smile on Isaiah’s face curdled like milk.

A yearning churned in his chest, and he had to remind himself this was a celebration for Damien.

Nobody was there for him.

They left the restaurant after Mr Dresden paid the bill.

Damien offered to drive him home and, not wanting his affluent friend to see the state of his apartment building, Isaiah insisted on walking.

“I have to return some digital slate,” he lied and thanked the Dresdens for their kindness. The Vapour took off and disappeared beyond the skyscrapers, the turbulence shifting his robe violently.

The sky seemed darker in the neon glow of Melancora, and the streets felt emptier without traffic.

Isaiah did not want to go home.

Home was a small apartment in Saleem he shared with his father before attending Aarata. Home was full of spits and stains and the insults of an elderly man whose mind meandered between past, present, and imagination.

Isaiah was used to his father’s temper, but tonight, the idea of entertaining his craziness filled him with dread. He took a turn at an alleyway and wandered until he happened across a group of transients in a park. There were five or six of them gathered around a metal bin, warming themselves over their makeshift bonfire, their eyes glazed over from a glass pipe they shared. Isaiah approached them with a friendly smile, only to be shooed away like a stray cat.

“Piss off, Sam,” one of them spat.

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’ hafta. I know a Sam when I see one.”

The rest of them burst into laughter.

Isaiah retreated to the narrow gap between the buildings, leaning against a giant graffiti.

When he lived with his Laryan mother in the Upper West, his dark skin made him an outcast. When he lived in Saleem, his accent alienated him. When he attended Aarata, he was an alien among aliens.

Now, he could not even fit in with the homeless.

Isaiah tore off his ceremonial robe and tossed it into the rusty dumpster. He then pulled out a cigarette and torch lighter from his pocket and lit the stick, savouring the taste of the first draw, staring at the dumpster full of trash and reeking of booze.

A strange urge stirred within his chest as a familiar voice rang out from the darkness.

“A perfect night for a little fire.”

Isaiah turned his head and saw an afro and a row of pearl-white teeth. It was his friend Jesus. “Did you know? Our people used to set fire to dumpsters abroad the Spirit. The crew would catch them and beat them half to death, but they kept doing it when the reactor lights were off.”

“It can’t be helped. They were slaves until Teagan’s rebellion and lived in shoddy quarters. It would have been very cold."

"There are plenty of ways to keep warm without a fire."

Isaiah paused to consider his answer. "They must have thought the old God had abandoned them. Perhaps they wanted their God to see them in all that dark. ”

“Do you think the old God is with you now?”

“The Pristinians are real,” he said. “They protected us and gave us technology beyond our wildest dreams. The old God is nothing but a figment of human imagination.”

“Everything you see in reality was once a figment of imagination. Just because they exist in your head, it does not mean they aren’t real or could never be. Maybe our imagination is the realm of God.”

“He has never existed in mine.”

“Perhaps he has abandoned you.”

After some deliberation, Isaiah took out Mr Dresden’s business card and set it ablaze with his torch lighter. He dropped the burning paper into the dumpster. The fire rose slowly, its orange tendrils licking the air. He leaned back and watched the flame grow until a wall of fire appeared. The sense of achievement missing from his graduation now filled his being.

It was the start of many fires.

By the time anyone noticed, Isaiah was already gone.