King Tallerion looked back at his guards, then dismissed them with a wave. “Please, leave us. If she turned on me, there would be little you could do—and I’m certain her presence alone is greater protection than what you can offer.”
The guards all bowed respectfully, then marched back to the edge of the terrace. When they stopped, they all stomped, their boots clacking against the marble.
“If you are willing, Mediator, I would appreciate it if you walked with me.” He stepped down to her level, then tapped her shoulder and whispered, “You can stand. I won’t execute you for a mild breach of decorum—though, from what I’ve heard, it wouldn’t be right of me to expect that you know the customs.”
“Uh…thank you, your majesty.” Vayra stood up, brushing off her pants. “Good…morning? Afternoon?”
“It’s just past noon.” He began to walk towards the garden, and he motioned with his hand for her to follow.
She wasn’t sure how old he was, but he had to be in his fifties. He moved faster than she had expected, but she kept pace with him easily.
“Your majesty, would it be wrong to…ask why I’m here?” Vayra inquired once she caught up with him.
The garden was surrounded by a wall of hedges. Inside, it was a maze of decorative ponds, fountains, and beds of exotic flowers and pots. A paved walkway wound through it.
As soon as they took a few steps into the garden, King Tallerion said, “I am sorry to summon you on such short notice, but…you are currently the most powerful person in the galaxy.”
“Currently?”
King Tallerion exhaled sharply. “I should rephrase. You will become the most powerful person. You’re…a very important person to us. And, I hate to be so blunt about it, but I’m not entirely sure where your loyalties lie.”
Vayra stopped walking. Her mouth fell open for a second, but the king kept walking. After a second, she ran to catch up. “My loyalties?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t know how to respond. For a few moments, they walked through the garden, their boots crunching on the loose stones scattered across the path. Finally, Vayra said, “Sir—or, your majesty—I was born in Velaydia.”
“Though my briefings were brief, they detailed where you came from.” He paused in front of a fountain that shot out a spout of Stream water. “I am not blind to the plights of people like you—you were a Discarded, correct?”
“Well, yes, but…I don’t hate the Kingdom for it.” She tried leaning on a statue, but it wobbled precariously. She let out a soft yelp, then stepped away. “I’m here to defeat Karmion, and do my duty as Mediator. I want this war to end.”
The King began to walk again. “Forgive me, then,” he said. “I am tired, and it isn’t the kind of tiredness that sleep can fix. I fought in many battles when I was a prince, second to the throne, without a care in the world, and I can feel it catching up to me. Not today, not tomorrow, but in a few years…and I don’t want the galaxy’s memory of me to be the man who placed his trust in the wrong people.”
Vayra’s face softened. “I’ve got no ill will against you, sir.”
“I suppose you have no love for us, either?”
She hesitated, debating on how to answer. She decided that honesty was the best path. “No, I can’t say that I do.”
‘Our commitment is balance,’ Phasoné said inside Vayra’s mind. ‘The Mediator shouldn’t have allegiances to Velaydia or the Elderworlds. Our job is to make sure the God-heirs aren’t able to push their influence beyond limits.’
Vayra repeated to the king what Phasoné said.
“I spent the better part of a decade as a military commander, fighting to maintain the Line of Battle against Karmion’s relentless attacks,” the king said. “I’m afraid that everything we’ve fought to save will be swept away in the coming years. Karmion is preparing for a push. What happens when he grows impatient, and comes to raze the battlefield with his immense power? What happens if he starts sweeping the table? He has God-heirs devoted to him, who he could turn into Ko-Ganall—unleashing terror all across the galaxy. Will you come to our aid then?”
Vayra bit her lip, then tilted her head. There had to be a reason Karmion hadn’t attacked yet, not personally.
‘There are few who know the terrifying, true power of the Gods anymore,’ Phasoné said. ‘You didn’t, until you became the Mediator.’
Vayra hadn’t…
‘I know.’ The Goddess paused, then explained, ‘Karmion wants people to love him—he might be able to rule the galaxy with a heavy hand, washing away dissidents with the swish of a finger, but what’s the purpose of building a galaxy-spanning empire if you can’t convince the people you rule to love you? At least, that’s what he always said.’
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Vayra told the King, “The best way I can help you is to defeat God-heirs who fight for Karmion. When the time comes, when I’m strong enough, I’ll defeat him.”
“Then it seems our interests are aligned,” King Tallerion said. “You are here to train with the Order of Balance, correct?”
“I am.”
“May I suggest an instructor?”
“You can.”
“I was once great friends with Elder Olrannd, before I took the throne,” King Tallerion said. “She is an elf, skilled in many forms of combat, and I believe she has managed a second ascension.”
“An…ascension?” Vayra asked. Was there a God-heir currently working with the Order of Balance?
‘With dedication and continual effort, a being with a Fair Spirit Potential may pass through a stage of magic or two before they die,’ said Phasoné. ‘Most creatures have no Spirit Potential, and some (and mostly magical races) have Fair Spirit Potential—they can’t cultivate Arcara well, but they can a little. God-heirs, and us, have Rife Spirit Potential.’
Vayra nodded slowly.
‘Most members of the Order have Fair Spirits.’
“I’ll definitely consider your advice, sir,” Vayra said. “Do you happen to know which Elder is most knowledgeable in Arcara cycling techniques?” Not that she didn’t want to learn from one of the most skilled elders, but she had a bottleneck to push through.
“That would be Elder Yaryn,” he told her. “He is an expert at Arcara formations and movements.”
“Thank you.”
“And, Mediator,” he said. “The Order may not tell you about him, but if nothing works, you may wish to inquire about Nathariel Hayden Layre.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Layre is an ally, though the Order and him have vastly different methods. But he is powerful, and he may be able to help you. And he hates God-heirs.”
“I’ll remember the name.”
“That’s all, then,” the King said. “You are dismissed, and you may leave whenever you please.” He chuckled softly to himself. “As though someone like me could stop you if I wanted to…” He stopped, and turned to face her with a somber expression.
“Thank you,” Vayra told him, hoping it might raise his spirits a little. “I’ll do my best to learn.”
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The Order of Balance Temple was located outside the administration district. It was an enormous cathedral-shaped structure that rose out of a vast, empty plaza. A promenade ran up to its entrance, flanked by enormous columns—each with a statue on top.
Civilians milled about around the plaza, but there were no carriages, despite its size. Vayra, Gheita, Pels, and the disciple had to walk towards the temple on foot.
Gheita pointed up at one of the Temple’s upper wings, where an open-air garden waited. As they got closer, Vayra could faintly see the distant forms of people swinging weapons. “That’s where the majority of our martial training happens,” said Gheita. She pointed down to another wing of the temple. “There’s the library—a shoddy alternative to the Mascant Archives, but it does its job.”
“Was the Temple always here?” Vayra asked. She looked over her shoulder, at the now-distant mountain of the administrative district. If the winter palace hadn’t been the original…
“It was once a small outpost, a millennium ago, when this world was still a colony,” Gheita explained. “The Order set up many temples all across the galaxy, but this is the only one that remains, now.”
As they approached the entrance, Vayra tilted her head up to look at the rose window above the gates. Its blocky, stained glass medium depicted the vague shape of a man in an Order of Balance coat. He held a sword ahead of him.
They walked up the stairs in front of the temple, dodging a cluster of disciples who walked in the opposite direction. A few of them stopped and bowed to Gheita, but the others didn’t seem to notice. Gheita chuckled, then whispered, “They’re only disciples, and none of them as formal as Glade.”
Vayra rolled her lips inward, then, trying not to sound too eager, asked, “Where would Glade be, right now?”
‘Not too eager, huh?’ Phasoné teased.
Her too?
‘If I have to hear your thoughts, then I get to tease you about them.’
“Then I get to keep calling you Glitter Princess…” Vayra whispered.
Elder Gheita cast her a worried look. Pels said, “She does that from time to time. Has conversations with that starry Goddess in her head—and when I phrase it like that, she sounds rather insane.”
“Sorry…” Vayra muttered.
“Chances are, Glade will be training with the others,” Gheita said. “He was growing quite skilled with his sparring. He went toe-to-toe with Elder Olrannd and almost won. Not to mention, he’s getting close to managing to cycle Arcara, even if it’s just a glimmer that his low Spirit Potential can manage.”
Vayra nodded. She supposed that was a big step for someone with Fair Spirit Potential.
They passed through the gate and entered the temple’s main hall. It was airy and spacious, and its wings were lined with pillars. A loft ran around the edge of the hall, perhaps a hundred feet above the main floor, and hallways branched out from it.
All around, Vayra spotted Order of Balance members going about their daily business. Each one of them carried a sword at their hip, and each one of them was…supposedly dedicated to helping her.
She felt completely insignificant and helpless inside such a place. The help they could provide her wouldn’t be enough to fix this issue.
“Elder Gheita?” Vayra asked. “I’d appreciate it if we could find a teacher for me sooner than later.” Hopefully, that would help her push the feelings away, but she somehow doubted that. “That way, we can get everything going as soon as possible.”
“Of course, Vayra.”
They reached the end of the hall and passed a central statue, at least ten times the height of a human. At its feet was a pool of iridescent Stream water. Some of it flowed through miniature channels in the floor, racing towards the edge of the hall. As they passed the statue, a pair of red-faced, panting disciples dumped large pails of Stream water into the pool.
A staircase spiralled around the statue, climbing towards the second level. Gheita set a foot on it, then looked back and said, “We’ll head to the sparring gardens, and you can search for a teacher there.”