Divinity followed Fahon everywhere without command. The Caster was curious about its surroundings, always studying the world around it. Inside the Drakk Palace gymnasium, it zipped around, scanning the various training equipment with its red laser lines.

Fahon had finished his morning run and typical workouts. The past few days, he practiced Phase-crafting objects of various shapes and sizes. It wasn't hard, only took focus and visualization. Of course, taking a moment to visualize during a fight was a different story. Instinct ruled a warrior's life. They had to hone their skills until they became second nature.

He had been summoning weapons and shields during fighting drills to counter the disadvantage. All the art classes and novels he read in the Academy helped him develop an instinct for imagination. He shaped imagery and intention within his mind at a moment's notice.

Confident with Phase-crafting, today he wanted to try practicing a new ability. It was called Phase-jumping. Detecting Fahon's intent to get to work, Divinity cruised back over to him to be within range.

In his mind's eye, Fahon imagined Phasematter pooling beneath his feet and compressing until it exploded with a concussive blue flash. The sudden force propelled him into the air in a tall arc, and he tumbled like a ragdoll. The ground met his shoulder, and he somersaulted to break the fall, grunting as he elbowed himself in the ribs. Lazed, he shrugged off the pain and climbed to his feet.

Six unfortunate accidents later, he reviewed footage, fetching his comm and pulling a tourney vid from the Repository. Reviewing two experienced Bonded using the ability would help him break it down step by step.

Phase-jumping happened fast, and he slowed the footage, watching frame by frame. It took a few vids to find one where he could see it happen from the right angle. Satisfied he understood the ability better, he stepped onto the mat for another try.

This time he leaped straight, like a rocket off a launch pad. Excitement rushed through him; this was a much better attempt. As he reached the jump's apex, nearly smashing his skull on the ceiling, a terrifying thought crept over him.

He had to contend with gravity.

Falling, he visualized another burst of Phasematter beneath him. It slowed his fall, but he didn't land on his feet. Instead, he smacked his face onto the sparring mat. The air escaped his lungs with a wheeze.

Despite the crash landing, he counted the jump a success. Three attempts and nearly a broken ankle later, he managed to land stable on his toes, beaming with a proud smile.

Battered and exhausted from all the activities, he took a shower and walked. Refreshed, he strolled along the tall black iron fence enveloping the palace. Divinity bobbed along, matching the pace perfectly above his left shoulder.

Reaching the eastern wing of the palace, which faced Whitestone, a tempting idea popped into his head. It took him a moment to swallow his fear, and he went for it.

Phase-jumping, he landed on the roof's slope, overshooting his intended target by a half meter. His left foot slipped, nearly sending him tumbling off. He wobbled back and forth like a pendulum, carefully regaining his footing by swinging both arms to even out his weight distribution.

Too much acceleration this time. I must control it better if I want to stick my landings.

Stabilized, he stepped carefully along the roof's peak towards the far edge, plopping down and letting his feet dangle off the side.

Enjoying the red skies and gleaming city sprawling out before him, a half hour had passed without him realizing.

His pocket vibrated, startling him. Pulling out his comm, he flipped it open, and the interface displayed a message from his cousin Arik.

Hey. I'm back in Whitestone. Let's meet.

Fahon tapped a reply. I can't. Busy.

Your initiation is tomorrow. I heard it on a newscast. Stop training and come see me.

Fahon's choice to join the Warrior Sect was public knowledge. He had seen the news broadcasts on the Repository. People treated his choice like controversy. Most workers and scholars feared there would be a return to Ophan being warlike. The bad press had kept his father busy as he assuaged the fears of his followers. Meanwhile, the Warrior Sect celebrated a return to tradition, his initiation a portent of traditional leadership to come.

He replied: Fine.

The truth was he hadn't seen Arik for a couple of years. And he was exhausted from training. A break would do him some good. Arik sent the location of a restaurant in the South Market District. Fahon returned his comm to his pocket and dropped off the front of the roof, braking in the air with blue bursts, allowing him to glide down to his feet.

It would have been graceful, only he misjudged the final burst and fell flat onto his face...again. Groaning, he rolled over onto his back.

I need more practice before jumping off buildings.

---

Fahon reclined in the seat as the white sedan pulled out of Drakk Palace's front gates, driven automatically by a cybermind. Divinity sat on the seat beside him, idle instead of floating. The window was cracked, and a cool breeze ruffled his dark hair. The Twins blazed above, their rubescent rays warming him through the open moon roof.

He watched the scenery out the window. The afternoon sky was cloudless. The Promise's parent planet Haven peeked at the horizon; he could see it out the front window. The subtle arc of the gas giant churned with stormy yellow clouds.

Drakk Palace, his home, sat among the forested hills on the outskirts of Whitestone. On the other surrounding mounts, mansions and villas grew like shelves of barnacles along switchbacks. Below, a grid of streets occupied the valley. The two halves of Whitestone were divided by a winding blue river. The river meandered through downtown until it suddenly dumped into a long finger of a glassy lake.

It took a half-hour to reach South Market District. Dropping off the highway, his ride turned onto the narrower city streets. Vehicles moved in an orderly flow, navigating to their destinations with the precision afforded only by automation.

South Market District was a popular area for commerce. Steady streams of pedestrians moved along the sidewalks, some stopping and gawking at the window displays or chatting in small groups. Most wore the colorful, varied outfits of the Worker Sect. He did see a handful of scholars in flowing blue robes and a smattering of warriors with their crisp charcoal uniforms.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

The vehicle was found parking a block away from the restaurant. The door slid back, and Fahon stepped out onto the sidewalk. His Caster whirred to life from his palm and spiraled beside him. The city gleamed in the light of the Twins, a sea of white-bricked buildings. He squinted, eyes adjusting.

Smoothing his uniform, strolled towards the restaurant. He passed citizens, and they stopped to bow or avoiding him entirely once they realized who he was. The hostess of the restaurant smiled when he entered. He spotted Arik's unruly mop of red hair over the top of a booth in the back.

"I'm meeting my cousin," Fahon said and smiled as he slipped past her. She stumbled back when the cobalt-shelled orb of Divinity scanned her with its red laser lines. The restaurant quieted. The patrons whispered about his presence. A few whipped out their comms and snapped images of Fahon as he strolled past. He found it disrespectful but wasn't about to reprimand people in public. If recorded, such a display would stir up even controversy about him.

This was why he barely went out. He cringed at how people acted when they saw him. Even if they didn't know he was the Inheritor, they would recognize a Knight when they saw one. Having a Caster didn't make things any better for anonymity.

Arik was tackling his lunch when Fahon sat down. Ever a man of style, the man went for couture. He wore a ruffled bright cyan tunic with long baggy sleeves down to his hands. A shirt like that cost a small fortune but helped him blend in among the wealthier citizens.

Arik plunged into a massive slab of beef steak with a fork and knife. After chewing on a chunk, he quaffed his beer and peered at Fahon from behind the rim of the glass.

"Little cousin," he said. "Your uniform fits you well. Ah, Grandfather's Caster." He pointed his fork at the cobalt orb, which was still scanning people around the room. "The broadcasts are true; you're Warrior Sect. Bet your father threw a fit."

Fahon scoffed at the remark. "He did. But at least I chose a Sect."

Arik sawed his steak. "Hey! Being Sect-less has its advantages. I don't have anyone telling me what to do."

"You consider poverty to be an advantage?"

"Look at me." Arik pointed to his doughy body. "Do I look impoverished to you?"

"I see. The Free States have been treating you well then."

"You should consider moving there. The winters are warm, and the summers beautiful. The women…Oh, the women down there, Fahon!" Arik plopped a sizable chunk of steak into his mouth and chomped enthusiastically.

"Everyone there is technically Worker Sect. They criticize our Sect system. Even though they're practically indentured slaves to mega-corporations and the Syndicate."

"Your father isn't about to croak anytime soon. You have one life to live. Why not live it? Because soon as you become Sovereign, freedom is gone. Your life becomes about everyone else, no matter your sect."

"I have a civic duty to serve as a member of a Great House. I can't just leave."

"Suit yourself." Arik shrugged and took a sip of his beer. "Anyways, the Knight's Tourney is next week. I thought about staying for it. Will you be fighting?"

Fahon nodded. Was it even a question? "Tell me, Arik, what brings you back all sudden?"

Both noticed the waitress heading in their direction. She froze upon noticing Divinity floating over to her, eyes wide. Few people had seen a Caster, let alone been this close to one. She reached out to touch it, and the orb dodged away, resting beside Fahon.

Arik downed the rest of his beer in a single gulp and held out the glass for a refill. She took it and asked if Fahon wanted anything. He ordered a faux plant-based meatloaf topped with spicy gravy and roasted red tomatoes.

She left, and Arik spoke again, "Why can't I visit with family?"

Fahon snorted. "Uncle Etrik wouldn't let you through the front door."

"True," Arik said and swallowed another slab of meat. "I know your pain. My father is also disappointed in me for not taking a scholar's robe. He doesn't call or message me. And my mother is the opposite. She won't stop pestering me to come home and choose a sect."

"You should have picked the Worker Sect. At least you wouldn't have hurt the name of House Drakk."

"Hurt the name of House Drakk? No one wants to acknowledge the Sect-less. It was all hush-hush when I left for the Free States. Look at you, cousin. You shirked the robes for the uniform and are all over the broadcasts."

The waitress returned with the bean salad and Arik's beer. Fahon shoveled a piece of the meatloaf into his mouth, chewing it. He was hungrier than he thought. The meatloaf was alright, a little bland. The master chef at Drakk Palace cooked a better one. Comparing a local restaurant cook to a world-renowned chef was not fair.

"I'm here on business actually." Arik proudly puffed his chest. "I've been working on some speculative investments,"

Speculative investments?

Fahon raised an eyebrow. "You're…talking about gambling, aren't you?"

Arik speared a potato with his fork and pointed it at Fahon. "Gambling is such a negative word. It's the first time I found something that genuinely excites me. I've had a few profitable win streaks." He plopped the potato in his mouth and closed his eyes to savor it as he chewed.

"You swiped ten thousand marks out of the House stipend before you ditched us. Tell me you at least have that much and will pay it back."

Arik swallowed. "Our parents take huge sums out all the time for their political parties, galas, and conferences."

"Arik, our House's money comes from taxes. It is our allowance as a Great House; all Houses have one. We earn our money by serving as leaders and public servants. You can't take from it without contributing to society, or it reeks of corruption."

Arik winced. "Fine…you sound like my father. I'll pay it back with double interest since it's such a big deal."

"Would be a start. Maybe your father would let you come home then."

Arik changed the subject to the Promise League tourney scene. Both followed the fights since they were kids. The clashes of Phasematter were an inspiring sight for impressionable youths.

It was a shame Argent Knights were barred by his father from participation. They would have easily dominated. Instead, they only held one tourney amongst each other every year, the Knight's Tourney. Fahon was excited to participate, as it had been one of his dreams since childhood.

The Promise League's current champion was Rorik Scarl of the Crimson Guard from Scarleon. And he dominated the ranks, undefeated for years. Arik had apparently seen him fight in person in the city of Zele. Fahon never had the chance to see Promise League matches in person. He couldn't leave the country on a whim like his cousin. Doing so would be costly, as he would need to bring a retinue of guards and staff members. It just wasn't worth it. He somewhat envied his cousin's freedom to do whatever he wanted.

Arik covered the meal, and Fahon paid the tip, tossing a few bills on the table.

They stepped outside, and Arik patted his stomach. "I'm stuffed."

"You practically ate a whole cow."

Walking at a casual pace, they rounded the corner to the street where Fahon parked his sedan.

Arik froze in his tracks. Two men stood in front of the vehicle with arms crossed. They wore bright outfits, like most Worker Sect people, but their muscular bodies and tattoos told a different origin story.

Arik ducked back around the corner. "Blast it. The slimes saw me…I have to get out of here."

Fahon tapped his Bond-sense, looking all around him at once. Two sinister men prowled behind them, looking to surround and cut off any route of escape.

Thugs.

Arik, without any heads up, bolted across the street into traffic. A white van came to a screeching stop mere feet away and honked a warning as he scrambled past.

Fahon sighed and followed.

Arik wasn't fast. Fahon caught up quickly, trotting along beside him. Two thugs behind jogged, keeping on their tails.

"Who are these men?" Fahon asked.

"Some guys I owe money to. Told them I'd pay them back. They're getting impatient."

Fahon groaned as Arik cut down an alleyway. His cousin's fancy shoes caused him to slip, and he nearly took a spill onto the asphalt. The alley smelled like rotting garbage, with dozens of bags stacked for the weekly pickup. The path was narrow, and they had to maneuver around stacked plastic boxes, bins, and barrels.

An overweight man wearing a grease-stained apron leaned beside a restaurant's side door, puffing on a vaporizer. He cursed as the fleeing duo nearly plowed into him.

Arik burst out of the alley into a farm market. The area was crowded with shoppers. Stalls and stands displayed heaping piles of fresh fruits and vegetables. The market was set in a small square surrounded by low white brick walls. Three paths led into the stuffed market and a half dozen alleys. They could escape in any direction.

He heard the sizzling of food cooking on a flattop grill. A spicy aroma replaced the repulsive stench from before.

Arik shoved his way through the shoppers in desperation.

Fahon tugged Arik's shirt. "This way."

He guided them down another cramped alley. They emerged out onto a less busy street. On the other side was a large park shaded by trees. Arik, out of breath, slowed at the nearest intersection. He tapped a foot impatiently as they waited for the signal to cross rather than getting crushed by a car.

"Did we lose them?"

Fahon glanced over a shoulder. "I don't know. I don't see anyone."

Once across, they both vanished down a flagstone path.

A tingle went down his spine. Divinity was warning him through the Bond, urging him to look up.

After a deep breath, he engaged his Bond-sense, taking in his surroundings. Two tiny bird-sized seeker-drones hovered above the trees, following them. With sharpened hearing, he could make quiet humming of their multi-rotor engines.

Fahon pointed to the sky. "Seeker-drones."