FOR those of you who have just joined us, we are currently reporting on a coordinated terrorist attack at the Zone Nineteen sandwall. Nine olmet have been killed and their temples destroyed by a small group of powerful Mantled under the leadership of the bandit Kohr. The group identify themselves as ‘Earth Right’.

Members of the Executive Branch have been scrambled and are expected to arrive soon, but they may have difficulty tracking down the Earth Right terrorists—who have gone to ground using some kind of portal expression. It is understood that Kohr is not only an infamous bandit with a powerful destruction Mantle, but also a highly skilful olmet himself. It is suggested that he, and perhaps one other rogue olmet, briefly countered the seismic waves coming from the temples and were able to destroy them.

Their mission is unclear. Copies of their manifesto have been requisitioned and are now under a suppression notice by the Executive Branch for inciting violence and circulating manipulative propaganda. Please be advised that holding one is a criminal offence.

The television cut to alternating footage of large rubble and sand filled craters; people fleeing in barely ordered hoards; wall graffiti with the logo for Earth Right (a round, blue and green planet); Beatles doffing their caps and looking traumatised; Lumin crawling out of the collapsed pits of destroyed temples and falling immediately to waiting FR; Executive Branch zus in their loose, stylish suits standing on top of buildings or skidding to a stop in front of camera crews and raising a hand to slow the flood of questions.

There has been no further signs of attack on other temples in the zone. Citizens are being evacuated as we speak, and the nearby olmets have been reinforced with fire units and maicha teams, as well as those FR members that were able to scramble quickest. Fear is everywhere. Fear that Earth Right might return to kill again; fear that with nine olmets absent in such a critical area, right on the sandfall itself, the land could collapse at any time. We can only pray that- Oh-kay, excuse me, we’re getting reports… Yes, there is an attack on a tenth temple.

The screen cut away from the anchor woman to the shaky vantage of a news helicopter. The white cones of spotlights slid over the ground, briefly illuminating little portions of the midnight streets. They were empty—deserted or evacuated. More and more lights sprung to life from the air, presumably carried by zus, and illuminated a huge, sprawling temple. This was a far cry from the temple in which Mateo and Lia sat, leant against each other in their fold up chairs, sipping tepid tea. It was large and ornate, surrounded by a wide plaza. The walls, like rock-faces, flowed seamlessly into the street and nearby concrete. It looked like small, domed mountain. On the tip of the vast, sloping dome was a bronze needle, pricking the sky. Mateo squinted. The contour waves on the dome of the building were moving, flowing up and down, spasming. The voice returned, coming over the helicopter footage.

Okay folks. We’re looking at Sandfall Containment Outpost Delta, what you might know as the Grand Western Temple or the fourth Great Seal. It’s the main hub on the western rim for deep seismic maintenance activity, patroned by Chief Executive Rajore and under the personal protection of the Executive Branch. If Khor succeeds here, the structural security of the entire zone will be put at extreme risk.

A flash of bright orange fire appeared to one side of the temple. The camera cut closer. A short, modest looking man—well into his 60s, with a commanding, weathered look on his face and in his eyes—walked out of the flash of fire. He glanced in the direction of the camera, smiled warmly into it. Then he disappeared, winking out in another flash of fire.

The camera sped to find him and settled again. He was walking up the steps of the temple. A group of Beetles had been stationed in front of the doors. They jumped forward at the sight of him, opening their hands and venting fire. In the centre of the unit stood a tall, police issue maicha, a kind of mechanical bipedal monster with sharped claws for hands, holding a long hammer.

It charged forward. The small man flicked his hand and the rhata fire bloomed and then disappeared. The Beetles dropped to the floor, lifeless. Only the maicha persisted, charging forward at full speed. In the corner of the screen there briefly flashed the distinctive figure of an FR. Then a girl in a ragged trench coat tackled him and they flew out of frame.

The man, Kohr, grabbed something dangling around his neck and snapped it off, holding it above his head. Something appeared above him in the air, a flash of light and colour that formed into the spectre of a fiery eye. He opened his hand, the eye blinked and vanished.

The stride of the running maicha changed. Soon the machinery was visibly dripping, melting as the vadu lost all control of his machine. It collapsed into a puddle of liquid metal, popping and fizzing with light, then heating up and starting to glow. The vadu writhed and died and the short man waded through the sludge, unperturbed.

Kohr stopped before the doors, looked up and admired them. He seemed to contemplate something. Then he pulled back his arm and slammed it forward, as if he were knocking on the gates of heaven.

There was a huge rush of sound and a staticky fwump, as if the force of the strike had been negated by a similar, inverted force. A small smile appeared on Kohr’s lips. He looked impressed. Again he drew back his fist. The spectral eye appeared above him, brighter this time.

Around his neck, growing out of the air, appeared a scarf of liquid, melted metal, much like the puddle he stood in. It snapped in an invisible wind. Wearing his Mantle, the short man looked suddenly tall and terrible. This time as he swung his fist the eye screamed open, looking at the temple. This time, just before his fist ‘collided’ with the air to send the power forward, he stamped his foot. The stones around him rippled. The fwump sound came again, but different now—wrong, somehow. There was a vast, splitting sound. A crack appeared in the temple dome. It started to cave in. The smile on the Kohr’s face widened.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Please stop.”

When it came, the voice was soft, boyish. The camera cut. Standing at the bottom of the steps was a young man. He was of average build and height, with straight, blonde hair, neat and unstyled. He had the rosy cheeks of a summer child, and wide, trusting eyes. But he wore the plain, white, rough-spun shirt and pants of a noble Executive member, with a golden ring on his middle fingers, and around his neck he wore his Mantle. It was the only adornment he could ever need, made out of pure, glimmering gold. It appeared to swim and wriggle over itself, as if the individual fibres of the garment were alive and eager to touch their master and be near him. On his head rested a green laurel, slightly at a slant, and as Kohr turned to look at him, he adjusted it self-consciously with his finger tips. When Kohr saw who spoke, the colour left his face. His Mantle settled around his shoulders, and the puddle of metal at his feet started to cool.

“Isaac,” said Kohr, overly casual. “Am I really deserving of such special treatment?

“You are,” murmured the boy. It was very quiet. Mateo was amazed the camera team had picked it up.

“In mourning for your late mother, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Huh. Well you’re wearing the wrong colours.” Kohr snapped. He raised up a hand and his Mantle lengthened, squirming in excitement. “Of course Rajore would send his spawn. He fears the truth to much. But you are young and still weak. I will take you from him.”

Isaac didn’t respond. The camera went blank for a moment. When it returned, Isaac had moved slightly, pointing gently up at the sky. Both Isaac and Kohr stood in daylight. A small sun had appeared above the temple, filling the scene with light and confusing the night-adjusted cameras. In the centre, Isaac and Kohr fought.

The eye above Kohr’s head had disappeared, perhaps vanished by the sun. Isaac’s eyes had faded to midnight black. Kohr squinted. It seemed he could barely see. He sent jets of gushing, liquid magma at Isaac. Isaac drew geometric shapes in the air with his finger tip, leaving a trace of golden light. To this thin, golden filigree, thick gooey sunlight would bend and coalesce in an instant, reinforcing them, and the magma harmlessly pass around these shapes. Isaac carefully ascended the steps. Kohr stomped his foot and the step underneath Isaac melted, pulling him into the ground. Simultaneously, Kohr’s Mantle darted forward and slashed at Isaac. Isaac batted it away with the back of his hand, but not before it cut a thin line in his cheek.

The blonde boy touched his cheek in wonder, looking at the blood on his finger tip. Kohr didn’t let him rest. He sent a huge wave of magma down the stairs. Isaac stepped up, pulling his foot out of the stone step and shattering it, and his golden Mantle expanded like a shield in front of him. The magma spilled uselessly against it. When the Mantle shrunk, floating now behind Issac, he was holding a small prism in his hand.

Kohr saw it, started to run backwards, scrambling up the steps and then banging on the door like a child.

Isaac reached up with his other hand and a strand of sunlight from the artificial sun bent, flowing in a loop or stream, like water, passing through Isaac’s fingers and then into the prism. There was the sound of a detonation, small, controlled, but forceful. Kohr fell to the floor.

Dead.

Mateo looked around him. Rain had started to fall, a steady, soothing percussion on the roof of the temple. Everyone had been absorbed watching the TV. Now, as the news anchor started waffling on about how perfect and handsome Isaac Shordach was, the trance was broken.

Lia had fallen asleep on his shoulder. A small, shaven headed woman stood behind them. She explained quietly that it was still too dangerous to leave and gestured at a large pile of blankets and pillows stacked on some chairs to one side. People rubbed at their eyes, threw back their tea, and went to make themselves little beds in different corners of the room. The olmet on duty continued his reverie in the centre of the room, ignorant of the deaths his kind had suffered over in Zone Nineteen.

Mateo carried Lia into a corner, picking up a blanket and gently placing her on it. Then he went back and fetched several more and some pillows and built a nest. At some point Lia woke up and groggily joined him, folding up blankets to sleep on and arranging the cheap, stiff pillows against the wall so they wouldn’t hurt their necks. Then she lay down and Mateo lay down next to her and folded two thick blankets over on top of them. She yawned.

“Did I sleep?” asked Lia.

“Uhuh,” said Mateo.

“The rain is nice.”

“Yeah. It is. Did you catch any of the news?”

Lia shook her head. “Barely.” She yawned again.

“Another attack on the temples. Isaac Shordach showed up and flicked his wrist at the guy.”

“Oh,” said Lia, sleepily. “He’s handsome.” They cuddled closer under the blankets. Lia blinked up at him. She was silent for a long time, watching his face, thinking about something. Outside the sound of the rain grew louder and louder. Mateo stared up at the ceiling, at the undulating lines all along it, and waited for her to speak.

“I wanna break the rule.”

“What?” said Mateo, caught off guard.

“I wanna tell you something. About my life.” She paused, making her mind up. “About my dad,” she said.

Mateo shrugged underneath her. “Okay.” He said. “Tell me anything you like. I don’t mind. But don’t expect anything from me.”

Lia dug her hand under his shirt and lay it flat against his chest. It was cold. “My dad is sick,” she. “Like, really sick.”

“Oh,” said Mateo. He gathered his thoughts. “Wow. That sucks.” He paused. “I barely knew my dad.”

“Yeah, it sucks pretty bad.”

“I thought you were an orphan, to be honest.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I dunno why, but you have this strength. Well, and I guess this loneliness. I figured you’d brought yourself up, somehow.”

“Huh. No, I have a dad. He raised me, mostly, and no matter what else happened he always took care of me. And we always ate breakfast together, and he taught me how to cook, because he loved to cook, and. Anyway, he’s the best. Only now he’s sick.”

“What with?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Oh. Okay. For a long time?”

“For a while, yeah,” said Lia. “For a long time I guess, though it doesn’t feel like it.” She paused. “There’s a medicine.”

“Yeah?” said Mateo. He moved her body over slightly, so it was no longer crushing his hip. She continued to stare at him and talk, and Mateo continued to look up at the ceiling.

“But it’s really expensive,” she said.

“Right,” said Mateo. He wanted to say something that would help but he couldn’t think of what. “How badly can’t you afford it?” he asked.

“Real bad. Like no chance in hell bad. The medicine, it’s super rare and super expensive. Holder medicine, you know?”

“Ri-. Shit. Err, you could steal it?

“I can’t steal it. I’m not looking for solutions here, Mateo.

“Yeah. Okay. Well I’m so sorry Lia. Is there anything I can do? To help?”

“No. No, there’s nothing you can do. I just wanted to tell someone is all. I just wanted to say it out loud. Maybe it’s the rain.” She thought about it for a bit. “Yeah, the rain made me say it.”

“Yeah,” said Mateo. “That’s fair.” There was a long pause as they listened to the rain. It was so easy to speak beneath it. “I’m afraid I’m going to die.”

“What?!”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Lia dug her fingers into his side.

“I don’t know. I just, feel it coming I guess. My friend died recently. My best friend.”

“That guy you were with when we met?”

“Yeah, that guy. Prince.”

“Fuck. He’s dead?”

“Yeah.”

“And now you’re gunna die too?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, probably not. I just have this deep foreboding. A premonition, kind of. Prince slipped at the races. That’ll never happen to me cuz I never slip and I don’t even race. But maybe something else. I dunno. I just have this feeling.” He was repeating himself, so he figured he’d better shut up.

“Well,” said Lia, taking what he had to say completely in stride. “Thanks for sharing, Mateo.” She thought about things for a while. “Maybe we should put the rule back now? Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” He paused. “It was the rain,” he explained. “It was the rain that made me say it.”

“Yeah,” said Lia. “I know.”