14 Years Ago…

The Grand Shrine of Ethea was a sight built to astonish. The dome that contained it was ten stories tall, constructed of interlocking gold, bronze, and metallic teal plates. From the outside, they looked almost like Perelor imagined the scales of the stardrake from his father’s story. The dome was held up by a building made of gleaming granite, with swirling marble pillars inlaid into the structure, framing hundreds of stained glass windows. The building itself was in turn framed by a courtyard several times its size, full of ferns and flowers and fountains and people. And statues. Hundreds of them, more detailed than any others Perelor had seen, depicting scenes from events as long gone as the Fall of Meridian and as recent as Perelor’s father’s battles against the Talar.

As they strode into the courtyard, Perelor couldn’t help but notice his father stiffening as they passed the statues depicting the more recent war. His father had led the Etheans against the Talar, joining with Herreon armies and pushing the enemy back, but he spoke little of those days. Some speculated it was because he didn’t want to offend Jadis Larsh, the new Talar leader, who hadn’t yet started any wars, and was, in fact, opening trade lines with several systems. Others said it was because he didn’t want to give Daridin Ryth, the leader of Artensia, any support in his own conquests.

Perelor, though, didn’t think any of them were right. The way his father tensed whenever the war came up, the way he always isolated himself after conversations surrounding it, and the amount he leaned on Yaenke to make decisions about the military told Perelor a different story — his father had despised fighting. He’d done it, because it had been necessary, but the pain remained. Post-traumatic stress, his sister called it. Eliel claimed it had gotten even worse when their mother had died, though Perelor had little memory of those times.

They drew eyes as they got closer to the building. Some of it was the usual attention the family got during a Naming, people nodding and bowing to Perelor’s father, who would officially bestow Eliel the Name they together had agreed on. Some of it, though, came from the hateful eyes of the more orthodox members of the Church, who still regularly complained at Rion’s appointment to High Minister of Foreign Affairs. Though Perelor’s father did not meet the gaze of his detractors, Perelor made certain to shoot them glares as he passed. Okron, he wished he could get some of those fat old Voidlings in a dueling ring…

They arrived at the doorway, where two guards, one male, one female, stood dressed in heavy steel armor. It was incredibly impractical; even the cheapest suits used a titanium-steel alloy these days. But then, it wasn’t designed to be practical. The armor was painted navy blue, with silver trim, and had dozens of runes inscribed in various spots on the shoulders, chest, and legs. Supposedly, it was of a style from long before even Meridian, when mankind had lived on one planet, and had just barely begun traversing the stars. Perelor had trouble believing that. How could mankind have even survived without more than one world? Even nations like Ethea depended on imports for food, and that was after Ancient Meridian had heavily terraformed their planet.

Rion nodded to the guards, and they stepped inside, to a dome-shaped dressing room, the floor covered in ornate tile, the walls made of solid granite. Perelor’s sister Eliel waited in that room, clad in a long, white, silk dress that looked almost like the wedding gowns worn on Artensia, though blue stripes along her waist made it distinguishable from those. Her white hair was done up in a bun, teal, gold, and bronze jewels inlaid into it. She smiled as their father approached, hugging him.

“You’re late,” she said.

“You can blame Perelor for that,” Rion chuckled. “It’s a sword day at his school.”

“Ah. We wouldn’t ever want Perelor to miss out on a chance to stab someone.”

Perelor folded his arms. “Hey! We’re not that late. The ceremony’s still going to start on time, right?”

Eliel pulled herself away from Rion. “As long as you don’t slap the priest.”

Perelor snorted. “If I do, he deserves it.”

“I’m sure he will.” Eliel inspected Perelor. “No suit,” she noted.

“I came straight from practice. Haven’t had a chance to change yet.” He wrinkled his nose. “Besides, those uniforms are… uncomfortable.”

“Military uniforms aren’t meant to be comfortable, son,” his father said. “They’re meant to keep you alive. Besides, you’d best get used to wearing them, if you’re still planning on taking the Calling of the Protector.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Perelor sighed. He frowned. “You never told me what Calling you were going to take, El.” The Naming, in addition to being a religious ceremony that initiated one into adulthood, was also when most teens declared their Calling, which would determine their educational path from then on. Unlike the Name Eliel would be granted, the Calling decision could be changed, but it was still a big part of the ceremony.

Eliel’s smile fell. “You’ll see,” she whispered.

Perelor frowned. “Is everything alright?”

“You’ll see,” she repeated.

“El, if you need help deciding…”

His father rested his hand on Perelor’s shoulder. “Not now,” he said. “There’ll be time to discuss things later.”

Perelor turned, frowning, but as he met his father’s weary eyes, he nodded. If his father knew what was going on, then it was best to let him handle it.

A knock came at the door, which had closed behind them. Perelor’s father’s expression grew grim. “Let them in,” he shouted.

The door opened, and two men entered. The first was Captain E’vin Yaenke, head of the Governor’s Guard and one of the leaders of Ethea’s military training program. He gave Perelor a curt nod as he entered; recently Yaenke had begun giving Perelor sword lessons to prepare him for his own Naming, which would happen in a year and half. He was dressed in a crisp Ethean military uniform.

The man beside him was not, at least, not a crisp one, the top button of his carbon fiber shirt was unbound, revealing a hairy chest beneath. He had a beard, or at least, a scraggly attempt at one, and he hadn’t even bothered to dye his hair white today. Still, Perelor knew not to underestimate the man. Dromidius Scant didn’t care for Ethean traditions, but he was more intelligent than anyone Perelor knew, except maybe his father.

“So,” Dromidius said. “Today’s the day then?” He unclasped a vial from his belt, full of murky white liquid: an Adrellian shot. It wasn’t a drug, or at least it didn’t muddle one’s mind, though Dromidius used it so often Perelor wondered if it had become an addiction.

“It is,” Perelor’s father said.

Yaenke pursed his lips. “I still do not think this is a good idea, Rion. I will support you, of course, if you persist, but I will not pretend that I agree with your logic.”

“I am aware of your objections,” Perelor’s father noted.

Eliel cleared her throat. “We don’t really have time for more debate.”

“Girl’s right. Decision’s made,” Dromidius said. “No use discussing things until after it’s done.”

Perelor’s frown deepened. “Again, what are you talking about?”

Perelor’s father hesitated, then cringed. “Sear it. I should have told you earlier.”

Yaenke cleared his throat. “You made the right choice, Rion. He will find out soon enough.”

Perelor’s father looked at him, face conflicted, then back at Yaenke, then sighed. “I don’t know if you’re right, but it is too late now.”

“Dad?” Perelor pressed. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“If I explain now, you’ll end up even more confused,” Rion said. “I’m sorry, I should have told you earlier. But Dromidius is right. We only have a few minutes before the Naming starts, and we won’t have a better opportunity than today.” He straightened. “We will talk later, son, I promise. For now, go get dressed and sit down. Everything will be clear in a few minutes.”

Perelor paused, glancing between the faces of the others in the room. Dromidius, for once, looked serious. His father had fear on his face, an emotion Perelor couldn’t remember ever seeing there. Yaenke, as always, looked grim, though even he was more intense today. Eliel had her eyes closed, and she was muttering to herself.

What in Torment?

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He wanted to keep questioning them, but, whatever they were hiding, they were right about one thing: the ceremony was only a few minutes away. Collecting himself, he nodded.

“Alright. We’ll talk later.”

He exited out the other side of the room to go change.

***

For once, Perelor was grateful for the itchy uniform. It kept him from thinking too hard about the strange conversation he’d stood through earlier. Their words had been so vague that he didn’t have any clue what they could be talking about, though their tones had clearly shown that, whatever it was, it was important. There was also the ominous story — and warning — his father had given him as they’d driven here. Combine it all, and the itch was a welcome distraction from his racing veins.

The room for the Naming was small; though Rion had a high enough profile in Ethean society that this event would be televised, there were hundreds of Namings this temple would have to perform today, so only a few were allowed to attend in person. Only a few of those were from the Krot family, instead, most of the audience members were political figures. Perelor spotted the High Minister of Trade, the current High Minister of the Militia, and the High Minister of Law Enforcement among them. All men who hated his father. In fact, Perelor only spotted a few people here who didn’t hate his father, Yaenke and Dromidius notably among them. Perelor couldn’t help but notice that the Guard Captain’s eyes were continually fixed on him, narrow and annoyed. For reasons Perelor didn’t understand, Yaenke had always disliked him, even if the swordsman had proved an excellent teacher.

At the head of the room, in front of the pews where the watching crowd sat, an altar waited in between three massive statues of swords — one for Okron, goddess of courage, one for Etheri, goddess of mercy, and one for Vertras, god of wisdom.

A priest from the Church of Meridian stood in front of the altar, reciting scripture from the Book of Eternity — or maybe it was the Book of Ever or the Book of Purity. Sear it if Perelor cared. He’d been droning on for a solid thirty minutes now. Even the more orthodox among the politicians had begun shifting uncomfortably, bored out of their mind. They couldn’t do this all the time, could they? Must have something to do with this Naming being televised.

Rion and Eliel stood behind the priest, waiting. A shawl rested on the altar, one that had the Krot family name embroidered onto it, along with a host of other runes Perelor didn’t recognize. Eliel herself had sewn that shawl, just as Perelor would when his time came. That particular aspect of the ceremony was not something he looked forward to; sear him if he had to spend hours on sewing of all things.

His sister did seem nervous. In fact, though Perelor had noticed his father lean in and whisper to her multiple times throughout the priest’s speech, she only seemed more nervous after he did. Her hands shook, not enough that the rest of the crowd could tell, but enough that Perelor certainly could. He tensed. Now would not be a good time for an episode — not that Eliel could control those.

Eventually - finally - the priest stopped his blabbering, and started into the actual ceremony.

“We are gathered here today,” he said, “to herald Eliel Krot as an adult among the Ethean branch of our religion. As all from your nation are, she will be given a Calling, to guide her actions, and, most importantly, a Name, to guide her very being.” He nodded to Perelor’s father. “Rion Krot, you have been selected as her Bestower. You may now grant her her Tapestry, and announce her Calling.”

Eliel paled, but stepped forward, closing her eyes, then opening them a moment later. Perelor’s father grabbed the shawl, then hesitated, for a long time. Long enough that it actually drew whispers from the audience.

Eventually, though, Rion’s expression steeled and he placed the shawl on Eliel’s shoulder’s. “Eliel Krot,” he said, “chooses the Calling of the Protector!”

This earned a few murmurs from the crowd, and Perelor, too, frowned. The Calling of the Protector? That, of all things? Eliel sometimes wished she could fight, but he’d always thought that was just her trying to prove she could function despite her Soulcurse; Eliel was far too timid a soul to ever hold a sword. Plus, she had so many other talents. She excelled in academics, she sculpted bronze for fun, and she got along incredibly well with everyone around her. Being a protector was probably the only thing she couldn’t do well.

The murmurs died down, though, and Perelor relaxed. Eliel had chosen this Calling herself, and one’s Calling was changeable. Things would work out.

Perelor’s father stepped to the center of the three massive stone swords, and Eliel followed. They turned to face each other. Eliel was shaking violently. Was she sure her Soulcurse wasn’t affecting her today? His father gave her a reassuring smile, though, strangely, his face had tension in it too. He turned, raising his voice as he addressed the crowd, Eliel kneeling in front of him.

“The day has come for the Naming of Eliel Krot,” he said. “She is my daughter. I have known her all her life, and loved her just as long, and she has chosen me as her Bestower.

“This Name shall guide you through your life. It shall be your compass, till the day of the Silver Dawn, when all evil shall be vanquished. Know it deeply, and cherish it.”

He turned and met Eliel’s eyes again, and paused for a long moment. Then he raised his voice even louder.

“Eliel Krot, I name you Erak’assala, Endowed by the Powers. Rise, Erak’assala!”

There was silence. Deathly, utter silence. Then an instant of realization, as people took in what had just been said. The Governor’s face grew white. Captain Yaenke closed his eyes with an expression of resignation. Dromidius smiled broadly. People all around Perelor moved from impassive to shocked and angry and joyful.

Then the shouts began.

“The day has come! Our savior is here at last!”

“Your family is Unworthy! How dare you!”

“Six times! Six times mankind has tried this! Would you lead us astray again?”

And on and on and on. Perelor’s muscles locked, his grip now tight on the armrests of his seat, his expression frozen in disbelief.

Eliel thought she was the Endowed? And his father agreed with her? He must be dreaming. This had to be a dream, one of the nightmares he got sometimes, where Oblivion would appear out of nowhere. Those were strangely vivid now and then.

But the shouting just kept going, people standing, people kneeling, people stumbling away, whispering the news as they went. The sounds slowly became more sharp to Perelor, the cushy fabric on the armrests suddenly growing distinctly uncomfortable. Somehow, he admitted, this was no fabrication from the Void.

As he realized that, he found himself unable to think. How did one face something like this? What would happen?

He only knew two things, he decided: first, that his entire life would be different, and second, that he had no idea what those differences would look like.

Some of the more angry audience members began rushing toward Eliel. The priest, eyes now wide, tried to hold them back, but they quickly shoved him aside.

Before they arrived, Eliel closed her eyes and raised her hand. For a sliver of a second, nothing happened. Then blue light exploded outward, intense, blinding, radiant. Perelor averted his gaze, but even the light’s reflection on the tile was glaring. He squinted, trembling. The crowd grew deathly quiet, the shouts of anger turning to whispers of disbelief.

“Memory burner,” a woman nearby Perelor breathed. “A powerful one.”

Those who had rushed toward Eliel stepped back, raising their hands in surrender. Rion, shielding his own eyes, stepped in front of Eliel.

“Dear,” he said, “would you mind showing them some Purity?”

Eliel nodded, and the blue light faded, though it was quickly replaced by an equally intense burst of white light. Perelor’s father smiled.

“She can do the Third Power, too,” he said, raising his voice, “but I think we’d all prefer it if she didn’t, yes?”

A few audience members mumbled their agreement. Eyes adjusting to the brightness, Perelor took in the crowd. The reactions were as diverse as they could be. Some wore faces creased with doubt, others had their mouths hanging open in awe, still others had grimly pursed lips, and many more appeared confused and afraid. The priest was one of the latter; he stood pressed against the wall, hands clenched tightly into fists, eyes wide, muttering to himself. Absently Perelor wondered how the rest of the Church would respond to this.

“I understand this is galaxy-shattering news to many of you,” Rion said. “All of you, I think.” He chuckled, though the laugh came out forced. “I also understand the historical context of your apprehension. Mankind has mistrusted six different people, and six different times we have paid the price. I assure you that neither I nor my daughter has any desire to lead the nations of the galaxy into a war we cannot win. I also assure you that, though my family line has been involved in unnecessary wars in the past, this has no bearing on my decision here.” His voice grew haunted. “I have experienced the horrors of wasteful conflicts myself. You may not trust me, but you can trust this: I will not let any life be lost without cause. In truth, I wish I was not called to bear this burden. But the signs of Eliel’s calling have become impossible to ignore.

“But back to you. You will have questions. What effect will this have on the government? What is my plan to meet the demands of the Testing? And many more. I do not have all the answers, but I will answer what I can. My daughter and I plan on being here until day’s end. Until then, ask what you will.”

He stepped back, and Eliel lowered her hand. Her glow faded, the room returning to its normal hues. For a precious few moments, there was silence.

Then the questions began, people swarming toward Eliel and Rion, speaking and stepping over each other. Perelor just sat, stunned, until some of the audience members realized that he was Rion’s son. Then, a smaller portion of them swarmed toward him, asking the same questions, their eyes frantic or angry or full of worship. Even as they swarmed him, he was still silent, the numbness of shock overtaking him. Finally, as hands shook him, he ran.

The crowd parted before him, still shouting their questions, but he clamped his hands over his ears, and continued onward, bursting out of the Shrine, racing into the courtyard, weaving between people who stared at him with confusion, not yet aware of what had transpired. He ran as far as he could, out of the gardens and into the streets, until, finally, in a back alley, he found himself alone, and he collapsed, laying down beside a wall, hands still clamped over his ears, for even the low thrum of hovercar traffic was too much.

He sat there for hours, with barely a thought crossing his mind. Hoping this had been a dream, even though he knew it wasn’t. Trying to think, but realizing every time that there was only one thing he actually knew.

His old life was gone. In its place was chaos.