Immanuel and Elio stood in the center of the room, engaged in a friendly spar. Immanuel, wielding a sword, matched Elio's swift claw strikes. The rhythmic clanging of metal echoed in the room until a knock at the door interrupted them.
“Yes?” Called Immanuel
The door opened slightly and a timid voice said, “the ceremony is about to begin.”
“Thanks.” Immanuel said while ignoring Elio's reaction, Immanuel adjusted his jacket, readying himself to leave. As they walked towards the elevator he said, “You know it is custom where I’m from to hold hands with friends.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Elio replied.
As they moved towards the elevator they joined the towering Viking Immanuel saw earlier when walking around in his bed sheet, his dual axes still on his back, and beside him, a lean man with slicked-back hair and a sharply defined chin. The man surveyed Immanuel disdainfully.
Upon the elevator's return, they stepped on the platform, without speaking a word. They exited, walked past the tree, following the crowd to another staircase and a swift elevator ascent.
The elevator took them to a nexus where multiple elevators brought passengers. Advancing, they reached the topmost level, just beneath the partially open blue dome. It was here that Immanuel caught sight of the dozen-plus moons, arresting his attention completely. "What in the world," he murmured to himself in disbelief standing still in the middle of the double doors. "You alright?" inquired Elio.
The rest of their group continued forward, ignoring them. "There are moons in the sky," Immanuel observed. "This is the Festival of the Moons," Elio replied, as if it explained everything. "But where have they been until now?" Elio chuckled lightly at the inquiry, already moving away. "What an odd question," he mused. "I'll fetch us some drinks. Don't just stand there like a lost Panja," he added, glancing back with a playful smirk.
Immanuel remained rooted, his gaze locked on the celestial display. A woman coming from the elevators walked up beside him, her eyes briefly aligning with his skyward view. Noticing her presence, Immanuel turned to meet her gaze. "Are they speaking to you? Are you the prophet?" she teased, a playful lilt in her voice, her demeanor radiating jest. Her beauty was striking, her features as if chiselled from marble. In her presence, Immanuel found himself momentarily speechless. "I... No, they don't speak. I just... I had completely forgotten about them," he managed to stammer out. Her brow furrowed slightly at that. "With all the training and everything," he added hastily. "Not without its results, evidently," she quipped before she gracefully drifted away to join a nearby group.
Elio returned, a drink for him in hand. "Damn, I need that," Immanuel muttered, eagerly accepting it. He took several deep gulps, his eyes alternating between the mesmerizing moons above and the captivating woman in the crowd. "Come, I want to see the city from up here," He began to stride towards the balcony, beckoning Elio to follow.
The city lay sprawled in splendor before them, the distant sea shimmering at the horizon. A river snaked through the urban expanse. "It's colossal," Immanuel breathed out, his hand resting on the balcony railing as he took in the view, his breaths deep and deliberate. He stood in silence, trying to absorb the enormity of it all. "So many overwhelming events... I wish I could just take a few months off."
"Off? What do you mean?" Elio asked, puzzled.
"To reflect, to think things through. It's been an unending cycle: running, training, having my mind blown, almost dying. I need time to process everything," Immanuel explained, his voice tinged with weariness.
"What's there to process? You mean more meditation? Consolidating your insights? You shouldn't ignore this aspect of your training," Elio advised.
Immanuel turned to Elio, feeling a pang of loneliness at being so profoundly misconstrued by his only friend.
The vibrant crowd, an amalgamation of color and elegance, began to shift their attention towards a raised platform. On this platform stood five figures, each adorned with a crown. Among them, Immanuel recognized Eren Danued, the man that interrogated him, and Valas Neer, the woman who had greeted him upon awakening earlier. Dominating the center stage was an older man, presumably Prima Danued. He looked older than the others but stood stately.
Prima Danued was dressed in a flowing silver toga, lending him an air of ancient nobility. His crown was the same as the other four, embellished with blue horns that arched skyward, but noticeably taller than those of his companions.
Another figure on the platform caught Immanuel's attention: a woman, smaller in stature than her counterparts. Her brown hair and eyes, along with a distinctly hawkish nose, lent her an approachable air. There was something inherently maternal about her, even in her silent stance.
Beside her stood a man with fiery red hair, reminiscent of a Viking's robust build. He was large and imposing, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with an aire like he was about to challenge everyone to a duel.
The assembly gathered before the elevated platform, all under the vast expanse of the open dome. Above them, the moons shone brilliantly, casting a celestial glow over the scene. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, every eye fixed on the figures standing regally on the platform. Immanuel, feeling the weight of the moment, cautiously surveyed his surroundings. He noted how each person stood still, maintaining a respectful distance from one another.
Then, breaking the silence, Prima Danued began to speak:
"As I gazed upon the grandeur of Saiana, our bountiful cradle of life, a spectacle of nature unfolded before my eyes. A Volto, a creature of stealth and cunning, engaged in a fierce battle with a Marn. I stood, captivated by this display of raw power, a stark inversion of the natural hierarchy. Yet, it was not the victory itself that held my gaze, but the purpose behind it. I followed the victorious Volto, only to discover its noble intent. There, amidst the relentless forces of wind and rain, it guarded a nest, a symbol of life. In that moment, I understood the paradox: a destroyer turned protector, a guardian in the guise of a predator.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
With my hands wide, embracing the celestial dance of the moons above, I proclaim the turning of our cycle. The year of the disciple, a time of learning and growth, has drawn to a close. Now, the heavens align for the year of the warrior, a period destined for our expansion and fortitude through the crucible of battle.
For longer than the span of my own life, we have been locked in a relentless struggle against the sects. Their corruption, like a disease, has begun to taint the purity of our Aerolith, our beloved homeland. In this solemn moment, we bow our heads in memory of Dusto Ann and Meato Boarstan, whose sacrifices will not be forgotten. Let us close our eyes in reverence, as I raise my hand towards the moons, seeking their guidance.”
With his eyes closed, Prima Danued arched his neck gracefully, basking in the moonlight that bathed the platform in a silvery glow. The gathered crowd watched in respectful silence. Time seemed to pause, the only movement the gentle play of moonlight on Prima's dignified features.
After a moment Prima reopened his eyes, casting a sweeping gaze over the assembly. “As we embark upon this new year, a year destined for combat and strength, let us recall the blessings the year of the disciple has bestowed upon us. I acknowledge Mans Maai for his breakthrough to stage six, a feat of remarkable discipline. I recognize Ala Man Sa as a protégé of the blue dome, the first to harness the black flame in ten generations.”
He then looked straight at Immanuel
“Immanuel Goldfist, I recognize you as a protégé of the blue dome. Once adrift and lost, he emerged from the depths of the great Saiana, transformed and renewed. His past may be a forgotten echo, but in its place, he has carved a place within this family.”
As Prima Danued's voice rose, resonant and clear, it cut through the hushed atmosphere, sending a wave of palpable energy across the crowd. Immanuel felt a surge of goosebumps ripple across his skin.
“The year of the warrior!' Let this be our rallying cry, a chorus that echoes our unyielding spirit. As we cheer, let the very heavens bear witness to our resolve."
As Prima Danued concluded his speech, the crowd erupted into enthusiastic cheers. The air was filled with the resounding chorus of "The year of the warrior! The year of the warrior!" Immanuel, caught up in the fervor of the moment, added his voice to the multitude, shouting with all his might, "The year of the warrior!"
The five dignitaries on the platform remained in place for a few more moments, allowing the energy of the crowd's cheers to wash over them. As they eventually stepped off the platform, the crowd's cheering gradually subsided and Elio grabbed Immanuel’s shoulder with a look of religious conviction on his face.
"Officially a protégé now, huh? That's good. Very good."
"Thanks. But, uh, what does it mean exactly?" Immanuel inquired, somewhat uncertain. Around them, the crowd began to mingle, approaching others to offer congratulations. They circulated around Elio and Immanuel, leaving them in a small bubble of space. Elio's lips curled into a sly, dark smile.
"It means you'll have access to more resources, personal training," Elio explained, his smile still in place.
Immanuel, slightly puzzled by Elio's expression, asked him, "why are you smiling like that?" While they walked towards a waitress carrying drinks
Before Elio could respond, Immanuel approached the waitress, a young girl with a charming, round nose. "Hey, sorry to bother you," he said politely as he picked up two drinks from her tray. The girl gave a small bow, balancing the plate of drinks skillfully.
"Could you get me a pipe and something to smoke?" Immanuel asked.
"Yes, certainly," she replied with another bow, her eyes briefly betraying her surprise at the request. She then hurried off, as if embarking on the most crucial task of the evening.
Turning back to Elio, Immanuel handed him one of the drinks. Elio's enigmatic smile persisted. Immanuel, feeling a bit out of the loop, decided to change the subject. "Where do the moons come from?" he asked.
“Why are you still-” Elio started to say when Prima Danued joined them. "What an interesting question," he commented, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Elio froze, while Immanuel offered a cautious smile.
"Why do you ask?" Prima continued. Immanuel's perspective shifted making him the epicentre of the world.
Immanuel, overwhelmed, started to blur everything out again. "I just wonder... if they orbit this planet, why haven’t I seen them before? This planet must be immense, or the moons follow an unusual path. Is their light intrinsic, or merely a reflection of the suns?"
Mid-sentence, Immanuel took a hasty drink to give himself a moment's pause.
"Some moons emit their own light; others reflect the light of the suns," Prima replied with a gentle smile. "What do you mean by 'this planet'?" he probed further.
Immanuel continued like a river bursting its banks, "There must be countless planets. Can't we see other planets in the night sky? Space itself seems infinite, without end. What happens at the very edge of everything? What if you reached it and, say, poked a staff through its boundary?"
He forced his drink again to his lips to stop talking, also closing his eyes for a moment. Opening his eyes he saw clear amusement on Prima’s face.
"I came to acknowledge the significance of your gift of armor. It's a valuable addition to the family. As a newly recognized protégé, a gift from me is also warranted. I'll take my leave now; I'm aware of the impact my presence can have. We shall resume this discussion later." With these parting words, Prima departed, and the immediate vicinity seemed to exhale, returning to its normal state.
"Fuck me," Immanuel said.
As they allowed a respectful pause following Prima's departure, Elio initiated movement, with Immanuel trailing behind.
"How strong are they, really? What stage?" Immanuel inquired, his curiosity piqued.
Elio scoffed lightly, "Pfft. Don't ask such questions." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice, "Some speculate stage ten, others say a hundred."
"There are a hundred stages?" Immanuel responded, his surprise evident.
"Why would it ever stop?" Elio retorted. "But, no one truly knows. And why would they?"
Their conversation meandered through topics of cultivation as they casually navigated the gathering, plucking drinks from passing waitresses. They delved deep into discussions, the moons tracing their arc across the sky until they vanished from sight.
As the night wore on, Immanuel's concerns shifted to a more mundane, yet pressing matter. He began to worry that his compromised state might prove dangerous taking the open elevator. The thought of being potentially crushed became more real, and somehow more exciting, as the night progressed.