Episode 4 | The Everlight Protocol

Pale moonlight spilled through the window overlooking the Hund Sea, which lulled against the shore in quiet laps as if to drink up the dancing shards of light. Each wave hissed and hummed, drowning out the revelry that shook the floorboards above the cellar. Blessed peace at last, before the teeth of panic were to sink into Cystirin, shatter its unseeing eyes and bleed it of its false illusions.

Hael traced the rim of his glass, finger trailing in absent, worried circles around the shallows of his Alfmeil wine. It would not drown his sorrows, numb his nerves, or dull the keen edge of dangerous thoughts scraping the back of his mind like rusted knives. But it sweetened the blow of each beat of his heart. He leaned out the window on his elbows, head tipped and eyes closed, as he slowly inhaled the scent of seaweed salted wind wafting over the waves.

A stair groaned behind him. Footsteps paused, a sharp breath dragged through teeth. Without turning around, Hael knew the Knight Scholar hovered there, draped in his gilded flux. His presence robbed the small, faintly-lit cellar of its chill. It rested against Hael’s back like the lingering warmth of sunlight of early evening. Hael drank the rubied liquid in a single, steady gulp. Sweetness rushed to the bitter tightness at the back of his throat, loosening it. 

“You should leave for the Asterim Palace soon,” Hael reminded quietly. He stared through the bottom of his crystal glass, a prism of moonlight splintering around him. Across the inlet port of the Hund Sea, he could just make out the palace. It towered over the staggering silhouettes of its neighbors, all power rerouted to shroud the structure in a veil of ethereal light. 

Oryn stepped into his peripheral, pushing the other side of the window open and taking in the breeze with a pleased sigh. The air was balmy, but far more bearable than it had been during the afternoon. Hael spared a glance at the Knight Scholar as he poured himself a second glass. He now wore the Starward Legion uniform. It had never quite fit his frame, but he wore it well enough. With all the enthusiasm of a criminal wearing a noose for a scarf. Oryn tugged at his collar, as if subconsciously tempted to undo the buttons.

“Aren’t you joining us on the dais?” The Knight Scholar leaned against the wall, hands resting behind him. His eyes were latched onto the water, as if he were willing the very essence of himself to flow into the sea, to be carried away by the waves to some unknown place, and he wouldn’t mind in the slightest. A quirk that manifested when his mind was ill at ease.

Before Hael could repress the instinct, he held the bottle of Alfmeil out to the Knight Scholar, its contents sloshing softly as it passed between them. He couldn’t tell Oryn the truth, but that didn’t mean he had to lie to him, either. “I am needed elsewhere tonight.”

“Can I also be needed elsewhere.”  

“No.” 

A noise of discontented protest was stifled by the bottle of Alfmeil. Oryn drank as if to swallow and drown whatever words had been poised on the tip of his tongue. Conversation dissolved into a few moments of silence. Hael leaned against the windowsill, eyes drawn back to the ghostly spires of the Asterim Palace and the liquid shards of moonlight staining the pitch of the Hund Sea. Stars twinkled in and out of existence above, framed by the faded red lines of the offline Orbital Mirror panels. Far more than there had been earlier in the day. Far fewer than those his Dread Knights would destroy within the hour. 

“We had an argument,” Oryn admitted suddenly, setting the half empty bottle down between them. He eased onto an empty barrel and crossed his arms, legs tapping out of anxious frustration. “We always argue, but this time was…different. My father dragged me from my post on Duskra. He dismissed my assistants, canceled my funding. Destroyed my reports on the Singing Spiders. Demanded that I prove my loyalty–to the Emperor, to him.  ‘You’re either a Knight Scholar or the Knight Master, but know that only one of those is a son of mine.’ He kept repeating that. I…I think he meant it this time.”

Oryn was right to be afraid. To take his father’s words to heart and heed them, even if burned Hael to see his ward hesitate in the wake of such an oppressive situation. Arboros was, at its core, a militant planet. Imperials of a sort, Hael supposed. The planet gave birth to generations of children born into service and proud to represent the Astral Veil Empire. There was a quality of harmony to their endeavors. But it’s how that harmony was achieved that raised goosebumps on his skin.

Knight Master Advern Thalas was a force to be reckoned with. Ambitious to a violent degree. Prideful and power hungry. Eyes of ak’wendril, sharp enough to filet anyone foolish to cross him. His iron fist instinctively honed in on any hint of weakness among the ranks of the Knight Guardians and Science Division. 

If Hael hadn’t known about the man’s extensive spy network–a web of eyes and ears maintained through pure terror and rampant paranoia–he would have thought that Knight Master Thalas had an extrasensory ability to know the essence of a person. To know all the buttons that would build them up–or break them down. And his own son was the very thing he deemed most dangerous to his militant flock. An aberration to be normalized.

A boy to shape into a man. Hael thought back to Steeltalon’s offer and regretted, for a moment, that he hadn’t requested someone punch the Knight Master in the face on their way out. Hael  cleared his throat and set his glass down, hard. “What started the argument this time.” He knew of the arguments, of the battle between father and son that robbed the Starward Legion of its peace. Hael wasn’t much of a gossiper, but he had ears and they had a habit of hearing things no one should. The least he could do was preserve a shred of dignity for the Knight Scholar and pretend not to know.

The Knight Scholar rubbed his knees, his flux barrier unraveling in flares of golden dust.

“My mentor is missing.”

Hael stiffened, a tingle of surprise skittering in his gut. He didn’t know that piece of information. Another Knight Scholar going MIA was not a coincidence. Not these days, when the fanatics of the Cathedral of Knowing pushed for their exile. There were only four Knight Scholars remaining on Arboros, counting Oryn.. Two on Duskra. None on Caelum. Galenians were wise to keep their numbers a secret, but how long would that discretion extend? The Knight Scholars that could sever their ties to their kin fled to the edges of the Rim to escape the ongoing silent persecution. Hundreds, if not thousands, had vanished suspiciously over the centuries. If they were lucky, their captors killed them.

And if they weren’t…Hael fought a chill that snaked up his spine and the shiver of unsettled memories best left buried. He unglued his jaw.

“Ahren Nilan…he was aboard the SS Oranthu, was he not?” He checked his datapad, scanning for the ship’s register and manifest. There it was: Ahren Nilan, Knight Scholar. As he read the ship’s logs, his brows furrowed. There was nothing. No official notes of any kind. 

Oryn sank against the wall with a groan. “That is what the records say. I was told the ship was bound for port on Galene, in the city of Dirkmung. He was to halt his research, retrieve an Eremorian artifact, and return to Arboros. But I spoke to a personal contact of mine there, and she says no such artifact has been recovered. And the SS Oranthu never made port in Dirkmung. It’s been moonside on Terralune for the last month. I’ve also spoken to Knight Commander Lu and she said that my mentor never received such orders from above, but I…I know that isn’t true.”

“You think Knight Commander Lu is lying to you?”

“No, sir. I simply think she’s out of the loop.”

“It’s possible she did not have clearance. He is a Knight Scholar after all.”

“And that’s why I asked my father to look into the matter.”

“Are you sure this is not like before? Ahren has been known to disappear for months on end, buried in his research.” Not unlike a certain someone. Hael cocked his head thoughtfully. “Why do you think he is missing, precisely?”

Oryn pulled out his datapad and pushed it across the table. “Because last time we spoke, he was adamant that they were on the verge of a major unearthing, and I distinctly recall he was resistant to the idea of returning. Pissed, in fact.” He tapped on the screen, drawing Hael’s attention to a heated communication thread with the subject line, “The Fuck I Will, Sexton.”

The address was legitimate, but it was one of the Starward Legion’s ghost accounts. It appeared like an official report from a valid address, but the correspondences never would have made it onto the official channels. Yes, Ahren had a few colorful words and inappropriate suggestions for some poor bastard named Knight Commander Sexton. None of them would be received well, but would not be wholly unexpected for the Knight Scholar. Everyone knew that man did not take orders. It wasn’t bravado. It wasn’t fearlessness. It was a kind of daring that only grew from being a survivor. His evasiveness and talent for verbally disarming his foes were legendary in the Starward Legion, and likely why he had lasted this long in the shark-infested waters of Arborian society. 

Hael rested a hand over mouth to hide a smirk. “Where was his expedition?”

“Outpost S-36. He was searching for ruins, signs that an artificial star had sunken out of existence centuries back. They think they might have found debris in a cavern, but that was the last coherent message I received from him.”

“What do you by mean?”

“Two weeks ago, I received an urgent transmission from him. It was on a private channel. Old school technology. You know how paranoid he can be sometimes. But the message didn’t make sense. It was an inaudible mess of static. He never answered my reply. Then I heard a rumor during my expedition on Duskra. Outpost S-36 has gone dark. It isn’t responding to communication attempts. So, he couldn’t have been on the SS Oranthu. Even if his name is on the list as having arrived in Dirkmung, he never would have left that outpost without a fight. I had no other choice but to ask my father to investigate the discrepancies.”

“He refused.” 

“Worse than that.” Oryn paled, eyes wide with disbelief. As if possessed by the memory, he sprang to his feet and paced the cozy space, clouds of dust chasing the heels of his boots. His gilded flux fluttered wildly, shifting with his emotions. Hael opened his mouth to–what? Comfort him? Tell him to get a grip?–but the Knight Scholar cut him off. 

“He flipped out. Upturned the entire estate. Literally furniture legs up and silverware out the window. I’ve never seen him so uncivilized, sir, the way he violated the marble floors with his breakfast roast. He torched my research. IN FRONT OF ME. You have no idea how many laws I had to break to protect what remained of the last four months of research.” Oryn brandished his bag, cheeks flushed with frustration. “It was a lot, by the way. He refused to look into the matter entirely, threatened to charge me with neglecting my heirancy through willful idiocy.”

Hael rested a hand beneath his chin, watching the Knight Scholar curse his father from one corner of the cellar to the other, listening to him list out the Knight Master’s heinous crimes. A memory resurfaced–Oryn had been fourteen and caring for a stray felas behind his father’s back. His nephew, Edgir Mothas, found out and used a rock to break its hind legs. For sport. It yowled in agony– it was such a pitiful noise that Hael could not, would not, subject his ward to it. He took care of the creature, gave it the peace it deserved in the garden under the golden oak. But still, the Knight Scholar burned with rage and punched his nephew in the face. He was punished, of course. He had to kneel with humility in front of the Cathedral of Knowing for days. No food. No healing flux. No hiding from the shame of his kindness. 

“–have his own son put to death over a career choice!”

Unease churned in Hael’s stomach as he watched his ward fume, mood curdling in the moonlight. His golden eyes blazed like warring suns in the dark abyss of the cellar, lighting the air between them with the static hum of flux. It carved through his veins like a ravenous ravine, too long held at bay by an unnatural dam. His heart raced the flux’s rushes, flooding the space between them with palpable shimmers of radiation–

“Oryn, stop.” Without thinking, Hael had crossed the narrow space. He grasped the Knight Scholar by his shoulders and roughly shook him. His words hissed through clenched teeth as panic shot through his veins. “Divines within, do you want to be quarantined for unstable flux. STOP IT.”  

He shoved the Knight Scholar harder than he’d meant to,  slamming him against one of the shelves. It rattled under the force, the loud bang of it hitting the wall jolting Oryn back to the present. His barrier shattered, as if made of little more than thin amber glass. The flickers of flux dimmed, the air of the cellar heavy and chilled. 

The fight left the Knight Scholar in a ragged breath, the shadow of disappointment looming in his gaze. A heartbeat of silence passed between them. Then two. Then four. When Oryn spoke, his voice trembled. “Do you also want me to become Knight Master? Pretend the past doesn’t exist?”

“I want you to survive.”

“I want to live, sir. Not within the prison of someone else’s shadow. Not pretending their truth is my own, burning history to the ground as if it’s something shameful.”

But it is shameful, Hael thought, clenching his jaw shut before it could escape. No, it wasn’t shameful. Not on Duskra. Not in the Rim. It had been a guiding light in Tenebris. But in the eyes of Arborian society, history was a cruel and wretched thing filled with so much shame that citizens had to force themselves to forget it–or were killed to bury it. A fact that Oryn knew in his heart, but either couldn’t fully empathize with or refused to fully accept.

Hael bent his head low, voice laced with sorrow and desperation, as he continued. “You cannot have it both ways. The paths of Knight Scholar and Knight Master do not run parallel here. The Oracles won’t allow it, and even if they did, you’d be torn between duties that conflict so deeply, it would destroy you. It is an impossible decision, but you must choose which path is more precious to you. If you cling to everything, you will lose it all – your heirancy, your research, your home, even your life.” His gaze held firm onto Oryn’s, the weight of his own losses burning the back of his throat, as his grip loosened and fell away. “Regardless of the path you embrace, ensure that you are the one making the decision. It is you who will sacrifice the most either way–and you alone who will be haunted by them.”

Oryn studied Hael for a moment before asking, “Have you ever faced such an impossible choice? And did you regret it?”

Memories surged to the forefront of his mind: his father’s dying wish, the weight of his alliance with the Icariel cause, the ghost of a future he had once dreamed of, lived for. And always Oryn, the friend he could never hold too close. Could never stand to lose or let go of–and couldn’t protect. Hael stepped back and retrieved the half empty bottle of Alfmeil from the table, swallowing hard over the knot that formed in his throat. 

“Every day.” He sighed wearily, not bothering to clarify which question he had answered. Some things were better left unresolved. Unspoken. Hael grasped the Knight Scholar’s hand and pressed the bottle of Alfmeil into it. Then straightened the strap of his messenger bag. 

“Take care of yourself tonight, Oryn.”

A pang of fresh guilt clenched his heart as he left without another word. He’ll understand one day why you’re doing, Hael, Erde reassured. He’ll forgive you anything.