Thravanranian Glossary
Thravanranian Names
[Military Title (if applicable)] [First Name] [Signifier] [Family Name], [Family Position] of the [Family’s Rank]Example: Ulhurio Cim vij Jace, Second Daughter of the First Family
Military Ranks
Ulhena: a consultant who otherwise lives a civilian life
Ulhok: the lowest ranking, denotes an individual soldier
Ulhollek: denotes an individual soldier who has seniority in their squadron
Ulhun: a leader of an individual squadron
Ulhasen: acts as personal assistant to an Ulharr, may coordinate squadrons and reports to the Ulharr
Ulharr: coordinates their legion and the rest of the empire's forces
Ulhassa: acts under an Ulhara to manage their territory (a territorial governor)
Ulhara: acts as prefect over specific conquered territories and coordinates the forces in that territory
Ulhui: issues and receives orders from the Empire, represents the legion at meetings
Ulhurio: coordinates several legions under their command, specifically relaying First Family wishes
Ulhace: coordinates entire army from the safety of the homeworld, stay on active duty full-time
Jalha: a member of the First Family who is not actively involved in the military (every member of the First technically has control over military matters)
Jace: the Emperor of Thravanrania
H-: the “ul” part of their title disappears if they are now retired, ie “Hhena”, “Hhok”, “Hhollek”, “Hhun”, etc
Signifiers
ves: was hatched into the following family
vos: married into the following family
vuj: became a Consort in the following family
vim: married into the following family and then their spouse died
vum: married into the First Family and then their spouse Ascended
vys: was hatched or adopted in the following family when it belonged to the family’s previous father
vik: was adopted into the following family from a higher family
vok: was adopted into the following family from a lower family
vil: was an illegitimate birth, adopted by the following family
vij: was a Shadow or consort who was then adopted as a full member
veel: was cast out and then adopted by the following family; they "fell from grace"
vol: was a graceless who was adopted by the following family; they were once "lost from grace"
voil: an illegitimate birth and has yet to be adopted; no family name is supposed to follow but sometimes a family name will still be used in unofficial capacity
vyne: a signifier for being a servant/Shadow of the following family
veff: a signifier for being a hatchling in the following family, will have no family ranking yet
vana: is a patriarch of their own family; no family name will follow
vul: graceless; no family name will follow; sometimes irregular names are used in an unofficial capacity
r-: an “r” sound is added after the “v” sound for any family who has died, ie “vres”, “vros”, “vril”, etc
Family Name
An individual’s family name is the first name of their family’s patriarch.
Family Position
First/Second/etc Son/Daughter: ranking as having hatched or adopted into that family
True Son/Daughter: family position for having married into that family
Dreaming Son/Daughter: family position of those that have died
First/Second/etc Consort: ranking as being a concubine for that family
Second/Third/etc Father: ranking for each individual patriarch
Shadow: denotes a servant within that family, such as a personal Shadow of a specific family member or a “Shadow of the House” to denote specific obligations to the family as a whole
Family Rank
Family rank is the number assigned to their family by The Jace.
Miscellaneous Terminology
thrav: the name of the species that is central to the Thravanranian Empire
The Thirteen/Ascended/Blessed: those picked from the First Family to serve Father directly, sacrosanct
eiffa: a type of resource consumed by the Ascended
Gates: portals that facilitate intergalactic travel, managed by Thirteen Theike and Ander
Fo-ekinite (aka namphyr): the people who live on the planet Fo-ekin
second-skin: suits of organic material that thravs wear; both augments the body and personalizes appearance
Tailors: individuals who construct second-skins; may be civilian or military
Sanctuary: a radical liberation group of and for graceless thravs
Watchtower: an organization of like-minded high-ranking thravs in the military
Ankinarians: the race of thrav who form the core of the empire
MUIV: a starship classification for a personal or spearhead vessel
NUIS: a starship classification for an orbital base
RUIL: a starship classification for a destroyer
KUIT: a starship classification for personnel carrier
BUIR: a starship classification for a cargo carrier
Thravanranian Culture
Family: the clan an individual belongs to, lead by their “father”, the Patriarch of a family, who cannot hold other occupation and are ranked according to the deeds of their childrenGrace: the favor of Father bestowed upon his children, is used to rank one individual over anotherGraceless: a thrav who has no grace and is considered estranged; forms an untouchable caste; includes both those who have “fallen from grace” / “disgraced” as punitive measure as well as certain ethnic thrav groupsConsorts: individuals brought into a family in order to produce reproductive material, are not technically spouses of the father nor do they raise children; they cannot marry or have occupation elsewhere; can be compared to concubines but because of how thrav reproduction functions this role does not denote any kind of sexual relationship with their patriarch; may be any gender and often wear specialized skinsShadows: servants within a family, have duties prescribed by their father, such as caring for a specific member before they are married; cannot be married nor seek occupation outside the homeMarriage: when an individual is given via their father to a member in a higher family to provide for their needs and help raise children; any arrangement must be agreed upon by the fathers and is a permanent change in status; marriages are fundamentally custodial in nature; members of the same family cannot marry regardless of their actual biological relationAscension: the process by which an individual becomes personally enhanced using technology, becoming one of "The Thirteen"; reserved only for the First FamilyThravanranian Masculinity: masculinity is associated with idealized fatherhood, characterized as passive, meditative, sensitive, empathetic, moral, and affable; thrav culture is explicitly patriarchal; males are universally preferred as spouses and parentsThravanranian Femininity: femininity is characterized (and often denigrated) as ambitious, cerebral, stubborn, cold, shallow, active (as opposed to passive), sexual, and severe; women are considered especially suited to be soldiers but especially poor at raising childrenLGBT+ issues: Thravanranians have little concept of sexual orientation; marriages are not inherently a sexual union and may not be compatible. Male-male marriages are common and favored, while female-female marriages are accepted but viewed as inherently dubious. While transgender thravs identifying within the gender binary are a non-issue so long as they medically transition, the notion of being non-binary would be heretical. Females displaying masculine (empathetic) characteristics are often lauded for it, while males displaying feminine (cerebral) characteristics are treated with suspicion.Thrav Reproduction: thravs lay gelatinous eggs which must be externally fertilized; ovulation is triggered by sexual activity; males regularly shed genetic material in cycles from tubules on their shoulders like pollen, accompanied by an impulse to rub up against things; reproduction is controlled artificially in modern times so most thravs do not actually experience shedding unless specifically chosen to be put on cycle by their patriarch; all eggs must be reported and allowed to be evaluated by the family's patriarch, who will then make all decisions concerning its fertilization and careHatchlings: not regarded as full thravs with full rights until they come of age; although frowned upon, it is not considered murder to dispose of sickly hatchlingsNests: not literal, refers to a home/circumstances a hatchling lives in until they become an adultNest-mother/father: a hatchling's primary parents and guardians until they come of age; must be a properly married couple and male-male couples are preferred; are not usually the hatchling's biological parentsNest-brothers/sisters: other siblings who were raised in the same nestUfforata: the coming-of-age ceremony where an individual will first be assessed by their father and given a rank; may include some sort of challenge or test, the nature of which depends on the Patriarch in questionShadow-making: when an individual at ufforata is deemed unsatisfactory by their father they may become a servant of the family; more common in higher ranking familiesDeath: all dead are received by their family's patriarch who then delivers them to Father to be repurposed or entombed on the moon
Thravanranians
The First Family
The Jace, Allhiouea vana, Father of All
Sivi vuj Jace, First Consort of the First Family
Eyat vuj Jace, Second Consort of the First Family
Yui vuj Jace, Third Consort of the First Family
Hhui Cerra vuj Jace, Fourth Consort of the First Family
Jalha Glish ves Jace, First Daughter of the First Family & Ulharr Jump vos Jace, True Son
Ulhurio Cim vij Jace, Second Daughter of the First Family
Ulhurio Heshap ves Jace, Third Daughter of the First Family & Hhui Zinn vos Jace, True Son
Ulhace Presa ves Jace, Fourth Daughter of the First Family & Hhurio Jul vos Jace, True Son
Ulhurio Almasie ves Jace, Fifth Daughter of the First Family & Jalha Henne vos Jace, True Son
Ulhui Simeon ves Jace, Sixth Daughter of the First Family & Hharr Hoara vos Jace, True Son
Ulhace Cinik ves Jace, Seventh Daughter of the First Family & Hhurio Bito, True Son
Ulhurio Hire ves Jace, Eighth Daughter of the First Family & Hharr Fiore vos Jace, True Son
Ulhurio Rillowint vok Jace, Ninth Daughter of the First Family
Ulhurio Sivisim ves Jace, Tenth Daughter of the First Family & Hhui Ister vos Jace, True Daughter
Ulhui Giba ves Jace, Eleventh Daughter of the First Family & Hharr Hark vos Jace, True Son
Ulhui Kris ves Jace, Twelfth Daughter of the First Family
Ulhui Elicis vil Jace, Thirteenth Daughter of the First Family & Hhasen Kitin vos Jace, True Son
Jalha Uresh ves Jace, Fourteenth Daughter of the First Family
Jalha Pastsis ves Jace, Fifteenth Daughter of the First Family
Jalha Gissel ves Jace, Sixteenth Daughter of the First Family
Hhace Farra ves Jace, First Son of the First Family & Hhurio Ke vos Jace, True Son
Hhurio Vetton ves Jace, Second Son of the First Family & Hharr Falka vos Jace, True Son
Ulhui Rayal ves Jace, Third Son of the First Family & Hhui Saal vos Jace, True Son
Ulhurio Zyga ves Jace, Fourth Son of the First Family & Ulhui Juug vos Jace, True Son
Ulhace Albasson ves Jace, Fifth Son of the First Family & Jalha Fuyir vos Jace, True Son
Ulhurio Orlass ves Jace, Sixth Son of the First Family
Ulhurio Vun ves Jace, Seventh Son of the First Family
Hhui Virid ves Jace, Eighth Son of the First Family & Ulhui Mino vos Jace, True Daughter
Ulhace Phraksas ves Jace, Ninth Son of the First Family
Hhui Sannat ves Jace, Tenth Son of the First Family & Ulhui Anbreas vos Jace, True Daughter
Ulhara Merga ves Jace, Eleventh Son of the First Family & Hharr Eta vos Jace, True Daughter
Hhui Selk ves Jace, Twelfth Son of the First Family & Ulhui Phadat vos Jace, True Daughter
Ulhui Ussa ves Jace, Thirteenth Son of the First Family & Hharr Aldasa vos Jace, True Daughter
Ulhui Ankar ves Jace, Fourteenth Son of the First Family
Jalha Buli ves Jace, Fifteenth Son of the First Family
Ulhui Fend vum Jace, True Son of the First Family
Ulhara Sedel vim Jace, True Son of the First Family
Anae vyne Jace, Shadow of the First Family
Ajure vyne Jace, Shadow of the First Family
Hurn vyne Jace, Shadow of the First Family
The Thirteen
Avenue: figurehead and “First To Act”
Jurdrea: military intelligence
Kimue: personal guard and confidant of The Jace
Eresha: destructive weapon
Theike: along with Ander, is responsible for Gates
Ander: along with Theike, is responsible for Gates
Ferst: oversees the military as a whole
Veint: oldest of The Thirteen, deals with the dead
Ivaline: guard and envoy
Theissen: security and prosperity on the homeworld
Brine: creation and maintenance of the Thravanranian fleet
Himmel: creation of new technological ideas, master tailor
Waen: infiltrator and spymaster
The Second family
Ova vana, Second Father
Ulhui Auphen ves Ova, Seventeenth Daughter of the Second Family
Ulhara Giyo vys Ova, Third Son of the Second Family & Idafil vos Ova, True Son of the Second Family
Ulhui Ventae vos Ova, True Daughter of the Second Family
The Third family
Kanan vana, Third Father
Ulharr Zabet vok Kanan, Eighteenth Daughter of the Third Family
Ulharr Buul ves Kanan, Eighth Son of the Third Family
Arn vyne Kanan, Shadow of the Third Family
The Fourth family
Akrasen vana, Fourth Father
Ulharr Yuhan veel Akrasen, 33rd Son of the Fourth Family
The Fifth family
Jo vana, Fifth Father
Ulhasen Moren ves Jo, Ninth Daughter of the Fifth Family
Ventra ves Jo, Sixth Daughter of the Fifth Family
Ulhara Bruss ves Jo
Ulhara Hulia vys Jo
Ulhara Nur vos Jo
Ulhara Plenek ves Jo
124th Family
Fon vana, 124th Father
Uvan ves Fon, First Son of the 124th Family
Ulhun Kep ves Fon, Fourth Son & Ulhun Iggra vos Fon, True Son
Ulhasen Ghalib vil Fon, Fifth Son of the 124th Family
Hhun Pracir ves Fon, 224th Daughter of the 124th Family
Eriki ves Fon, 258th Daughter of the 124th Family
Hhollek Kul vys Fon, Tenth Son of the 124th Family
Hhun De vres Fon
Miscellaneous Ranked Persons
Renk vana, Sixth Father
Yilirin vana, Seventh Father
Riglan vana, Eighth Father
Tepoplas vana, Ninth Father
Basat vana, Tenth Father
Ankiri vana, Eleventh Father
Optuna vana, Twelfth Father
Amet ves Tepoplas, Tenth Daughter of the Ninth Family & Ulharr Plum vos Tepoplas, True Daughter of the Ninth Family
Eamas ves Optuna, 12th Daughter of the 12th Family & Ulhun Lilis vos Optuna, True Daughter of the Twelfth Family
Ulhasen Oll ves Loka, Fifth Son of the 23rd Family
Ulhasen Emiliel ves Linon, 21st Daughter of the 48th Family
Ester vana, 156th Father
Orturi veel Ester, Third Daughter of the 156th Family
Ulhun Hin
Ulhun Brevar
Ulhun Huo
Foreign Agents
Fuirsen(dervaldr'acophin)
Ivendren(dromanen’androvan)
Ruvendr(emihrll'acovon)
Places (Oq)
Oq: the Thravanranian homeworld, often referred to as just "home" or "the homeworld" by thravs
Bresha Tower: the central of five towers that form the imperial palace
Finae Tower: one of five towers that form the imperial palace
Yemir Tower: one of five towers that form the imperial palace
Ruclain Desert
Cressfel: the largest moon of the homeworld
Amphi: the smaller moon of the homeworld
Places (Imperial Territories)
Hurrein (aka Earth): a technological planet in the empire
Fo-ekin (aka Hrllem): an icy planet recently added to the empire
Avat: one of the three ice sheets on Fo-ekin
Avat Premuire: the imperial capital city on Fo-ekin
Fo-linde: a major city on Fo-ekin
Iffenal: a city on Fo-ekin
Bör: the town Fuirsen is from
Ju-Fo, Ku-Fo, and Vu-Fo: moons of Fo-ekin
Aphaestae: a planet in the empire
Nelogos: an oceanic planet in the empire with hanging cities suspended from great arches over the water
Abravaria: an asteroid belt in the Abrak system
Consequa: a territory on the galactic border with the Eversea Savage
Miar-Ni: a territory on the galactic border with the Eversea Savage
Cincerte: a star field on the galactic border with the Eversea Savage
Aptalos: a territory that is used for industrialized culture growths
Places (other)
Wo-ekin (aka Jaundr): a planet scheduled to be added to the empire
Muirsha Pit: the only body of water on Wo-ekin
The Eversea Savage: an intragalactic empire adjacent to Thravanrania
Iun Stream (aka the Milky Way)
(drawing not authoritative, included mainly for aesthetic reasons)
The Substrate, Piece by Piece
(an unfinished story)
PART ONE
He spoke at length with Ulharr Zabet.Zabet vok Kanan had taken him as her apprentice. But they found themselves speaking of much more. Talk of technology, of conspiracy, of allies and enemies.They talked about the Eversea Savage. About the First Family. About our Holy Father, The Jace. About the graceless and passing controversy with the lower families. Ghalib was from a lower family, after all, and was eager to share his perspective.They talked about history. How the frontier peoples came to be. What it might’ve been like when the ancient Veint first landed on the Cressfel moon. How the eiffa set them on the path their society was on now. What they had learned from other civilizations, other people, that they had adopted into our empire.But she shied away from notes of glamour or pride. Ghalib could tell there was something she wasn’t telling him. Every conversation wavered into a sudden lull, where she sat, perched on the counter, in war with her own thoughts over what could be spoken of.Ghalib voil didn’t know why at first.His nest mothers insisted perhaps she held some secret affection for him. Of course they would, were Ghalib to marry someone as high of standing as her, it would surely be great news for the whole of his family.But he knew that wasn’t it, despite their teasing. Zabet was interested in other things.She occasionally cast doubt on the threat the Eversea posed. It was true that most actual encounters with the Eversea were kept from public record. He had no evidence to the contrary when she criticized our imagination that they lay, poised and ready, as though they existed only to, one day, threaten our annihilation.She disliked the First Family. He thought, at first, it was simply a product of upper-echelon rivalries. She was from a high-born family, after all, and it is well known that those of the second are always quick to criticize the first. But she explained once how the system ultimately benefits only them while all others only offered vague promise of salvation should they toil away their lives. And he had difficulty denying the logic.She sometimes defended Sanctuary. He tried to tell her that they had not been lost from father’s grace for no reason. She merely toted the idea that even the graceless should be entitled to certain rights. Ghalib saw how hard it was to scare his usual preconceptions off using simple logic and was unhappy with himself.He became increasingly wary of speaking about her to others. Not purely for distaste for her ideas, but because he knew she was vulnerable for having them. Ghalib knew she doubted whether he was trustworthy, too. Whether he would report her. Whether he would hold his tongue where it needed to be held.Ghalib thought perhaps she only told him anything in the first place because he was disposable. He was from so much lower of a family, 124th in comparison to her 3rd, and was voil; an illegal birth, hatched without sanction from his house’s patriarch. No one in their good senses would listen to anything he had to say.Even a simple mistake as expressing such an unpopular imagining of our world, should it come to light with the wrong people at the wrong time, would quickly see someone like him removed from grace altogether. He had no recourse, no web of support that would argue his case, no safety net to catch him. And the more she let on of the stance she had taken, the more anxious Ghalib became.So much so that, one day, Ghalib decided to talk to his nest-mothers about the possibility of resignation.“You cannot be serious,” Pracir said to him. Pracir, the stern, the devoted, the logical.Eriki—the sweeter of the two—sat him aside and, in a softened tone, told him that if he ever hoped to be counted as legitimate in his family, that he would stay the course. It was in his best interest. It was for the greater good of the family.Ghalib listened to them. Yet found no answers with them.Ghalib only thought of Zabet explaining to him how the ranking system within their families served only to ensure servitude from those most vulnerable. But he could not say these things to even his nest-mothers. He did not want to endanger them. Of anything Ghalib knew of in the world, he valued them and their well-being above all else.The thoughts did not leave him, though. And he found himself sitting in the lab long after he had been dismissed, staring at a set of scaled armor set out on the desk.It was an unsuccessful attempt. The scales were too brittle to provide any protection. They were taken from a beast on another planet, a planet their empire had conquered, but the tailors had learned quickly that their approach to growing them in isolation was insufficient. Ghalib let his mind escape him to consider it, too reluctant to think on what was actually keeping him there.We should look into nutrition of the beast more thoroughly. We could analyze the data as to their native atmospheric composition. We could look into the catalysts involved with calcium-based organic growths.Zabet would agree. Zabet, who occupied the far room of the lab. Zabet, who had ideas about things much larger than mere tailoring and armorcraft. Zabet, who wore dark scales, stood tall, and spoke loudly.She walked back through the building. Ghalib could hear her footsteps. And soon enough he could see her darkened scales of emerald, nearly sparkling as the low lights hit them. She stopped when she saw him, standing in the doorway of the adjacent hall.“Oh. Ghalib, did you need something?”Ghalib's mind rattled with the various phrases he had collected and practiced throughout the day.
Zabet, I want to resign. Zabet, I don’t think I can work with you anymore. Zabet, I am scared.
But he didn’t say anything and, instead, looked back to the skin on the table.“It’s fine to leave it out for the night,” she said. “We’ll work on it first thing tomorrow.”Ghalib's immediate impulse was to pass it off as though she had correctly guessed his concern, if only so he could leave. But he made no move. He was still, his lips slightly parted, begging him to say something.“Ghalib? Are you okay?”Turning back to her, his face was wrinkled with apprehension.The door behind him hissed. The locks clicked. She had control over the facility, after all, and could activate her security measures with only a thought.Her face darkened to a scowl. “Did something happen?”“No. No, nothing happened,” he said frantically.She strode towards him, her form angular and menacing. “Then why do you look at me like that?”
“Zabet,” Ghalib said. “I am no one. I am no venerated Ulharr, no prince, nor even a legitimate son of my father’s. I’m barely even a proper tailor. Why me?”Her stance softened and she strolled over to lean against the desk. But she said nothing in response.Ghalib continued, “It is not strange to think that our association is queer.”“It matters not,” she said, lifting herself up to sit on the desktop. “The hierarchy is a falsehood. I can choose anyone from any family to assist me. Those of the 124th family have no less aptitude than those of the first.”“Even if that were true, there must be some reason you decided to pick me of all people.”She turned to face Ghalib, tilting her head and saying, “You applied for the position.”“And you accepted,” Ghalib said.“I reviewed your application and found it acceptable, that’s all," said Zabet.“Were there few applicants?”“Ghalib, it matters not. Where is your worry? Find it and I will hear it, but none of these vagaries that charade as real dilemma," said Zabet.“Was it just an act of charity? Surely you knew others would think it queer," said Ghalib.“Do I mind them? No. No, I do not. And neither should you. We must break apart from their assumptions.”
“But I must mind my own conscience as well," Ghalib said in a softer voice.“Do you believe yourself unfit for the position? Because if you cannot have the least bit of confidence in your aptitudes, then my mentorship accomplishes nothing," said Zabet.“My nest-mothers say that you are fattening me for marriage,” he grumbled.She skipped no beats, “Do you wish to marry me?”Ghalib turned away. “I cannot answer that.”“Why not?”“I-I would say no, if only for the fact I am so convinced you have no thought for it. But I am also sure if the question were genuine, I would need to say yes. Everything I have ever learned has told me that I would have to say yes. And with none of the reasoning behind it that would please you.”She leaned back, her head tilted towards the ceiling, examining the spotting in the tiles. “At least you are honest. Though, I wish you would think some for yourself.”
“I merely—”She cut him off, “But I also understand. We both have been taught to believe our destiny lies only in being slaves to the will of one man.”“Zabet,” Ghalib cried. “Please. Please. Why must you be like this? Why must you say such things?”She shot him a glare and it was then he knew she had been simmering underneath her armor, burning with resentment over grander thoughts.“You can be a skeptic elsewhere. I believe in what you say, in where you cast your criticisms. But, please, for both of our sakes, leave our Father out of it," Ghalib begged.“He’s not my father. Neither is he yours.”“Is nothing sacred to you?”“There is nothing sacred about a tyrant.”“You can’t believe that. Surely, you can’t. He loves us. All of us.”“I can believe what I want," said Zabet.“He will know. He can see through us.”“I had thought you different.”It was a cutting remark. Ghalib knew well this was the first time she was seeing his true face, his true spirit, so beset by anxieties over status and fates. That she would reprise him was no surprise, yet it stung all the same.She did not leave him to wallow in his regret, saying simply, “But I understand.”To Ghalib, they were confusing words.“This is why things must change, Ghalib. Because people like you exist. Because people like you have been misled. Because people like you have suffered for it. Because people like you deserve better. If I seem angry, it is only because their crimes are grievous.”“But you invite greater tragedy with every word,” he said.“It is dangerous, yes. But is it truly less dangerous than your life as it already exists?”Ghalib knew not what she meant and told her so. It sparked only an additional tirade, as she descended into commentary on society, talk of the army, of war, of conquest. She then pointed to the armor upon which they worked and posed the question, “Why do we do this?”“For the army? So that they are unharmed?” Ghalib said.“Why does the army do what they do?”It was a familiar topic to Ghalib, yet a clear answer that might satisfy her was far beyond him.“We are the same as upon that which we work, Ghalib,” she gestured at the armor again. “We exist as false skin on a beast not of our choosing, to be sloughed off and consumed as sacrifice, selected and cultivated only for how we may be useful as tools.”But he was stuck on the former proposition. “Why do you think the army does what they do?”She stopped. Retraced her steps. And brought it back to that, with her tone cold, “They exist only to find new sacrifices. More sacrifices. Ever more. Because what happens to sacrifices? They are sacrificed. And then you need more.”Ghalib knew he had taken up the mantle given to him by his family, to hold fast to their beliefs, to wonder none of the picture the puzzle made. Her words felt dangerous, for he knew they resonated with something deeper in him, something forgotten, something insidious.“I will tell you a secret, Ghalib.”Ghalib thought quickly to refuse, to stop her, to try to find himself again. Yet he said nothing, merely staring up at her with open eyes and drumming heart. For her to be so separated from all he knew or understood, there had to be a reason.“These are no mere symbols I speak. There is more to this room, to this armor, to our destinies, than our Father imparts to us. I speak of sacrifice, yet you think I mean as a pigment upon a canvas, when really I speak of death and gods as real as the blood and bones upon which we work.”That which she knew, Ghalib did not.“And it is not just me who knows it to be true.”The locks on the door clicked again. It was open. And she left him with the words, “Do not speak on it. Sleep. Dream. Return if you wish. Resign if you wish. There is always work to be done.”Again, Ghalib met with his mothers. Again, he found he had to hold his tongue. But the question of the army continued to nag at him.Ghalib's job was that of a tailor, to make suits and equipment to protect them, to make sure they could survive in inhospitable environments, to outfit them with weapons and armor both as contribution to their cause. Contributing to their effort was the job of all thravs, the business of all thravs, the concern of all thravs, for the goal prescribed to them was sacrosanct; Holy, Revered, Deserved.Ghalib thought it harmless enough to ask of Pracir and Eriki. Catching a lull in their conversation, he uttered the words, “I have been wondering about something.” It was a timid proposal of topic but not one he could take back.Attentive and good-natured, they turned to him and waited.“Zabet is Ulharr. The work she does is for the army," said Ghalib, retracing his steps. “And the army carries out the will of Father. But what exactly is that will?”Eriki was quick to show concern, like her son was a wayward chick and she had been called to her duty. “Oh no,” she uttered. “Is it not clear? Have we been unclear?”Ghalib knew immediately his quandary was taken differently than how he intended, for Eriki was a nervous parent and thought to have well prepared him for life. Her reputation with their father depended on it. The guilt set in Ghalib's chest for assuming his question was free from the stench of impiety.Pracir, the practical, sitting with her arms crossed and face knotted, lent her voice to explain, “There is chaos and suffering in His universe. You know this, do you not? It cries and moans and begs to find its family, to find its place and where it belongs. They fool themselves, living in desperation for a need long unfulfilled. We only bring to them that which they have spent their short lives pining for, that which their spirit craves, so they destroy themselves no further.”“But they resist,” Ghalib said hesitantly. “And perish before that goal is ever reached.”“They are ignorant children,” Pracir hissed. “Like all children, they must be taught of Father, of His works and Deeds, of his Glory and Grace, before they might see Him for that which He is. And even in death, they are sent to dream on their fates, so they may repent on their misguided beliefs and actions.”“But we do not fully welcome them into our family. They do not sit at our tables, they are not welcome at our festivities, nor invited to join us in arms," said Ghalib, echoing what he knew were Zabet's concerns.“Neither do we with the graceless nor those peoples of the frontiers. That does not mean they are not Father’s children all the same. The difference is in what of His Grace has been bestowed unto them for their deeds and nothing more. Look at us, we are still so low, but it is only because there are so many more deserving children before us.”It became clear to Ghalib that he had already said too much and so stayed his tongue. Zabet’s words floated in his head, that asked of our world’s true nature, of love become slavery and grace become violence.Sensing her son's despondency, Eriki interjected as though it would be of aid, “Remember this, my dearest Ghalib. You do not yet belong to a family. Do you not feel longing for that unity? To have Fon embrace you as his own? It is the same in all as it is in us.”
Ghalib's feelings were mixed, a souring of acids and honeys. For before him sat the singular family he had ever known. The two women. One proud and discerning, a soldier and veteran, with strong features and cutting shoulders, only kept from higher standing for the fact of his birth and for her refusal to wed the spouse her father had chosen for her. And Eriki, sincere and compassionate, who seemed to Ghalib almost a perfect picture of what a good father should be were it not for the fact of her gender. He did not know Fon. He was unsure if he wanted to know Fon. The ranking of Fon's family described him as far from a good father. Yet to belong to his house, to share in the same house to which his mothers belonged, it was the only way.The only other way was marriage or adoption. And his thoughts wandered to the notion of returning to Zabet the next day.Return, he did, but carried with him the fear of Zabet's influence and sure he wished to never speak more intimately on her ideas again.Zabet spoke none of their conversation from the other day.
They worked, for there was always work to do.Analyzing materials, cataloging genetic information, monitoring their growth rates, testing resilience. She spoke not of empire or politics, but of proteins and enzymes, genus and subspecies, frogs and behemoths. It continued like this for weeks.One day, there was a visitor in the lab. A short man, cold and reserved in a way that colored him effeminate by thrav cultural standards, wearing a striking blue uniform with fur around his collar. It was of such intensity of color, almost incandescent neon in spines and spots and patterns that Ghalib knew he could only be of the First Family. Ghalib had no prior warning of his arrival, encountering him as though he strolled in of his own accord. When Ghalib realized he had happened upon a First, a True Brother, standing idly in the hallway of polished black, his stomach revolted in his chest.The man was looking up the westward wall, with hands folded over his back and stance squared. The wall was lined by display cases of pigments and various organic fluids, arranged in boxes tiling the wall and colorful, though far from colorful as he. Ghalib's instincts begged him to escape, to take himself out of sight of such a magnificent presence as a True Brother, as a True Son of our Holy Father’s, but the officer caught sight of Ghalib and spoke, “Ah. Are you Zabet’s Ulhasen?”It did not take Ghalib long to piece together his identity, for he was Ulhui Fend vum Jace, Zabet’s commanding officer.“Y-yes, my Ulhui,” said Ghalib.“Ah. Ulhasen… Ghalib voil, am I correct?”Ghalib shamefully replied, “Yes.”“She mentioned you were soon to be adopted," said Fend.“B-by my nest-mothers’ father, yes.”“Your father is…?”“Fon vana.”The officer snorted. “A nobody who produces nothing.” Then he turned back, “But I suppose he produced you.”Ghalib felt there was no clear stance for him to take, instead wondering on Zabet. Where she was, what she was doing, when she might be coming this way.“Though, as voil, can he truly be credited at all? For he had no say, no part in the process. You may as well be feral.”Ghalib felt him to be an ominous presence.“Now. You say nest mothers? Plural?”“Y-yes,” Ghalib stuttered again.With another snort, Fend said, “Women raising a child together. Now that’s a farce. How do you stand it?"“I,” but Ghalib had little sense of direction to respond to such a thing. “I keep my mind focused on my True Father.”“Worthless,” Ulhui Fend said and took up his feet to move past Ghalib, exiting the hallway and paying him no longer any mind.It was not the response Ghalib had intended, so primed to expect praise at the declaration.Picking back up the pieces, Ghalib stood still, listening to the Ulhui's footsteps from the adjoining room with cold patience. That a First would react to him with disdain was no surprise. The bigger surprise was that Zabet, being as she was, as how she spoke, would tolerate such a man. Ghalib wondered idly the reason for his presence but could summon no initiative to impede any further, so he settled back down to work.But the work was painted differently after such an exposure, reminded again of Zabet’s whims and mystery. He felt deeply that he didn't deserve to sit at her tables and work with her tools, and so was set adrift. As he sunk into the mire of his anxiety, his ears picked up bits and pieces of conversation from another room.It was casual, relaxed, as though Zabet and Fend had known each other long. Talk of work, of the army, of progress, of new inventions and discoveries. Fend was eager for updates on their work, saying things like, “I must send you the research that has come in from Hurrein. I feel you will benefit from it much,” and, “We’ve always had problems with the materials from Aphaestae.”But, then, he heard Zabet say, “You should meet Ghalib.” and his senses sharpened to a point.“No need. We made acquaintances already," said Fend.“You may think me strange,” she said in a poorly hushed tone, “But do not think me too strange now.”She was smiling, a sly grin she often made when her mind was moving in all the right ways.“I have no doubt of your tendency for conspiracy."Ghalib stared at the armor in front of him on the table. It was a face guard. A mask. With the inside still fresh with new nerves and tissue growing. He let the tools in his hands hover idly, a cutting edge and a long, thin set of tongs.“I could say the same,” said Zabet, still grinning.“That I work for the betterment of the empire is no conspiracy. What are you intending to do with the boy?”“Ah. He puts in good work and decent company. That is all I care for," said Zabet.“I do hope that is all.”Things fell to silence. No footsteps, no vocal chords, no chirps nor sighs. Until finally, Ghalib caught an awkward and very quiet, “No, my Ulhui. I understand,” from Zabet. And that was all.Much later, Zabet came to him, musing in front of his table with the words, “I heard you ran into the Ulhui.”Ghalib looked up to her cautiously, loathing the prospect of visiting the matter any further, “Yes.”She put her hand on her hip and said, “He’s such an ass.”A part of him aghast to hear such callous language to refer to a member of the First, Ghalib reminded himself it was in Zabet’s nature to do so; a nature that he found a welcome reprieve from the tourniquet that had been round his nerves. Despite this, Ghalib couldn’t bring his voice to return the sentiment with words and merely lent her a coy smile instead.Ghalib found himself looking forward to returning to Zabet in the coming week. He had little presences in his life beside his mothers, kept away from disturbing those with whom he was not officially family. Zabet had not spoken at length on deeper things with him and he was happy to have work to do, to engage his mind and spirit and feel that he was of some use.But it was not long after being cast under their superior's shadow that she set down a slice of material in front of Ghalib, still warm though it had only just been cut from a source. Ghalib looked at it, quizzically, glancing between her and it as she waited for him to take initiative.He could recognize immediately that it was strange, its flesh arranged in small, bunched coils. Bisected in the sample, each coil independent from the others, as though it were made of small, spiraled grubs adhered to one another like links in a chain. There was nothing in the lab that he had seen of its like and could make little determination about it. He simply looked up to Zabet with a knotted brow and questioning eyes and awaited her guidance.“Fend sent us a sample,” she said.“What is it?” he asked.“We’ve gotten them from him before," Zabet stated.“What does he intend by it?”“He wishes for us to compare it to the standard base.”Ghalib sat, staring at it, pulling his arms down from the counter to his lap. “Where is it from?”Zabet did not answer. She was out of sight, grabbing the required chemicals.“You’ve gotten them before?” Ghalib asked.Again, she did not answer, her arms full of small containers of fluids.“Zabet?” he insisted.“What is it?” she said.“Previously, was the objective also to compare it as such?” Ghalib asked.“Yes.”“Why?”“Ghalib, you are too obstinate. We do not ask when Fend sends us things. We keep no records, we do not wonder, we do not theorize. We merely give him the data of which he has requested and never speak of such things again," Zabet explained.And so they got to work.When they were done, they had confirmed a fact Ghalib found spectacular: the polypeptide chains and the ways they were folded in the sample were one and the same with those found in the standard material upon which all their work was based. Ghalib knew the conclusion, for it was undeniable, yet could make nothing of it with the amount of information available, for the flesh wasn’t from any form of life he knew or understood. He had been taught and knew well that the standard substrate was an invention, the crowning achievement of their species, yet there lay a specimen that clearly connected it to a living organism entirely unknown.Ghalib watched Zabet carefully. She seemed unhappy—or, perhaps—he thought—troubled by it? And he knew not why. He expected that she would be elated by such finds, such opportunities for new discovery but any sign of revelation were manifest none. Ghalib searched his thoughts for clues, for ideas, and could only return to the day when she spoke of death and gods, of blood and bone. But whatever connection—if any—such few and vague words could have to the sample were much beyond him, so he surrendered to let the incident pass by with little more than a general disquiet.A regret grew in him instead. A longing. That she would again speak of much grander things. That he would know of that which she knew, for she clearly knew more than which she spoke. But that time had passed, and he invented the thought that, perhaps, it was for the best.
PART TWO
Ghalib received a summons to appear before his nest-mother's Patriarch, Fon vana.His nest-mothers flitted about, a whirlwind of emotions, with anxious hands and nervous smiles. They prepared him to mind his manners, to think of his accomplishments, and then to prepare further for things much grander, for what came after. For his future, for leaving the nest, for the life of one who is a member of their family.There would be expectations. But they reminded him not to worry, saying his standing was assured. There would be questions of service, of promotion, of grace, of ranking, of marriage, of children, of Father. Fon did not yet know Ghalib, not once had he sought out the child of his daughters, even just to confirm his existence. It was of the highest concern to leave a good impression.But his mothers had their deepest thoughts elsewhere. Their lips spoke of a lofty future, but in their throats was the sound of regret. Ghalib wondered on its meaning.Though he knew not how her words led him to the idea, he was sure it was Zabet who had placed the idea in his head. This vision that it was possible for things to be different. That in some other world, some other place, a small, quaint family could live in peace. In the frontiers, the old country, out on the docks watching the fish, winds whipping their cheeks, with no thoughts of honor or glory nipping at their heels. That he need not be shunned for the fact of his birth, that they could all exist together without worry or fear or preparation. But Ghalib also knew he was not a child anymore. That he shouldn't allow himself to be led astray by fanciful imaginings.Ghalib found himself in a room. More luxurious than his mothers' rooms, with tapestries in red and gold, exotic creatures preserved, pinned, and hung on the walls. Giant beetles in colors of distant jungles. Winged creatures from the depths of alien canyons. Carnivorous ferns and foreboding maws. Trophies and tribute, brought to him by honorable sons and daughters. Honorable in ways that Ghalib was not.He stood at attention, as he was told to do, as he had been told by one of Fon’s more beloved sons. The brother had departed, leaving Ghalib alone, staring at the doors, waiting for them to open.He kept his gaze fixed on the symbol of The Jace—of Father—that was carved into its surface. An all-seeing eye, casting its gaze downwards, on planets and skylines, bodies celestial and flesh, bone and metal, rock and forest.If Father truly saw all that was in his kingdom, then how was it that I stood here?It felt like an eternity before he was speaking to Fon vana. A towering man, with modest armor in a soft blue with orange-tinted stripes. Fon wore false teeth. They were tall, a skyline of their own. When he smiled, there was little else to his face.Ghalib stayed on script. But Fon strayed from it.“Oh, Pracir. That Pracir,” Fon said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “I had such high hopes for her.”Unsure what to say, Ghalib let him carry on.“Even from when she was an egg. With two spots on the 9th circumference! It boded so well. And her lineage was honorable. She was given to Kep and Iggra. I thought they raised her well. Have you met them?”Ghalib shook his head.“You should, my boy. Had I a say, they would have been the guardians of your nest. Brilliant nest-fathers, both. Aspirants of Father's icon. As it should be. Ah, too bad it is too late for that. Too late for many things. No selection, no choice, no education, no ufforata. And now you’re an adult. Wish as I might, there is no way to go back.”“Pracir raised me well,” Ghalib tried to interject.But Fon listened little. “And Eriki! Her own family! It is a union to which should never be approved. It’s such a shame. It’s such a horrible shame. To this day, it is beyond me to imagine their thoughts.”There was a coy impulse in Ghalib to defend them. “I do not think they meant harm."“Meant to! What else can explain such an action? To lie to their father as such? Their father who loves them dearly, who wishes for only the best for his family? Did they simply forget a father’s duties? Overlook? Misconstrue? Is it even possible she failed to comprehend? Not Pracir, no. Not Pracir. What do you have to say on it, my boy? For surely you have things to say.”“Were,” but Ghalib felt the words to be slippery and his sense of propriety worse.“Speak up, speak up. Be not afraid, I welcome your thoughts no matter their color.”“Is it. Is it not untrue that I may not be alive today if they had not hid me?”“No, no,” Fon said, waving his hands in the air. “Look at you! Working for Ulharr Zabet. Zabet vok Kanan! Kanan, whose children are below only Ova’s after Father’s own! An Ulharr under most revered of the First, of Ulhurio Cim and her Ulhui Fend! I would’ve known. It would’ve been obvious. Whatever auspices your hatching bestowed, I would have known. Oh, to think I was not there to see it. That I could not have shared the news. That you were not cherished from the first for the signs of your glory."He then slapped his hand against the table, saying with his teeth like towers in his mouth in what I thought was meant to be a smile, “No need to be so nervous, my boy. You misunderstand, but that is okay. It is a learning process! A learning process that has been sorely absent from your life. I will try to make up for lost time. No worries, no worries.”Ghalib, overwhelmed by his candor, tried to go back to the script with the words, “I’m honored Ulharr Zabet has favored me.”“Kanan is a good father. He has taught his children well. Now, tell me, tell me. Have you thoughts for joining his family?”“I do not believe Zabet has thoughts for marriage," said Ghalib, his voice comparatively weak.Fon snorted, leaning back again in his seat, “Ah. Again, my poor boy, you misunderstand. You should think of her father, of Kanan. He may have other ideas. He surely would not wish for his daughter to go unwed. No good father would!” His tone then changed, musing further, “If not her, you will meet others through her. Her family, her command. Hmm. I should arrange to meet with Kanan. I should.”Fon then swept back up, raising his arms once again though he were a conductor before his orchestra. “But first, your adoption. Your adoption must come first. Oh, I am brimming with excitement. It will be such a momentous occasion. A redemption! After such a betrayal. A redemption, it must be.”Ghalib found it trying to summon similar enthusiasm. Thankfully, it seemed like Fon paid little attention to anything about him.When Ghalib returned to his nest-mothers, they—but mainly Eriki pawed and pried him for details, for thoughts, for impressions. He spoke, but was caught immediately for the feelings behind his words, “Oh, Ghalib. Oh, my Ghalib. I know. He is a bit overbearing, isn’t he? Worry on it not. He has many flaws, but, deep down, his heart means only to be a proper reflection of Our Holy Father.”Eriki told him of the ceremony, of garb and decoration, of rumors and gossip. The others had been speaking about him, she relayed, some with tongues like knives, others with sunlight in their voices. She clasped his hands, smiling in her warmest, sitting across from her son with her knees nearly touching his.But after time spent in dreamy reverie, swept away by visions of golds and fountains, Ghalib became increasingly aware of Pracir’s bad temper. She had said little. She sat with her shoulders raised, arms crossed, looking off into the distance though some sight had her much disturbed. So much attention had her mood drawn, that Eriki stopped as well.“Darling?” she asked of her partner.Pracir turned back to them, but let out only a huff of air.Eriki fell silent, stricken by the gloom over Pracir’s visage, realizing at once what lay beneath those icy scales.Despite what appeared like a temper, Pracir pivoted herself to face Ghalib, coming close, taking her son's hands and falling to her knees with head buried against his shins. Too startled by the act, Ghalib was without words or actions. Eriki, too, looked upon Pracir though she was nearly an imposter, unable to react to the gesture, unable to find compass of character to match it to.“My son,” Pracir said, her voice muffled and fluctuating though she were overtaken with emotion. “It is not fair.”“Pracir,” Eriki cooed.“It is not fair. It is not fair,” she sobbed. “He takes everything. I do nothing with him in mind. And still all I do is his. In the end, it is only his.”Eriki’s face suddenly fell into a scowl, her knuckles tensed and fingers like claws in her lap, her mouth held slightly agape. She then looked to her son, trying to apologize, “She is just overwhelmed, Ghalib.”Whipping her head up to look at Ghalib, the distress on Pracir’s face was clear, and she gripped harder on his hands. There was fire in her voice when she spoke, “You are my son. Never forget that, Ghalib. You are of my blood and body, like how it was done in the old days. I sacrificed everything, I fell from grace, simply to protect you. To raise you. To keep you as our own. If we have father, it is only our True Father. Do not settle for this sham, Ghalib. Do not forget. Do not forget us.”When Ghalib returned to the lab, Pracir’s words were the only thing on his mind. He had nothing to offer in return. He felt it had been within him to reassure her that he would not forget, that he would hold Fon with scrutiny, that he would honor her. Yet, he did not think that was for which she truly pined. And he so desperately wished for something greater to console her.So absorbed was Ghalib in thoughts of his upcoming adoption, stuck staring defiantly at the set of data he had recorded with mind elsewhere, that he barely noticed that Zabet had taken a place to stand over him, watching him as hand tapped against the surface of the console.
“Ghalib,” she said, startling him from his reverie.Ghalib spun around to face her, quickly picking himself up, “Sorry. Sorry, my Ulharr. I did not see you.”“Are rates of oxygen diffusion so engrossing?”“Are they not?” but he caught himself, knowing he was putting on a front, “No. No, that’s not it. I was merely lost in thought.”“What’s the occasion?”“It is just,” he said, turning back around. “Families are complicated.”“Your adoption is soon, is it not?”“Yes.”“My condolences. But, speaking of family, Ulharr Buul ves Kanan is set to stop by. He wishes to test our prototypes.” Then she patted his shoulder, adding “Look lively.”She meant to leave him alone with the data, but as he set his eyes upon it again, he caught her at the door with the words, “You too were adopted.”Zabet vok Kanan stopped, but remained facing the other way. “Such as is clear in my name, yes.”“But from a lower family. Whose? What were your circumstances?”Slow steps turned her around, returning to the counter, her hand perched on her hip with the other loose, and her head cocked sideways. Her gaze upon Ghalib seemed disenchanted. “It matters none. I did not know them well.”“Were you young?” he asked.“It is a much too complicated thing to get into.”“Complicated in what way?”“Ghalib. So insistent. That I am 'vok' hardly captures the whole of it. It was a disaster, if ever there was a word to use for it," she said.“Is even that a secret?”With a sigh, she probed at her temple and hopped up on the desk next to him with her legs dangling free before explaining, “I suppose I cannot dissuade you.”“If you. If you want to. I know it is a personal thing,” Ghalib said, sensing he was making a fool of himself.“No. It is no issue. It is just a story made of many words. But they are not words that cause any notable discomfort in me to recount.My egg was by a Consort born. She was originally Oturi vuj Kanan, a Consort of the Third, but she had been cast out by Kanan, lost from grace. Sometime during the chaos of her fall, an egg became known and it was unclear to which family it properly belonged. The father of the family that took her in—Ester vana, Father of the 156th—insisted that the egg belonged with them. He said it had come after her fall and he would see to cultivating it as a part of the 156th. My father, Kanan, insisted instead that it came before she was ousted, that she had hidden it, and therefore belonged to him. According to him, she had wrongly taken it with her when she left, and Ester was just using it as a tool to incite controversy and tarnish the Third’s name.They called in lawyers to settle the matter but no conclusion was ever reached. Some even argued I should be removed from grace altogether or similarly demanded that Ester cull me for the sake of his family’s honor and the honor of all Father’s children. I was present when that case was made, in fact, though I was but a child.Ester outright refused all attempts at peaceful intercession. The matter was only settled when, finally, The Jace was forced to step in, decreeing finally that, though I belonged properly to Ester, in order to right the wrongs committed during the controversy, Ester must give me up to be adopted by Kanan.”Ghalib had many questions, but only one that put the stars in his eyes, “Does that mean you have seen Father in person?”“Briefly. I was but seven years in age," said Zabet.“What was he like?”“Kind, I suppose. I remember him speaking to me before making the decree.”“He spoke to you? What did he say? What did he tell you? What did he sound like?” Ghalib asked.“What do you imagine the pinnacle of Fatherhood saying to a frightened child? Because I doubt it would be far off the mark," she said.Ghalib sat back, marveling at the idea, until he adjusted his sights and found the crack in the stone again. He approached it cautiously, unsure if his senses were capable of leading him astray in such a way, and spoke quietly, “But you say—you say we are all slaves of him.”She hopped back down onto her feet and set about straightening out what of her uniform hung loose—only a few feathers around her waist—saying with no particular inflection, “It was five years before he saw my case. I beg you to imagine how those circumstances might feel to a child.”Ghalib looked up to her, standing under the light with her face obscured by its intensity. She was always an imposing figure, with jutting shoulders, long neck, and tightly tapered armor of her own custom make. Green was the color beloved by the Third but she wore it in shades dark enough to obscure its true vibrancy, less it glint in the light in just the right way.
When Ghalib was young, his mothers had let on none about his circumstances. They hadn’t needed to. The birth was well known but few minded outside of how it reflected upon their own status. They had other priorities with which to busy themselves. Higher families had such fewer members, only 53 for the First. Ghalib struggled to comprehend that there was enough worry to demand so severely the return of a single egg. Fon's family, the 124th, claimed exactly 731—a number of which Ghalib was not yet included, and he was far from the first illegitimate birth in their ranks. Ester, Patriarch of the 156th, had more, for the families with ranks in the 200’s and beyond sometimes had entire cities to themselves. Cities Ghalib believed to be places without glamour. In a constant state of disrepair, far from the capital where the graceless and groups like Sanctuary made their homes. Cities vulnerable to the greed and anger of the frontiers people.Zabet tapped on the table and said, “Enough reminiscing, Ghalib. We must prepare for my brother’s arrival.”Ulharr Buul was an exuberant individual. Smiling, joking with his sister, fumbling with the armor as they tried to fit it on him, turning to Ghalib with a self-effacing smile as though to apologize for his manner. “She always makes it fit too tight, doesn’t she?” he’d say and chuckle. “The manufacturers will have a time sorting that out.”Zabet would only swat him on the shoulder with a scowl.In comparison to Zabet, he was charming. For Ghalib, it was a welcome change. In a moment of naivety, he was drawn back to the Ulhui Fend vum Jace's comment about women raising children. He did not know enough to think otherwise, wondering then on the characteristics their culture considered essential for the sexes. If women were always on some war path or another and needed the presence of their more affable counterparts to even them out.The assumption seemed flimsy, though, when he tried to match it up to Buul's Ulhasen who had accompanied him. Ulhasen Moren ves Jo, as she was introduced. She was quiet, shy, keeping to herself away from them. Her arms were always held close to her body, her head always down to review her notes. Ghalib nearly saw her flinch when he raised his voice to correct her on a figure.Out in the testing arena, the two Ulharr wore their prototypes and sparred with ceremonial glaives, intending to get a personal feel for the flexibility the equipment afforded. The weapons were personal possessions, only used for ritual duels and not for any serious combat. Long and nimble, decorated with symbols of the Third: the moons, the underwater lakes of Fo-ekin, the sacred tree of Kankurk, but were deadly still, cutting clean swipes through the armor that we would need to later treat.Such contest between siblings was common, though a custom Ghalib had never experienced, having no official standing nor participation in such traditional rites reserved for family members. He remembered Pracir had taught him basics but without any seriousness nor any opponents upon which to contest.Ghalib watched them intently, that flash of color as they clashed in the makeshift arena one level down, Zabet twirling her glaive with show of determination after being knocked aside, Buul standing on the other side with breath rushed enough the heave of his chest was visible even from a distance,Bewitched by the display, he spoke to Moren, “Do you spar with your siblings?”A timid, “Mm,” was all that made it past her lips.He looked down at her but her face was again in her notes.
Realizing a person was looking at her, she looked further away and gave a nervous, “Y-yes.”There wasn’t much to get out of her, so Ghalib turned back to their game. But, to his surprise, Moren added onto her statement, “My father is quite fond of it.”Later, he asked Zabet about her, “What sort is his Ulhasen?”But she just laughed, “Well, she is from the Fifth.”“She seemed odd.”“I could tell you about them, but it would be a secret,” she said with a smile. I surmised that it was Buul who had put her in such better moods.“You can tell me secrets,” Ghalib said, hoping to claw his way back into Zabet's trust.“Jo is a despicable father who cares nothing for his children's well being,” she said, hopping back up to perch on a counter.“What?” Ghalib started in disbelief, “But he was chosen by Father to be Fifth.”She put up her hands, shrugging and saying, “I know not what goes through Father's mind, Ghalib. But, even then, there are only two conclusions that can be made: either He is blind to it or He lets it continue knowingly. It is not even so obscure, either. Even I can find that Jo hatches many but it appears so very few make it past their ufforata to adulthood. Curious, no? Many would say it’s a right of the Patriarch to make those decisions. But on such a scale? And with such consistency?” She then shrugged again, saying, “Maybe it makes for good subjects. His children always seem extraordinarily keen to follow orders to the letter."“You mean to say he enjoys the slaughter of his own?” Ghalib exclaimed, hardly believing the words.“In so plain of words: yes. Or else minds none the things that lead to deaths so numerous.”Ghalib then caught himself, letting a different thought that had been simmering rise to the surface, "Are not the Third in contest with the Fifth? What does your father say on the matter?""Kanan and Jo have no bad blood between them. Besides, you can check the records yourself," she said.Ghalib then colored his face to a scowl with knuckles clenched. “Do you believe this to be entertaining?”“Excuse me?” Zabet responded.“These are serious accusations! If he is not worthy of being a father, there should be an inquiry! But you chastise relentlessly, whilst doing nothing!”Ghalib expected her to burst into tirade, raise her voice, or fall to grumbling growls like when she struggled to admit a mistake, but she appeared unaffected. She remained perched on the counter, her legs crossed and back hunched over her knees. Slowly, a smile creased her face. It was sly, knowing, and did nothing to assuage Ghalib's concerns. “Who says I do nothing?”Ghalib knew with the words that the exercise had been a mistake. He let her insinuation rest with no response, feeling a nausea building in his throat at whatever truth lay behind her words.To commemorate the occasion of Ghalib's adoption, a ceremony was arranged. His entire clan was in attendance, in a great hall rented from the bottom reaches of the Finae Tower, one of the five great towers that surrounded where the First Family resided. It was open to air, with grand archways and brilliant colors; coppers, brass, bronzes, all glinting in the morning light. Upon the walls hung tapestries in crimson red and gold, depicting the symbol of The Jace, the all-seeing eye filling the room with His knowing gaze. Tables of food were laid out on either side, only of traditional source, with a great plethora of cacti fruit of greens and purples in arrangements meant to dazzle more than to appetize.Over 700 guests spoke at once, fracturing the room into small clusters of like-minded nest families, children, lovers, soldiers, tradesmen, lawyers, laborers. They laughed, reminisced, argued, gossiped, told stories, a clamorous thunder filling the room they barely fit into. Ghalib had hovered by Pracir and Eriki but was quickly pulled aside to meet more high-ranking family members, who made official introductions, asked of his work, and gave thanks to The Jace. But just as they had begun to organize into aisles, with Fon standing in full regalia—bundles of translucent wings and sashes while among them danced bejeweled beetles fully alive to crawl over him or perch upon his shoulders—at the head of the room in front of a fountain of sand, three more ominous figures arrived in their midst.The silence that fell upon the room was sudden and heavy, for, while the group was headed by the Shadow of the House, the other two were something different entirely. Their nature was on the side of the sublime. They were Ascended and of The Thirteen, those of the First Family who had reached the pinnacle and were chosen by Father to serve Him personally, recognizable by their abstracted, depersonalized forms that gave away no hint of separation between person and armor. All knew their names and deeds, alike storybook heroes that all thravs aspired to one day become, as his nest mothers had ensured for Ghalib, and it was by such undertaking that he recognized them as Blessed Waen and Blessed Ivaline, the infiltrator and the envoy. A pit grew in Ghalib's stomach, for their sudden appearance boded only ill.“Good brothers and sisters of the 124th,” the Shadow of the House of the First began to speak. He was a short man, dressed in red with a veil covering his face, belonging to the Shadows of the First which minded their properties. He had been the entity to which Fon had made his arrangements for the space. “I must ask of your ears and hearts, for I have troublesome news.”Ghalib stood close enough to Fon to hear a low, discontented growl boil over from his throat.
“It is with regret that I must inform you that this area is to be immediately evacuated.”The word “evacuated” rushed through the crowd, spoken on lips in questions and disbelief, until Fon raised his voice, booming and resentful as culmination of the murmurs, “Evacuated?”The next voice came from other Thirteen called Ivaline, a towering figure made of twists of silvers glinting in the light. The sound seemed to come from nowhere at all, for the being had no obvious apparatus of speech, “There is danger but no need to be afraid. Sanctuary has made designs upon this area. It is with haste we must see you to safety.”The room erupted in a nervous bustle at the mention of Sanctuary, a gathering of 700 hands and mouths meaning to be quiet yet failing to account for the swell. People grabbed things, their children, looked with horror at their relatives, a scuffling of feet and whispers. Ghalib turned to see Pracir and Eriki trying to make it through the crowd towards him but then was whipped back around as Fon put his hand on his shoulder and grabbed his arm. The grip was firm, demanding of Ghalib's intention, as though it meant to scold him.Fon, then, in commanding voice yet again, turned back to announce to his family, “Do not panic, children! Do you not see we are in good hands?”
His children paused at his direction, closing their mouths and looking back to the envoys for direction. Ghalib watched the Blessed Waen, who was embodied as chunks of feathered charcoal and sinew, scan the crowd. Looking for something, for sign of allegiance, for what might signal of tainted roots and give him reason to act. Having no visible eyes nor expression, he was nearly a shadow cast upon them and nothing more. The gesture complete, Waen slipped back out of their view.Though the calm was immediate, it proved short lived, for in the moments after Fon had made his appeal and the crowd had looked back to the Thirteen with faith, a sound came barreling in from the distance. Uninvited, unexpected even given warning, confusing and without clear source, it was only a vague rumbling at first. Then it grew, climbing, booming, rattling, cracking as though a mountain itself was making its voice heard,, and a more immediate panic descended upon the crowd.Ghalib lost track of the servant and the other Blessed as the 124th Family burst up into a frantic effort to organize themselves. He was focused instead on Fon's grip on his arm, which had tightened to nearly a painful hold. Fon motioned to some of the others close to him, the higher ranking of his children, and began to move. Ghalib pulled back on his arm, turning to search for sight of Pracir and Eriki, but Fon spared no moment for it and pulled Ghalib along with them.There was little Ghalib had in him to protest. He felt outside of himself, the event, the people—an outsider watching strange patterns emerge, as though the arrangement of bodies was nothing but the activities of cells under the microscope.There were too many people. Bodies, skin, feet, voices, hot and instinctual, and, as they exited the building for him to keep track of it. There was a dust pooling in the air, hitting their faces and begging their throats to collapse. Cracking and thundering catching them on their heels. It followed them, though the entirety of the ground beneath them was giving way. It grew louder than Ghalib had ever known, shaking the pavement, causing him to imagine that it was cracking to give way entirely. He kept glancing backwards as he was pulled along, still trying to get better sight, with thoughts both racing and scattered.That Sanctuary was in the capital at all. That they were close. They had to be close. That he could no longer see Pracir or Eriki. He wondered, was it one of the towers? The central tower? He couldn’t see what happened. He couldn't see the source of it all, pulled down the corridors and hallways that made up the lower levels, only sometimes able to catch a sight of the sky beyond as archways let in the distant screaming of physical substances.Again, Ghalib turned his attention back to Fon's grip, nearly stumbling as he attempted to keep pace. He wondered why the man's first thought—before he even moved to address the crowd—had been of him.The people surrounding them were those of higher rank. Pracir was the 224th Daughter of their Family, he reminded himself.It was then Ghalib realized that the crowd must have been split. There were not 700 bodies in their midst. But there was so much chaos and the dust had flooded any opening let in by the tower that it was impossible to track.Amidst shuffling feet and the winding pathways going to, from, and around the tower, a stranger thought had poked a pinhole through his attention: Zabet.What would she think. What did she know. Where was she. Was it connected to the insinuation that she did something? Had she known this was coming? She had defended Sanctuary in the past, a plea for Ghalib to try to understand their anger, the anger of those deprived of Father's grace. Ghalib wondered if even now it was true that Father still loved them as He loved all His children.But then they entered a passage that went dark. Underground. There were scant light fixtures along the walls but Ghalib could see nothing that gave him a sense of the people, the place, only that their pace had slowed.Fon's cloak was covered in dust. He seemed in thought. His other arm was around another man, another of his sons, keeping him close. Ghalib knew of Uvan, the highest ranked in their family, yet had not yet spoken with him.“What about the ceremony?” was all Ghalib thought to ask.“What?” Fon said as though he did not hear or understand but then answered anyway, “Do not worry about it. Don’t mind it, okay? We did good. You’re my son now. It is okay. Don’t worry about it.”Ghalib looked up to the other son. His brother. Uvan shot him a glare.They reached a cellar area and it was even darker. Brighter lights were then turned on. People started to sit down. Coughing. Hushed voices. The Shadow and the other Thirteen were elsewhere. Fon was the man in charge now. But he said nothing. Ghalib took to scanning the scene again, trying to spot his mothers.
There was no one guarding the entrance. And his body almost on its own back the way they came, only coming to any sense when he realized that Fon still had his arm.He pulled back. “Stay here.”“But Pracir—” Ghalib stuttered.“Do not worry about her. Stay here," said Fon.“But she’s—”“You’ve left the nest. You have no need for nest-mothers any longer,” Uvan said. His voice was harsh in a way that reminded Ghalib of that Ulhui of the First.The words burned the bewilderment from his mind to let loose his horror and an urgency saw him finally able to tear his arm from Fon’s grasp. As he scrambled past them, he said to them without leaving room for a response, “I will be back. I’ll be right back. It’ll be okay,” making his way towards the unguarded entrance.Wondering if it had really been his mothers that had motivated him, it was not long before Ghalib found himself suddenly at the open archways again looking out into the cluster of streets, as though his feet had acted beyond the permission he had given them. He felt sure they had been separated at some point from the main group, that Fon had separated them. But he had no way of knowing where he was headed or why.There were pillars, buildings untouched but empty, streets with dust and belongings. From a distance, he saw figures in the haze. Silhouettes leaning on the edge of a building. And walked towards them. But as soon as he saw they were holding objects, he froze, recognizing the shapes of weapons and firearms.Ghalib's pupils closed to a point. Initiative frozen in his throat. He turned the other way but found little sense of direction. The return was obfuscated by the webbed layout of the ground floor streets, closed in by towering structures that arced over and around him. He knew not where he had turned, when he had turned, which path of five at the axis it had been.The territory was unrecognizable. He had never been at the ground level before and felt everything in disarray, accustomed only to clusters of rooms and hallways, walkways hung high up in the sky, the interior of those living vessels that flew them from perch to perch, never needing to touch the ground.As he tried to backtrack, he watched carefully for signs, for landmarks, for anything he might remember seeing out of the corner of his eye, catching on a large statue occupying an open courtyard. He recognized it depicted Blessed Veint, oldest of The Thirteen. Like ivory, fractured in bones and spiraling horns, crushed and distorted with no face or eyes, and glaive pointing upwards. Bits and pieces of conversations with Zabet came back to him. About the moon landing centuries ago, about Veint, about the Ascended. About gods and death.It all started with the moon. It all ended with the moon.They buried their honored dead on its surface, said to dream of better fates for all who came after.He thought again of the shadows with weapons and found himself moving again, if only out of a fear for safety. But his head was swirling, an incoherent mess, wondering only why no one had done more to stop him. Why no one had come after him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind lurked the thought that it was on purpose. That it was all on purpose. That they knew something about him. That they knew this would happen. That they had set it all up that way. He tried to stay away from those thoughts, for he knew well they were poisonous.There were voices shouting. He couldn’t tell what they were saying. But then they were closing in. He ducked behind the statue, pulse like a drum beat meant to summon the spectre of his demise. But then they ran past. They were running away. Away from something. And he heard a rumbling coming from the other way.A crude metal canister was thrown, tinking across the pavement, an explosive and the blast penetrated the air like a needle bursting a membrane, the turbulence screaming past where he hid behind the statue, ripping through something visceral, a gooey splattering that covered up other voices that then suddenly quieted.Despite the quiet, he knew he was not alone. And it knew he was there. But he remained, curled up behind the statue, praying underneath his breath, "Mercy, Father. Mercy, Father. By your Grace, Father, grant me mercy."Each second, poised and piercing, dipped in acid, the prick of a point pinching in between his tendons. He could hear a soft crackling, the hiss of particulate debris settling in the air. Strange sounds but no voices. He watched the dust stir in swirling streams. He watched the primitive minerals that lined the pavement. The cracks, grooves, evidence of wear, evidence of an older era. He watched his feet. He watched the joints in his hands. He felt his breath in his throat.The notion of breaking free from terror filled him with the anxiety of action. Action taken could not be taken back. Inaction was action. Indecision was an action. You need to move, he told himself.
Eventually, he was able to spy behind the statue. There was no one. Maybe there had never been anyone. And, though he were deathly ill and without much spirit to do it, he propped himself back up, standing again, looking out over the small plaza. It was an alley between buildings of such enormous height he couldn’t see the sky. Beside him was some sort of establishment. A grocery, perhaps. A place only shadows went. Empty, of course. The statue sat in a small courtyard at the ground level, where above towers opened to light and air, below they became clusters and catacombs.He could see the scars left by the explosive and walked closer to them, knowing not what he was thinking. They were blackened lines, stretching out from a singular point, with bits and pieces of flesh scattered around. Not flesh like he had known. There was some kind of limb on the other side of the street, ripped off of its source. It looked primitive in form.Staring such, he did not notice what had come out of the dust until it stood over him.He had no reaction left to give. Looking up to it with a numbing mist swirling about his head. All he could think was that it was strange.
A large thing, like a great beast, yet it was nearly featureless, a mass of swirling flesh and cancerous knots. Insectoid legs sprouted from it, both posing it high above the ground as well as erupting half-formed in useless bouquets from folds and pits and shooting greedily off from the joints of similar appendages. Black and beady eyes were like blisters upon its amorphous body, placed randomly and without care, some in places where they clearly served no purpose.It stared at him, visible bundles of muscle fiber around the eyes pulling them to fixate upon his comparatively diminutive form.Ghalib didn't move.There were bodies mashed into its sides. Slowly being absorbed into it. Thravs, like Ghalib. But they wore no colors. The edges of their frames were frayed, coming apart in strands like a tapestry unraveling, until they were one with the creature’s own substance. Weapons, too, congealing, melting, were pulled apart until they were one and the same with the being.It turned away from him, lumbering further down the road.
Ghalib was found later by a Shadow of the First. They helped him to find his way home. But, once he arrived, he was too exhausted to dwell on anything more.Zabet expected Ghalib in her lab the next day. There were no excuses to be made and he had no energy to make them.
The damage had not been bad, the incident was no cause of excessive alarm. It had happened suddenly and was resolved quickly. It would be repaired, it was easy to repair, life would continue as normal. But Ghalib did not feel normal.He came to the lab and sat down, continuously going back through the events in his head. He had not even moved to inform Zabet that he had arrived.It was nothing spectacular, he kept telling himself. It was really nothing spectacular at all. Events as such happen with more frequency in other cities. Our soldiers deal with much more on alien worlds.When Zabet found him, she was walking alongside Buul’s Ulhasen, Moren, though Buul was nowhere to be seen. They were talking. Rather, Zabet was talking at her, for Moren said very little at all. Ghalib wasn’t listening. But they stopped when they saw him.“You look like you had quite the night,” Zabet said to him.He scowled. “I was down on the ground level.”“What? Why?” she said as though she thought the notion absurd.
“It was the space my father could afford.”Her tone shifted immediately, becoming cold as she mumbled, “I see.”“Are you okay?” then asked Moren, her concern clear in her voice.Ghalib did not want to look up at them. “I am fine.”“I doubt it was actually Sanctuary,” Zabet said with a scoff.Ghalib wasn’t sure it mattered.“Say, Ghalib. You want to know a secret?”He looked up at her. She stood with her hand on her hip, her face blocked out by the overhead light again. But then he noticed, beside her, with gaze turned to Zabet instead of me, Moren seemed in shock. She held her eyes especially wide, clasping tightly on the device she held over her chest.It was Moren who interjected first, saying in disbelief a curt, “What?”Though she forgot Moren was there, Zabet turned to her. “What?”“A secret?” said Moren. “About Sanctuary?”“The—It’s not a big deal. Just a word, Moren.”The small, normally demure woman suddenly came to life, shouting, “You can’t just—!”“Well, look, it’s too late now! Just let me tell him!”“What have you been telling him?!”There was something of Moren that seemed frightened, panicked, though she was channeling the previous day.“Moren,” Zabet said, exasperated, putting her palms out in front of her.“Are you saying you have deliberately disobeyed a direct order?!”“Look, he’s probably going to be recruited anyway—”But Moren cut her off, “You don’t have the power to make those decisions!”“Ulhasen! I have seniority here, I know the situation better than you! You need think nothing of it!”“I do not report to you!” Moren exclaimed.Zabet simply rolled her eyes and let out another sigh, “Buul will agree with me.”“How can you say that like it’s fine?” Moren said with a quiver in her voice.Righting her stance, so she was no mere civilian, but Ulharr, Zabet steeled herself and gave the order, “You’re dismissed.”But Moren did not take well to it, “Dismissed?”“That’s what I said. You may make your leave,” Zabet said, nodding her head towards the exit.As Moren shrunk before her, her head down, clawing at the device near her chest, Zabet then relaxed and tried to add, “You know, you really shouldn’t take everything Cim says at face value.”Moren shut her mouth in a terrible grimace, then looked to Ghalib and said, “Don’t listen to her. She sympathizes with Sanctuary.”“Yeah and Cim wants them all eradicated!” Zabet said in response. “With no thought to justice!”But Moren had already, in a huff, picked up her feet and started to make her way out.Ghalib was not quite sure what he had just witnessed.And, added to that, after Moren had left, Zabet had found herself a seat, sitting with her face in her hands. “That was a disaster.”Ghalib blinked, unsure of what could be said.“I forgot about her.”Ghalib thought she appeared to be reacting though it were, in fact, a big deal.Hunched over in the desk adjacent to him, clawing at her own skull, her feathers ruffled. She took in a big breath of air, letting it out slowly though she meant to try to calm herself.Ghalib started to piece some things together. “Were you talking about Ulhurio Cim?”But Zabet spun around, her eyes fiery, raising a claw to gesture at him, “You cannot repeat that.”
“How does anyone not already know?”Claws running over her head, pressing down its reflective crests in exasperation, she forced a sigh again, her eyes widening as she did, forcing them closed on the exhale, “They know.”Ghalib held his tongue, staring at her with the same dumbfounded disbelief that had filled his head the previous day. There was no indication that she was going to tell him anything and that seemed in line with his experiences, so he questioned it none.But then she began rambling on as though the crack had given way and now her thoughts were freely leaking out of her head, “They absolutely know. There’s no way they don’t. We think they let us continue what we’re doing so they can track us. It picks some off occasionally. They disappear and we never hear back. Usually lesser people, those whose disappearance makes less of an impact. We will probably all be dead the moment it has decided it has gathered enough data on us. It is also possible it simply doesn't see us as a threat. I don't know which I find more terrifying.”A silence fell between them. A humid, uneasy silence, though they had both been made aware of the web they were caught in. There was a need in Ghalib to break free from it, but his thoughts were still stuck on the events of the previous day, hardly able to connect to Zabet’s own whims, so he decided to said, in subdued voice though he were only mumbling to himself, “I saw three of the Ascended yesterday.”Her head perked up. She was staring at him with strange intensity. He kept going, “I saw one of them transformed. It—he looked at me and then left. I think it was Theissen.”She slammed her palm against the table, growling and saying with ferocity, “Ghalib,” but then immediately softened, “Ghalib, Ghalib. My Ulhasen. No. No, I despise it. But she has reminded me of an importance. I have need to better watch my words. I can say no more. And you cannot ask such things of me.”Ghalib was not similarly softened, bristling with her sudden rejection, unsure of how what he said had provoked such a reaction. “I,” he started, trying to find his feet again, but the current was sweeping him elsewhere. Something was crumbling and his voice failed as he finished the statement, “I didn’t think they would separate us."It was clear Zabet had no clue of where his mind had dissolved. She stuttered, trying to find her footing again, saying in bewilderment, “What?”Ghalib slumped over the desk, trying his best to contain himself, “My family.”“Separate you?” she asked, still without a clue.He bumbled forward, voice now muffled in his forearms, “My brother. Uvan, I-I think. He. He told me I had no need for nest-mothers anymore. And glared at me when I worried over them.”“You didn’t—”“Will I even see them again?” Ghalib whimpered.“You didn’t know?”“No,” he said. “No, I knew. I thought I did. But I didn’t think. I didn’t think.”He could not see her, but still she took moments to herself, answering finally with tone that reminded of only of Eriki, “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”“Fon hates them. He says they betrayed him. They are ranked low in the family.”
“What is your ranking now that you’re adopted?”“Fon. Fon wants me to be fifth son of his family. But first, he said, he must talk to Kanan.”Zabet took in a sharp inhale, then said, in gritted tone, “This is all my fault.”Ghalib raised his head, seeing Zabet perched uncomfortably in her chair, legs crossed and hands nervously scratching at each other. “Your fault?”“Kanan is not going to hear him out. Can you imagine? The Third father giving any time to someone so deficient of grace? It won’t happen. Especially not after what happened with Ester. I dare say he imagines the upper and lower to have between them the intent of some sort of war.”“Is he wrong?” Ghalib said, burrowing into Zabet with his eyes.“You mean Sanctuary?” then she sighed, saying, “The truth of Sanctuary is much more complicated.”Ghalib was at wit’s end, begging of her, “Tell me that. Tell me something. Anything. I do not care. Something. Something to make sense of you. Of the things you say. Then I’ll ask no more. I promise.”With a slight tilt of her head, she looked away, saying only, “Okay.” Slowly, she worked her voice up to say more, “You at least deserve to understand my position.”He waited.“There are many,” she started, but stopped to glance around the lab as though to ensure that we were alone, “within the First who own multiple faces. They vie for control, seeing The Jace as a weak ruler, but want only for their own supremacy. The Ulhurio Cim, Second Daughter, and her Ulhui, Fend—whom you met—are of those people,” she paused, taking in a large breath of air, “I am, also, regrettably, as an officer in Cim’s command, necessarily one of those people. But for different reasons and not entirely of my own choosing. I suppose I have been brash, assuming we have some sort of immunity. Nothing is unknown in Father’s empire, yet we persist and I know not why. ”Ghalib sat frozen, horrified at her simple admission, speaking of Father though he were just a man, repeating only the idea, “You want to depose Father?”
She just stared at him, lips locked, refusing to state it in such plain words.“And Sanctuary?” he asked.“We have no association,” she said plainly. “But, if it might help, it is no secret for me to pass on the knowledge that Father carries deep sympathy for Sanctuary and the plight of the graceless. He seeks negotiations, reparations, and holds strong to the belief they are his children all the same, that he loves them all the same. Such a position, to sympathize so deeply with supposed terrorists, is significant to color opposition to his rule. Whatever can be done to aggravate that wound is in the benefit of the people to whom I belong.”Sitting there, staring at his Ulharr, Ghalib imagined himself a surgeon. Digging through her armor, her skin, her mind with sight alone. From birth to adoption, from child to soldier, from cynic to conspirator. In her eyes was a world he didn’t know. It was cold, chaotic, with darkened skies, like a rumbling tide before the oncoming monsoon, uncaring for anything that stood in its wake. He saw through her to worlds he had never been to, equally turbulent landscapes beset by alien forces, by monsters with eyes like blisters and thousands of limbs, who knew nothing of them, who imagined them as strange and horrible. And then to those pockets of our civilizations, with the forgotten, unwanted, disgraced, left to brave the storm alone with only bombs and dust and firearms at their disposal.But, then, she pulled him back with the words, “Ghalib. I’ll talk to my father on your behalf. If anything, perhaps he can pass on some sense to Fon. I’m sorry I cannot do more.”
PART THREE
The world that Ghalib did know was simple: the two towers where the 124th resided on the edge of the capital. In comparison to the monoliths of the city, it was humble, sitting on the edge of the city overlooking the desert. The interior was covered in a blue shell, each central floor decorated with arboretums and fountains for clean water, otherwise a catacomb of snaking hallways and small personal abodes. Beyond it was the Ruclain desert, an arid abyss only made viable for life through technology.The ship with which he commuted belonged to the 124th, a living vessel carrying whoever wished to ride into the central city, including those who worked downtown like Ghalib. The other passengers paid him little mind. They did, however, greet him properly now.“Good evening, brother,” they said, offering an open palm. But then carried on with other discussions.The events of the previous days seemed to have faded quickly from their minds, now filled with gossip about the First Family. The First Daughter was recently married, apparently an unlikely event, as she had rejected every suitor before, and ideas on their arrangement still fascinated. But Ghalib only wondered on Zabet’s words, imagining even the First Daughter and her new husband to be a possible usurper.Behind them stood the capital, built up from ancient steel and stone to massive monuments of living metal and fibers, colored and shaped, engineered and immortal, in reds, golds, ivory. They stood to impossible heights, surrounded by crossings and columns for thousands of miles like were a spider given millenia to weave its nest. In the further distance, ships and beacons hung in the sky overhead, floating effortlessly like great beasts, streams of incandescent mist following their sterns. Some flew great banners of the Empire, impossibly long and wide strips of living cellulose, trailing behind them in the sky, Father’s eye overlooking all.Though it was day, the Cressfel moon was visible in the purple sky. It lay close to the horizon, like some sort of celestial guardian caught spying on its kingdom. It was a smooth object, like a pearl in a lavender pool, but at its North Pole was a deep scar that cut downwards. The worthy dead were buried there, left to dream of Father, of glory, of honor, of love, their dreams giving power to all that lay below.Ghalib fixed his eyes upon it, wondering briefly if the dead could stare back. Wondering what had the world been like before Veint. He thought he knew the stories, visions of a world split between countless kingdoms and people, a world in chaos, but still a world that longed for peace, to be united, to recognize all as brother and sister. At the height of the ancient world, Veint first ventured into space, and brought back the tools to make such a vision possible.But that, too, was a world he didn’t know. Its truth completely obscure save for the fact of the world his discovery had created. Ghalib wondered if this was what they had wanted back then. If it is what they had intended by such grand vision. If this was the world they had intended to create. One that was revealing itself to Ghalib was still so torn and turbulent.Veint was still alive, though. Veint, although it was a newer iteration, still walked amongst them. The first of the Ascended, one of The Thirteen, most loyal and blessed of Father’s children. If he was still faithful to Father, then there was little other way to see the picture.Ghalib had originally made the decision to seek out his mothers when he arrived home. He had still not seen them. He did not know if they were well. But, knowing his mood was poor and feeling though Zabet’s influence was a poison that drained color from all, He wavered on the thought when he arrived. His hesitation was locked in as he saw his first brother and father waiting for him.They stole his attention immediately, wanting to take him to meet with other high-ranking members of their family, to talk, to make better acquaintances, to educate and probe his mind.They talked of history, of how their family came to be, calling up visions of that ancient world in strife, proudly recounting that, though they were humble and flawed, their family had been wholly faithful to the Unification from the beginning.Ghalib told them he had been thinking about Veint and they were quickly taken into ruminating on eras, when each of The Thirteen came into being, during what campaigns they died and subsequently were remade, how our family had contributed to such developments.“None shall forget of Ulhasen De ves Fon. A daughter most dear to me when she was alive,” Fon said, nodding to himself. “Ah. That was so long ago, yet so fresh in my memory. No, none should forget her at all. Do you know of De’s story?”“I know of her name, but not the specifics,” Ghalib replied, hesitantly looking among the group.Six brothers, three his peers, three older than Fon himself. The older were vys: sons of the previous Patriarch who became Fon’s children when he was named successor by Father. We sat on circular benches in a personal chamber, surrounded by plush cushions and sheer curtains in pastel tones. The sun shone strong, piercing through the open balcony behind us, scattered by layers of material till the room was lit in a luminous haze.“That is unfortunate! And strange—Pracir was close with her. Upon what reasoning did she speak little of her most exalted sister to you? Ah. Regardless. Thirteen Waen was lost on Fo-ekin, yes? In the early days. When the campaign had just begun.”“It’s a dreadful place,” one of the older men said to him, putting his hand on his shoulder. “All oceans and great continents of ice. No place for a thrav.”“Yes! Very dreadful!” Fon exclaimed. “It is no wonder it proved Father’s most difficult acquisition yet!”“That is not true,” said another of my older brothers grumbled. “Hurrein was much worse. Those people were capable of terrible destruction.”“Ah, ah,” Fon shook his head. “Yes, yes, Hurrein.” Then he turned to Ghalib, “You would do well to study up on Hurrein, Ghalib. The Prefect is none other than Ulhui Fend vum Jace—who you say you met?”“I did, yes. But we did not speak much.”“An honor, still. What did you think of him, hm? His husband became Ascended, you know. He’s Eresha now. Anyway, I am getting far ahead of myself,” Fon said with a chuckle. “We were talking of De! So. Waen was lost, but they did not know where—”“There are leagues and leagues of water, far too much area to cover by conventional means,” the older man added, his voice deep and textured.“Yes! Well. Much after, then comes my daughter. An Ulhasen. Like you,” Fon said with a glowing smile. “Her Ulharr’s legion was sent to root out the last pockets of resistance on Fo-ekin.”“I was with her,” was said, again, by the same older brother.“Yes, Kul was with her. Why don’t you tell the story, Kul.”“There was a specific fo-ekinite we were after. The Butcher of the Deep. Was the leader of one of the main groups who refused the terms of their surrender. Known for torturing thravs. Terrible business. They’d put the bodies up on spears before fleeing to a new town. All torn to shreds. Armor ripped from their body by force. It was terrible.”“Oh, such a blessing when she was finally captured!” Fon interjected. “They were stories that haunted many of my children!”Kul cleared his throat, continuing on, “We didn’t find the Butcher.”
“She was found later, do not fear,” Fon said. “But they did find something else.”“Yes,” Kul said, his tone carrying notes of irritation at his father’s constant interjection. “We found the remains of Blessed Waen.”“Can you imagine? Out in the middle of nowhere, deep under seas, far away from civilization in some icy abyss, surrounded only by the enemy and their attempts at inspiring horror with no means of contact to the outside. And then you find one of the things most precious to us all, symbol of Father’s power,” Fon added, his tone nearly giddy.Kul continued on, “He was far past expiration. We knew we needed at once to notify command. A painstaking thing, as radio does not travel well through so much salt water. And it is against orders to touch one of them—do not know if you are aware. We couldn’t move it ourselves. Touching them can cause terrible things, even in such a state. They’ll absorb you. So we tried to hold the area until his remains could be properly retrieved.”“Kul is forgetting a matter of importance,” Fon said, leaning in with his hands clasped together in his lap. “This was all on De’s directive. She led the forces who set up in that area. She was the one who made the decision to put priority on Waen.”
“Well,” Kul picked up. “It was also where she lost her life.”“Oh,” Fon again, “but do not worry. No need to worry at all. She lives on in the new Thirteen Waen. Father named her among the contributors when Waen was remade! It was also when our humble family rose to 124th. We were 136th before, you see. De had done well and Father’s gaze did not pass over her deeds unnoticed.”They descended into anecdotes from when De was still among them. She was faithful, stubborn, ambitious, supposedly with a good sense of humor. Kul noted that she sometimes had a poor relationship with her Ulharr, that they were frequently at odds, but that she treated her soldiers well. They had hoped she would marry, but she had passed before such a thing could be arranged. Yet, she had connections to our living brothers and sisters; apparently Pracir had hatched from an egg of hers, though Pracir had—according to Fon—failed by far to live up to the same standard.Pracir had never mentioned such a thing to Ghalib.He didn’t end up seeking out his nest-mothers. Fon was demanding of his time and it was surprisingly easy never to cross paths with them. And the longer they were separated, the more guilty Ghalib felt about staying away.Beset by deeper shadows, Ghalib failed to warm to the men who now begged for his company. As his feelings on his family refused to solidify, he found himself volunteering more time to be spent at the lab with Zabet. He arrived earlier, stayed later, occupying himself with studying her previous work, samples, specimens, notes. She allowed him to, sensing the deeper purpose behind it, and was happy to discuss the specifics when she was present.Present, in some sense, at least. It seemed to Ghalib every time he asked a question, he witnessed a pause though her mental faculties had to pivot themselves to see what it is he was concerned with.
It was clear her thoughts were, again, elsewhere.And, then, for reasons he couldn’t place, she started to be absent entirely.He wondered: Was she satisfied that he would do nothing she needed to supervise? To assume as such, it seemed strange to him but he couldn’t settle on an alternative.One day, he had been going back through some slides. Historical records of past modifications of the standard uniform, organized from past to present. It was a task given to him; he was meant to identify the changes, starting with samples from the early century. But when he sought her out for guidance, he discovered the lab was empty.She had left and did not return. It was strange for him to be in that place without Zabet. The lab was a relatively elaborate honeycomb, comprising nearly a dozen distinct sections. Storage, gallery, research, materials, display, testing, archives, workshops, walls and doors made of material black and glossy, while at the lowest level vats allowed cellular material the freedom to replicate and produce valuable proteins, organized in rows of long, open troughs beneath suspended walkways.There were others within the sector, minding other parts of the lab, but Ghalib did not often venture much past the working areas. Rarely did Zabet, for that matter, they usually came to her if they had issues.The lab took on a different character, an empty palace of obsidian that allowed for no sight of the world beyond, filled only with ambient noise of the ventilation system. Set in an unfamiliar frame of mind, a cold bit at Ghalib's skin.He felt like he was a foreign substance. Like one of the specimens, skin and tissue, cut off from its body, so far away from home. Only what was useful was kept. Only what could be repurposed.Something in him—he could not say what—seemed to feel though it would soon be over. That he had been swept away as though dreaming and soon his life would return to its normal, mundane obscurity. But logic told him otherwise, sitting in the cold, empty vault, surrounded by strange tools, though he were a lost soul who had become trapped by the fall of some strange, alien whale and they were its bones, twisted and delicate, obtuse and desiccated, with a garden of samples and jars sprung up in its wake.He concluded there was little else to do but convince himself of the virtue of patience.A few days later, arriving early, Ghalib was caught in the adjacent hall by a sight. Zabet and the Ulhui, Fend. Standing in front of the entrance to the lab at the other end in conversation. Zabet seemed unhappy, keeping one arm in a gesture to communicate her discontent. He could discern nothing of the Ulhui. He kept his distance, unable to hear their conversation, unwilling to inject himself into any such confrontation.The hallway curved around the outside perimeter of the tower, formed by great arches, made clearly of calcium-based growths with only a thin sheet of rigid yet membranous material to separate them from the outside city. It was a height over a hundred stories tall, the view of the city clear, the morning sun branding the skyline beyond in fire. It was a simple matter for them not to notice their Ulhasen, obscured by the pillars of the arches and the steep angle of the curve. But, though Ghalib tried to pretend that he was merely admiring the view, he was forced to glance back, to the black doors of the lab, if only to gather when it might be safe to approach.It seemed like they were arguing. But he could tell nothing more.Fend turned to leave and he ducked behind one of the pillars, only coming out later so as to obscure the fact that he might’ve had any exposure to the interaction. His circulation had been humming, for he felt so sharply now that the Ulhui was a dangerous man.He did not ask Zabet on it. But she immediately directed herself to him with no room for greetings, saying with some hint of her earlier frustration hidden in the back of her throat, “We’re going to Fo-ekin tomorrow.”“T-tomorrow?” Ghalib said.“I’ve already sent an envoy asking for approval from your father, but I assume he will comply. Do what you need to prepare, though, we will be out there for a couple of lunar cycles.”Ghalib marveled at the fact that such a decision could be so quickly made, but was quickly caught by other concerns, “What is on Fo-ekin?”“Field work,” she said curtly, turning to leave, but stopped before taking herself away to add, “I already have a cold suit for you to wear, don’t worry about that part.”“Wouldn’t it just be,” Ghalib paused, wrinkling his face as he watched her backside, “the standard issue?”“No. You’ll see,” was all she said, then left him alone in the room again.Ghalib felt the impulse to follow after her, to ask more questions, to discuss it further, but the thought of her behavior as of late stopped him. He wondered what need she had for such privacy, but he stayed only on it briefly before remembering what sort of things in which she was apparently involved.Instead, he went back to his studies. Or tried to, at least. He had never been off world. But it was to be expected he would make the journey sooner or later. It was normal for such a position as hee had.Ghalib thought of De, the mother of his mother, for the tale was still fresh in his mind. That proud Ulhasen in armor on the surface, an icy wasteland, looking out over an ocean of water and salt that reached depths of miles. She was tasked with hunting down a notorious war criminal. He was just going to study the wildlife.Ghalib cringed as he realized the things Fon would say about him. He had the news already. Ghalib could imagine the way he was already talking about it, same as he talked about him working with Zabet in the first place, how he’d go on about it to any family member who would listen. It would be overblown, impassioned, he’d wave his arms like a conductor, yet blind and deaf to anything of his specific experience.Pracir had said everything she did was his in the end. Ghalib realized it was undoubtedly the same with him. For, sitting there, staring at slides, a revelation came to him about his mother’s life.Pracir hadn’t mentioned De with her voice, but she had through her actions. Born from De's egg, raised by nest-fathers, only knowing her progenitor through her death and the fact she had not been availed the right to choose who would fertilize the egg and raise her own flesh and blood.Yet, Ghalib smiled, a vindictive smile, knowing in truth that there was no real pride to be had in his associations for the fact of their aspirations. But when he caught that idea and held it up to his eyes, he realized the extent of it. If their schemes were discovered, it would mean the expulsion of hundreds, for the blame would be placed on their fathers, each and every one of them, and, by extension, the entirety of their families. Including his own. Especially his own. As his nest-mothers were easy scapegoats for any enterprise of his going awry.He glanced back up to the door through which Zabet had exited hours earlier, staring at the emptiness between its frame with the smell of blood in his mind. It was a vacuum, a strange absence, though Zabet were meant to be there but had absconded such duties.He went back over his options in his head but seemed to be trapped in a maze. The best he could do was to try not to think about it and focus on putting himself together for the next day. On a different planet, at least, so far away from the homeworld, there might be some relief to be had.
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