A distant hum vibrated through the metal walls, punctuated by the faint tap of boots and the heavier thud of armored strides drawing near.

  Angar sat propped against the bed’s cushioned head, its softness still the strangest luxury to him. He wondered why he didn’t feel hungry. He hadn’t eaten in a long time. He had been starving before he was put in the Vitaelux Apexium.

  The door hissed open with a pneumatic sigh, admitting two figures. An elderly woman stepped in first, one of the servants he’d seen before, her lined face creasing with a warm smile.

  “Sir Angar,” she greeted, her voice gentle but clear as she entered, clad in light armor over a flowing robe that brushed the floor.

  A grizzled man followed, his bushy mustache framing a weathered face. His bulky armor, distinct from the Crusaders’ design, bore no full helm, leaving his features exposed.

  Lenses gleamed over his eyes, and as he crossed the threshold, twin firearms mounted on his back whirred alive, sliding over his shoulders with a mechanical clack. Their barrels fixed on Angar, joined by smaller weapons on his forearms, all steady on their target.

  “Don’t move, Sir Angar,” the man said, with a tone that was calm and resolute, “and we’ll keep this peaceful.”

  Angar thought being ordered not to move while shackled was overkill. He badly wanted to use Ground Current to slip his bindings and prove he had been cooperating, but the smart move was to save that in case he actually needed to escape.

  The woman’s smile widened, deepening the furrows in her face. “The Three’s blessing upon you. God and Empire. Sorry about this brute’s caution. How are you feeling?”

  “Better than ever,” he replied, the truth of it steadying him, and not just due to the Vitaelux Apexium. Vernost was allowing him to fight the next invasion himself, and that filled his chest with the excitement of anticipation.

  “I’m Solace,” she said warmly, “and this is my husband, Sthayi. I’m an Operarius Primus of the Liberi Humiles. He’s a Magister Technis of the Filii Artis, branches of the Laity, you might call them. Layman or Laywoman suits us well enough, so no need to remember all that. Madame Captain reckoned you’d have questions after her visit, so she sent us to give answers.”

  That wasn’t true. After the captain had agreed to let him battle the next invasion, he annoyed her with a ton of questions. All of a sudden, the four women couldn’t leave his room quickly enough.

  Still, he was grateful for the chance to get some answers. “Thank you,” he said earnestly.

  Solace’s smile held firm. “We live to serve, Sir Angar. What’s on your mind?”

  He shifted against the bed’s padding, its comfort still a marvel to him. His thoughts churned with questions – their metal not being eaten, this Holy Empire he was now a part of, and a million other things, the whole vast chasm between what he knew and what he wanted to know.

  He figured he’d begin simply and work his way up, asking, “I can’t remember eating in a long while, but I’m no longer hungry.”

  With a smile, the woman said, “You’ve been eating through a tube since you’ve been in this bed, Sir. See the cord near your left-hand cuff?”

  He looked and did see a cord in his arm running off somewhere. “Oh. Thank you.”

  Before they arrived, he assumed other Terrans would look like normal people. Spirit’s coloring was almost normal, but he couldn’t mention her name, so asked, “Is everyone in the Holy Empire so dark of skin? And if so, why?”

  Solace and Sthayi exchanged a quick glance, then burst into laughter, hers bright, his a low rumble beneath his mustache.

  “We’re reckoned pale by Empire standards, Sir,” Solace said, amusement crinkling her eyes. “You Sulfuroneans are freakishly pale. Even worse than those creepy Pleiadeans. Probably due to never seeing any real sunlight or the high radiation or something. You’ll have to ask Medicus why. Is there anyone else you remember seeing the skin of?”

  Angar paused, sifting through names and faces. “Captain Vernost, Medicus, Sister Yuuga, the other servant, and Captain Baron Ernhold.”

  “A sharp memory,” Sthayi grunted, nodding approval. “Medicus and Sir Captain Baron Ernhold are at the dark end of the spectrum. Yuuga’s a few shades deeper than us, and Gerechtigkeit, the other servant, a little darker still. Madame Captain Vernost’s coloring is about our own.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Angar tried the name, “Gerechti…Gerech…,” but it tangled on his tongue.

  The couple chuckled again, Solace waving a hand. “It means ‘justice’ in an old Terran tongue, Sir Angar. Cloisteranage-born get names from a list of a hundred or so virtues, spun through our ancient languages. Or Terrans do. Other species probably do it their own way, I wager.”

  She leaned forward, her armor clanking faintly. “Used to be different, mind you. A while back, near the tail end of the millennium before last, it changed. Before then, the clergy running a Cloisteranage named kids when they turned seven. Too many ended up running around named something like ‘Brat’ or ‘Sourpuss’ or worse, so Holy Theosis changed it to the current system.

  “Sthayi and I named our untithed children ourselves, as Lay folk can, but we drew our own names from the Cloisteranage lots. My maiden name was Utsukushisa, now it’s Nur, so I got lucky marrying my Sthayi.” She nudged her husband with a fond grin.

  “Understood,” Angar said, not caring about names. He shifted gears. “Operarius Primus, Magister Technis, those are something in the Laity, and not your Classes?”

  “Right you are, Sir Angar,” Solace replied, her tone patient. “They’re ranks in the Lay Orders. Filii Artis for craftsmen and mechanics like Sthayi, Liberi Humiles for laborers like me, then Filii Ordinis, Belli, and Nobiles, all toiling for the Holy Trinity’s glory. Try not to ask people about Classes as it’s considered ill-mannered, but we don’t mind sharing ours though, do we Sthayi?”

  She smiled wryly. “I took Herbarius to dodge the militias and Imperial Reserve activations. All I ever wanted was a quiet life, raising kids, not warring.”

  Sthayi’s mustache twitched with a smirk. “Mine’s Mechanex, one of the stronger Lay Classes. Fifty years with the Theosians, a combat-arms faction, mostly combat engineers, famed for it. Seen near as much blood as a Crusader. Forced to retire due to my age. Our kids are long grown, so we took these posts to continue serving the Holy Empire together. I mend Crusader gear now such as armor, weapons, and tech. Sometimes they let me loose to get some too.”

  He winked as his guns whirred faintly. “And being surrounded by all these tall beauties don’t hurt none.”

  Solace laughed as she elbowed her husband again.

  “Everyone I’ve seen from off world has been very tall, not just the Crusaders,” said Angar, assuming the mentioned tall beauties were the Crusaders. “Is this true for everyone in the Holy Empire, and if so, why? It can’t just be the Physique Stat either. As I understand it, we’re all of the same original stock.”

  Solace shrugged. “Varies a little, Sir. But aye, judging by the soldiers we met here, Sulfuroneans are a short people. Wide though. Stout. I think ancient people were all short. Pre-Holy Joining, that is. We grew over time, and you here didn’t. The gravity and diet on this planet didn’t help much, I wager. And if you think we’re tall, just wait till you see one of those creepy Pleiadeans, especially their Knights.”

  “Oh,” Angar replied. He was pretty sure he was taller than Sthayi. He’d have to stand to know. He was also sure he was taller than Spirit now as well.

  He doubted they’d know for certain, but he was curious enough to ask anyway. “Do you two believe they’ll stop seeing me as corrupted after I prove myself in combat?”

  Sthayi let out a rough chuckle. “Please excuse the bluntness, Sir Angar, but martyring yourself to prove a point could prove that point, but it seems silly to wonder how your corpse’s seen after. You won’t live more than a handful of seconds past the gateway spilling blights, Sir. Cancel that foolishness while you can.”

  Angar grunted. “If you’re wary enough to point those weapons at me, wouldn’t my death suit you? One less worry?”

  Sthayi gave a dry laugh and said, “I think you’re fine and free of Hell’s grasp, Sir Angar. You’re certainly not a Thrall. I’m not taking risks with my wife here, is all.”

  “I agree with Sthayi,” said Solace. “You seem kind and I’d hate to see you martyr yourself like that, Sir. It seems useless. Like a dishonor to real martyrs giving their lives for a worthy cause. Please excuse my bluntness too, but its suicide, not martyrdom.”

  With some bite in his voice, Angar said, “Easy to say when you’re not shackled and seen as the thing you swore to devote your life to killing. Besides wanting this suspicion done and over, the Lord thirsts. My road to Heaven will be bathed in the blood of Hellspawn.”

  Sthayi laughed heartily and said, “I like your spirit, Sir Angar! For God and Empire!”

  A big smile split Solace’s face. “But no need! There’s good news, Sir! We can tell you some Free Agents are picking you up in a handful of days and bringing you to a real world! Um, I mean, a…taking you from this world. So, no reason to fight!”

  He nodded. He’d still fight, of course, but he thought this was good. Spirit wanted him to receive the power other Crusaders started with. “I’m to go through the Grim Ordeals on the world I’ll be taken to?”

  Sthayi’s lenses glinted as he answered. “We heard you’re only fourteen. We don’t know what will happen to you, or where and to whom you’ll be taken, but no one undergoes the Grim Ordeals until sixteen, the age the blessed Mother traveled to Terra and started warring against the forces of Hell herself. If you’re cleared, I assume they’ll put you in a Cloisteranage.”

  Angar’s brows furrowed. He had officially been a man for a while now. In Mecia, with all the battles he’d been in, real battles, grand ones, and all the slaughter he’d made, he’d be treated with more respect than an elder warrior. “I’m already a Crusader. I swore the oath.”

  Solace tilted her head as she said, “We know, Sir Angar, and we don’t know how it’ll work for you. My husband’s just guessing, is all.”

  “What’s your belief?”

  Letting out a breath, Solace said, “If I had to guess, Sir Angar, I’d guess Cloisteranage too. But, like you said, you already swore the oath. Wish I could provide you with solid answers.”

  He tried doing the math in his head. If their guess was right, he’d have to spend well over a year in one of these Cloisteranages. “Will I be able to battle Hellspawn still?”

  The couple both laughed again. “Cloisteranages are forges, Sir Angar,” said Sthayi. “Stone and steel pens where the Holy Empire shapes its young. Strict as sin with lessons, rites, and combat drills. No battling Hellspawn though. They’ll feed you well, if that’s a worry.”

  The questions continued for a long while. So long that Sthayi was called away and left his wife to answer on her own.

  Then it was time to rest up for his next battle.