Chapter 3

  We care not from where your blood reigns, only where it is spilled. Let no person be born into greatness, let greatness come with arms clasped together as we achieve it as one.

  -Collected Teachings of the Exalted Sovereign

  Phaidros’ eyes opened. He stared at the stone ceiling above him in a bleary haze as an alarm chimed beside him. When he peered towards the window he saw that the sun had barely begun to creep into the sky. The alarm was a formality as usually his father would have been awake by now and knocking on his door. He used to dread it; now he missed it, another small reminder that his life had been permanently altered. The simplicity of waking up, training with a sword through the day, studying hunting tactics at night, and spending time with his father and Charon in the evening had been wrenched away from him. Before today he was never sure if he was going to become Ignited, but as long as his family was around him, that would have been okay. Now? Now he felt as if he was in free fall and he was grasping at anything he could to stop the pit in his stomach. Today he was to become Ignited and whether he liked it or not, he had to move forward. A million different fears crept through his mind, voices similar to his own telling him that he could never live up to his father, that he would fail like his brother.

  He pulled himself upright, rubbing at one eye before moving into an accompanying bathroom in his room to get cleaned and dressed in a uniform his father had been saving for this day. Dasos being a holy city for the Ignited, everyone was expected to adhere to the same military fashion that the Exalted Sovereign had once worn when he was mortal: black uniforms with high collars that hugged the neck with clean pressed trousers tucked into boots. Those that had made successful hunts were allowed to adorn their uniforms with trophies of what they had hunted, making the uniform itself a blank canvas waiting to be adorned with shows of victory and improvement in one’s own life. This led to many Ignited being adorned with necklaces of fangs and claws of predators or pelts of fur or scales across that which would normally be modern dress outside the jungle. Only Ignited could wear them, and until today Phaidros had worn the grey reserved for Kindlings, those who worked for or were under the protection of Ignited.

  Phaidros made a quick check in the mirror to make sure all looked well. As he brought a hand up to fix his collar, he realized his hands were shaking. He heard the voice of his father echoing in his mind teachings of the Exalted Sovereign, when life seems uncertain and you are unsure where to go, move forward, for wherever you are going will be better than the place you were before. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his curly hair as he gripped the sink beneath the mirror. His head hung for a moment as he let the dread wash over him before he pushed himself upright and forced himself to leave into the main room of the house. Everything here was as utilitarian as the rest of the city. The room was an open floor plan, with enough space for working out and several machines to assist with it, a sitting area for eating, and a small kitchen. Phaidros rummaged for some dried jerky and bread, chewing on it thoughtfully as his gaze inevitably fell upon Charon’s door. His brother’s words still echoed in his head and guilt added to the gnawing emptiness in his stomach.

  He walked to the door, lifting a hand to knock but hesitated. What could he say that could make it better? After a long moment he sighed quietly and went back to the kitchen to prepare something for him. He left the plate out on the counter and finished his own breakfast and stopped at the front door, taking a deep breath. “Alright, let’s do this, one step forward,” he muttered, then he pushed his way out of his home and into the outside, where rows of similar, two-story stone block buildings stretched on in both directions. The people outside were all heading up towards the temple at the top of the hill the city was built upon. Phaidros started his way up towards it with the rest of the crowd, where his future awaited him.

  Ignited weren’t required to come to the ceremonies of the newly ignited, however it was considered taboo to not do so. They were all supposed to be ‘lifting each other up’ after all, and how could one do that if they weren’t even willing to meet or welcome their newest member into the fold? Usually there would also be more advanced notice with multiple supplicants becoming ignited in the same ceremony. The urgency of Phaidros’ igniting made it so there was less time for fanfare. Still, the usually grand, empty hall was filled with hundreds of Ignited.

  Phaidros scanned across the sea of heads. Most were familiar in some manner having been acquaintances to Zaharias or simply someone he saw walk or run by throughout the years spent in Dasos. Some were complete strangers. Dasos held several thousand Ignited, Phaidros wasn’t sure of the true number, but new Ignited arrived every day and others left. He could see some of the ra perched up in the rafters, taloned feet hanging as hawk-like eyes stared down at him. He could see the tree-like drasil with their leaf-like or vine hair and bark faces communicating in a tongue he didn’t understand. Then the ikaroa made up some of the shorter specimens, a few having frog-like faces and bald heads while others looked mostly humanoid with a few features that reminded others of their origins from the sea. He recognized one as he walked in, who turned to look at him with pitch black eyes. They smiled, showing razor-sharp teeth that made Phaidros immediately look away in fear. Others that he passed nodded to him as they noticed him, others gave polite and much less frightening smiles and a few waves before returning to whatever idle task they were doing while they waited.

  With so many Ignited in one place, the room itself seemed to glow as if lit by hundreds of independent fires. People bustled about, keeping a center line open for the new blood that was to join them but otherwise were talking and laughing among old friends, rivals, or a mixture of the two. Everyone here was adorned in various trophies whether it be medals won in wars from far-off worlds or the pelts and furs of beasts slain. One man among them seemed to tower over the rest of the crowd, the black antlers on his head making him even more so. His eyes had no pupils and had an almost metallic sheen to them that scintillated different colors as the light hit them. He wasn’t talking to anyone around him, his attention on Phaidros the moment he stepped through the doors. Phaidros tried to avoid his eye contact as well.

  Each step Phaidros took from then on was heavier than the last. As he walked down the space cleared for him the talking slowly died down aside from a few whoops and hollers from some in attendance. At the end of the path was Sacred Suneater, dressed in their armor and standing upon the massive root that tore through the back of the temple. They were quiet while the rest cheered, the weight of their glowing, white gaze felt as if Phaidros was wading through the deep ocean. At the base of the main root in front of Suneater were two armored Ignited with something held in their upturned palms. They did not speak, but held the object in their hands with reverence.

  Phaidros got halfway through the temple when he realized why he felt so heavy. It was the weight of expectation. He would not be the first to be ignited so quickly with such a daunting task ahead of him, nor would he be the last. Those stories ended in either one of two ways: the Ignited shining brightly and fiercely before they were quickly snuffed out by the world, or their burning brightness made them Shaped. More often it was the former. By now he knew it was too late to back out. He walked ahead in silence, his features locked on Suneater, his jaw clenched and breath held in his chest.

  The Suneater raised a hand as Phaidros neared the base of the great root and the final, rogue cheers were silenced. A quiet moment passed while Suneater watched Phaidros from on high. “We are gathered here today to welcome the newest member to our order. Phaidros, son of Zaharias,” Suneater began, gesturing to the man before him, “who was slain and now walks in the memory of the world with his ancestors and his ancestors before him. May his soul find its ideal self in his new life where it could not in its old.” Suneater and all those present dipped their heads in respect, Phaidros fighting back tears as he stared upward toward Suneater. The moment of silence passed and the Ideal continued, “Phaidros, the ritual we partake in today is not just an igniting of a soul to further its potential but a binding contract between you and the Exalted Sovereign. He will grant you power and eternal life and in return, he asks but one thing: improve yourself, become the best you that you can be, and seek not only to survive and live in this world but to thrive in it. Do you understand the responsibilities expected of you?”

  A new weight fell over Phaidros, different from the presence of the Suneater or the gaze of all of the Ignited in the room watching him. He fought the urge to look around even as he felt something pressing in on his very soul, like someone had rested an anvil on his chest. “I understand,” he replied, throat dry and voice barely above a whisper.

  Suneater nodded, then stepped down from the root, the two Ignited at the base clearing way for the Ideal, each dropping to one knee and lifting up the object they held to them as they passed. It was a sword, sheathed in a scabbard that looked like it belonged on some storied king’s belt. Suneater lifted the sword with care, speaking in a voice loud enough for the rest of the temple to hear, addressing them all, “Then let us begin.” They drew the blade from its scabbard with a hiss of steel. As it exited its sheath it blazed in a glorious white fire, the fire of potential made manifest and physical in this world as it bathed the whole temple in its glorious light. Suneater held it aloft and Phaidros stared in awe at its beauty. The blade was like nothing he had ever seen, as if it had captured the very essence of all that was divine and regal and was molded in their image. Even Suneater looked up at the blade with some manner of awe. “Behold, a blade of the Exalted Sovereign. His final gift to what would become the Order of the Ignited before his ascension. This and all of its kin stand as a reminder of everything that we stand for.” Suneater lowered the blade, pointing it at Phaidros. “That we must all give a piece of ourselves so the rest may prosper. That no one person must stand against a cruel and unforgiving world alone. With this piece of the Exalted Sovereign himself, we may elevate any who wish to better themselves no matter their background, no matter how much they’ve suffered in the past.” They brought the blade back so some of the still-burning blade rested against their palm without burning them. They stepped closer to Phaidros. “Kneel, Young Phaidros, and speak the tenets of his world and in so doing, allow you to take your first steps forward in a new, better life.” Phaidros kneeled before them, eyes cast to the stone ground beneath. Suneater raised their voice, beckoning to all present to join in as they began the tenets. “We do not pray amidst the pews.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “We roar on the field of battle!” the Ignited chanted back, Phaidros joining them, albeit quietly.

  “We care not from where your blood reigns,” Suneater called.

  “Only where it is spilled!” the Ignited replied in unison. Phaidros took a deep breath, the warmth of the presence of all the Ignited around him filling him with some measure of confidence to fight back the doubt that plagued his mind.

  “Separated we are led astray!” Suneater’s voice increased in volume and something was happening within Phaidros as the blade in Suneater’s hands rested on Phaidros’ shoulder.

  “United our valor is known!” the Ignited answered. As Phaidros looked up toward Suneater, he no longer saw the Ideal but two, piercing, glowing blue eyes staring back at him, pupils narrow much like a feline’s.

  “We set ourselves apart in our deeds!” Suneater’s voice rose one final time, though to Phaidros, it sounded like he was far away, the temple around him bleeding away and hidden by a thick and heavy fog. Those eyes staring him down were unblinking, curious, it seemed, to see if Phaidros would say the final words.

  “So the sum of our whole grows stronger,” Phaidros spoke, no longer hearing the Ignited that had surrounded him before, but still felt the blade lift off of one shoulder and touch the other. His voice echoed through the fog with no reply to answer him. He was alone with those eyes, the only thing he could make out through the fog. They were both as small as a house cat’s and as vast as the open sky as his mind struggled to perceive what was in front of him. Was he alone now? He wasn’t sure. His gaze turned this way and that and saw nothing. His gaze eventually returned to the eyes before him and he let out a hesitant “Hello?”

  Silence…

  Then, he felt a breeze flow through, disturbing the fog around him, allowing him to see curls and shapes within. On the sudden wind came new scents, the fresh dew of a spring morning, the smell of cities burning followed by the new fresh air that took its place in the aftermath. A cacophony of sounds, the sounds of natural life with birds in the trees and insects buzzing, of men and women fighting and bellowing war cries and dying, of steel ringing against steel. The more Phaidros tried to focus on what he was hearing however, he was surprised to be able to make out words. You have much potential, Phaidros, yet I can feel the fear and doubt that surrounds you. Are you sure this is what you want?

  Phaidros’ jaw gaped, was that the Exalted Sovereign himself? How did he even respond? How did he react? Finally finding his wits, he responded. “I-I have seen what the price of failure is, my lord”—was that what you were supposed to address him as?—“I mean, Sovereign One, and I fear that I will be the next victim of it.” He paused before adding, “I know I must move forward. That is all I can do.”

  The wind blew around him again and with it the sounds and scents of blood soaking the ground before it too fed new plant and animal life in what was once lost. And that is why you will not fail. Many will be gripped by fear and despair and dig their heels into the soil in the hopes that change will not come for them. Life is change and uncertainty. To become paralyzed by this is to accept stagnation over growth, death over life.

  The God’s words made the tension Phaidros was holding release, if only somewhat. “I must move forward for the sake of my brother and the memory of my father. I won’t let fear rule me, most exalted one, I promise.”

  Life grew and thrived and between groaning trees and whistling birds the God’s voice came forth once more. A promise made of selflessness, how refreshing. Yet that is not why you fight. You fight for survival, to cling to what once was. If you do not let go, then you will share your brother’s fate.

  Phaidros lost his words. “I will,” he assured, both himself and his God.

  You must, the voice returned through the sounds of roaring beasts. I command you to thrive, Phaidros, I will accept nothing less, nor will the world around you. Show the world who you are.

  Warmth followed, oppressive warmth, a flash of fire that seemed to surround every fiber of his being and roar to life. He could see the tendrils of it lashing around him. The suddenness of the experience forced him to gasp and with that breath his perception snapped back to the temple.

  It was as if every breath before had been shallow, tainted, in some way, like a person living in a smog-filled city breathing fresh air for the first time in their life. Phaidros blinked, once, twice, as he saw, truly saw, the world around him for the first time. The colors of his surroundings seemed to become more saturated and detailed. He could outline each individual furrow of the bark-like skin of Suneater above him, the individual leaves behind their head and a few insects buzzing through the air far behind them. Sound came in as the roar of celebration of his fellow Ignited finally tuned through his senses, different pitches and tones being able to be picked out through the raucous uproar.

  Phaidros looked down at his hands in some disbelief, the words of the Exalted Sovereign echoing in his head. Life is change and uncertainty. Just a day ago he had been under the protection of his father, a worthy warrior of the Ignited, and his brother only months prior to that. Before all that he would have disagreed with the Exalted Sovereign but now? His words rang true. He felt within himself the fire that burned and raged, eager to feed and grow. It made it difficult not to run out into the jungle right now and try to seek vengeance immediately, but he stuffed the thought back down. The darkness of uncertainty had been washed away through divine purpose and an innate sense of belonging from being surrounded by so many familiar flames as his. Yet even then he could feel it creeping along the edges of his mind, like a predator waiting beyond the light of a campfire, ready to strike the moment it flickered. A nervous smile finally spread across his face as he looked around at his new brothers and sisters and up at Suneater. “Thank you all,” he said, his voice somehow coming out stronger than it had all day. “I swear on this day that I will live up to the expectations of the Exalted Sovereign, you all, and myself. Today I will no longer live but thrive as you all strive to do.”

  “And so it is spoken and so the contract is sealed. Welcome, Phaidros, to the Order of the Ignited,” Suneater said, expression unmoving despite the warm tones carried on the wind of their voice. “Let whatever past there was before this moment be forgotten, all that matters now is the path ahead, and the steps you take through it.” The Suneater waved a hand, signaling the others were free to do as they wished.

  Many approached Phaidros, hands clasping onto his shoulder and personally welcoming him to the order, others left. Through the crowd he could finally see Zenovia leaning against one of the walls, arms folded and waiting with a barely perceivable smile on her otherwise fierce expression. Sacred Suneater also seemed to be waiting upon him.

  When there were only the three of them left Phaidros glanced between them. “So… what happens now?”

  “The most important part,” Zenovia cut in. “We get to give you your armor and you get to pick out a weapon to focus on.”

  “Just one?” Phaidros asked curiously. Whatever this creature he was to face was like, he felt like he’d need every tool available to him to be able to best it.

  Suneater answered this time. “It’s much easier to improve yourself when you have just one path to focus on. Once an Ignited has gained enough mastery of a weapon they tend to pick another to focus on. I’ve seen some Ignited covered head to toe in different weapons and tools.”

  Phaidros nodded. “Where do we go, then?”

  “I had contracted one of our smiths, Daxia, to prepare your selections. It should be ready now,” Suneater answered.

  “It still seems odd to me that there are those in the Ignited that are not warriors,” Phaidros mused.

  “Based on the tenets, one would think that, but no. There are many battlefields in life, young one. Some find it out in the jungles, others in surgery rooms, and some in their forges.” Phaidros had never thought of it like that, and it only made him curious to actually go meet one of the smiths. “No more questions for now. Go you both, you have only a month from now to kill your beast and it would be a shame if we wasted it all on questions about the order. You will find her in her workshop in the Smith’s district, workshop number thirty-six.”

  Both Phaidros and Zenovia bowed to Sacred Suneater in respect. “Thank you, Sacred Suneater, for your assistance in this,” Phaidros said. Suneater only nodded in response. Phaidros and Zenovia then left the temple to go find this ‘Daxia.’

  *

  The Smith’s District was between the roads that led out to gates two and three in the northeast of the city. The city itself built as near a perfect circle as can be, with all nine roads spiralling outwards towards the 9 gates that lined the edge equidistant from one another. Each ‘District’ was between one of these roads. This excluded the Merchant’s District, which was the city’s one connection to the outside galaxy at large and was left outside of the wall. The Smith’s District provided a break between the overgrown look of the city, with most of the branches and roots steering clear. The buildings were still small, each made to house a singular smith’s forge and workshop, but were made out of newer, fabricated stone rather than whatever was made in the city’s origin. In front of each workshop was a sign with a number on it, correlating with which street it was on and position in the row. Phaidros couldn’t help but notice how the air differed here from everywhere else, like fire and ash. His new senses forced him to taste the smell of industry that permeated the Smith’s District.

  Eventually the two Ignited made it to Daxia’s workshop. Above the double doors was a sign painted in galactic common that read Daxia’s Hoard. “This is it,” Zenovia said, examining the building. “I don’t remember any smiths named Daxia. Must be a newer arrival. Hopefully she isn’t too burnt to be of use.”

  Phaidros frowned. “Suneater has to know the situation we’re in and gave us someone they knew would be able to help us.”

  “Suneater might have also given us the worst of the bunch to give us more of a challenge, it’s always a toss-up.” She sighed, stepping towards the door and knocking. “Let’s see which it is.”

  Silence followed. From here, Phaidros could pick up the sound of something burning on the inside pause before a voice from the inside called out, “It’s open.” Without any further invitation the two opened the door and stepped inside.