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Author’s Note: For the sake of my many human readers, I have taken the liberty of translating the Covenant units of distance and time, as well as their language, into their human equivalents for ease of reading.

Chapter 1: Test on the Sands

The burning, parched desert world of Jisako was far from the comforts and lush beauty of Sanghelios. Gone was any hope of a constant source of water, of the pleasantry one could find in the native inhabitants, of the rich food and good company. Biting wind, scorching sun, and dangerous predators had replaced it all. It was the ultimate test for the Sangheili warrior, an ancient rite from the time of war with the Prophets. Warriors-in-training had been sent to this planet for generations, forced to spend the harsh days and frigid nights of an entire year with each other to learn the camaraderie required of them during their service to the Covenant.

It was still so, as the small camp of Sangheili adolescents prepared themselves to hunt for a morning meal. The year was almost up as far as they could tell, but the group had quickly lost track of time in the struggle to survive. Already two of them had died, one killed by a massive predator and the other by dehydration. The warriors-in-training had held funeral ceremonies as best they could, but they lacked the resources to spare for a pyre; the bodies also couldn’t be buried nearby because of the creatures they would undoubtedly attract and the risk of contaminating an as-of-yet unknown source of water. So the two young students, taken before their time and departed on their Great Journeys, had been left in a valley far to the east.

Dull weapons and dwindling supplies were also now a daily reality. The ceremonial swords they had been given had blunted and chipped over time, the shields having been long-since recommissioned as shelter-building materials, and the additional spears and arrows they had created themselves were damaged from prolonged use.

One Sangheili was laid out on his stomach on the sand a distance from the camp, his tired eyes sweeping over the horizon. The silhouettes of distant mountains were all that he could see, but he would remain ever vigilant. His two fingers and two thumbs of his right hand gripped the shaft of his spear, the other hand resting lax by the tattered sarong that hung from his waist and ready to grab the sword anchored there if need be. He was all but certain that swinging the sword even once and striking a predator’s hide would break the blade, but the spear too had become weak with overuse. It didn’t matter which one he broke, only which one he broke first.

Sand crunched and shifted behind him, but the warrior-in-training didn’t flinch: he recognized the sound of friendly footfalls easily. A shadow fell across his slowly-warming back, a back that was now rough and leathery where it had been soft and tender scarcely a year ago.

“Oriné, my friend,” the newcomer said, “it is time to eat.”

With a sigh of relief, Oriné ‘Fulsam pushed himself up from the sand and forced himself to stand on two wobbly legs. “Praise be to the Forerunners,” he muttered, turning to his companion Yarna ‘Orgalm, “I’m starving.”

Chuckling slightly, the older Sangheili put a comforting arm around his shoulder. “We all know how trying night-time guard duty can be,” Yarna said, leading his comrade back to the camp. He wore the same style of cloth draped around his waist as Oriné, and also had a sword hanging at his side. Though older and from a far nobler family, Yarna had formed a strong bond with the other, less Honored Sangheili, to the point of each considering the other his Brother. Then again, they had achieved Brotherhood status with their twenty-six companions after a year of fighting and shedding blood and tears together.

——

Oriné had never ridden in a dropship before, and exhilarated at this new opportunity. He was close to what would be his full height, he knew, but there was a significant enough difference between that and his current bearing that his eyes weren’t quite level with the viewing slot. Still, he had a good enough view that he was able to catch the top of the horizon as the Spirit leveled out.

As far as he could see, it was all sand. He stood in awe, firmly rooted to the spot by a magnetic harness, as he watched the dunes race by underneath. This planet was much different than Sanghelios, which was tropical in nature. Occasionally he spotted a mountain or valley made of stone and hard dirt, but only once did he ever see a lake of water, maybe only a large pond. Remembering his father’s advice, Oriné made a mental note of its position and tried to keep it in mind as the Spirit proceeded on its course. If they were lucky, the dropship would put down somewhere close by.

It was a long time before it settled to the sand below.

When the large door fell open before them, Oriné and the three other Sangheili on his side jumped down the makeshift ramp and onto the sand. His hooves burned and he yelped, dancing first on one foot and then the other. Some of the others sniggered at his misfortune, but most were too busy doing something similar.

Other Spirits settled down and disgorged their cargo, and the Sangheili all began to mingle amongst each other. Finally he adjusted to the heat and was able to look around. There were thirty Sangheili adolescents here in total, each dressed in the finest robes of his Lineage. Oriné’s family was moderately Honored and thus bore simple but elegant designs around the edges. The care with which they were sewn into the smooth fabric, as well as the images created, attested to the fact that most of his Lineage’s accomplishments were in the naval field, with some having achieved a level of glory in the army. His brother was in the navy, but ships bored Oriné; so much time spent jetting between planets. It seemed like a waste. This was what he loved, being surrounded by a tangible environment with its own unique difficulties.

One of the Sangheili caught his eye, however. The designs on his robe were intricate, complex, and covered almost all of the fabric. A hush fell over those Sangheili that took notice: he was the son of a Councilor. The most Honored and revered of the Lineages. Oriné tried to place the crest to a name, but came up with nothing. He was not worried; perhaps he would have been more intimidated if this honored Councilor’s son wasn’t also dancing from one hoof to the other.

From one of the ships came a Sangheili dressed in cobalt-blue armor. Once his presence was realized, all of the youths ceased motions and stood at rapt attention, whether or not the ground still burned them. This individual was a soldier of the Covenant, an Elite Minor. He represented everything that they were trying to become.

“Your ears,” he said. “You are about to embark on this most deadly and treacherous of tasks, but to survive means becoming a member of the greatest assembly known in our time. If you pass this test, you shall be inducted as Elites of the Holy Covenant and sent to a war academy for your proper education in fighting, tactics, and discipline.

“You will be on your own out here. We will not come until a full year on Sanghelios has passed, which means no one will check your progress or be aware of any achievements or failures that you make here. Other groups of Sangheili children like you have been put on this planet. Do not attempt to contact or interfere with them; the only time you may interact is if you contest them for resources. In that instance you must follow the rules of honorable combat.

“This is mid-day for Jisako. A crate will be deposited that contains enough swords and shields for the lot of you. I suggest you take the time before nightfall to find a suitable location and set up camp.” Without so much as a formal farewell, the Elite Minor turned and boarded the ship. The Spirits lifted into the air and flew off. As promised, they left behind a large purple crate with thirty hard metal swords and shields. The crowd of Sangheili gathered around it and began to distribute the weapons amidst themselves. There was no childish bickering or competition; that had been forced out of them through their parents’ pre-training. Everyone here had already earned their Clan name, a sign of maturity. Nobody would dishonor their Lineage now.

Oriné had just received his sword and shield when he heard whispers grow loud behind him. When he turned, he found that the rest of the Sangheili behind him had parted to allow the Councilor’s son forward. For a moment, he couldn’t recall proper protocol and simply stood there, unable to speak. Finally he remembered his place and offered his fellow Sangheili the weapons.

“For you, Excellency,” he said, using the honorific of the military. “You are worthier of them than I.”

Having expected the slightly older one to simply take the offering, Oriné was surprised when the Sangheili scowled and shoved the weapons back at him. Now fearing that he was in for retribution, or at least some stern words, Oriné was completely taken by surprise when the Councilor’s son turned to the rest of the group, seized the collar of his robe, and proceeded to tear and rend it until it was only tatters at his feet.

“Behold!” he cried, holding the largest piece in his hand, which still clearly displayed the Lineage crest. “I do not have a divine body, nor golden skin, nor diamond blood! I am simply a Sangheili like the rest of you!”

He turned back to Oriné. “Keep your honor and your pity both,” he said, pushing past the younger Sangheili and retrieving a sword and shield himself. “I don’t care for them.”

Oriné watched and nodded. He liked him already.

——

Primitive was the best description of the camp: five tents composed the warriors’ domiciles, the structures made from the bones of creatures and the coverings from their hides. Each could hold six sleeping Sangheili, but two had only five after the deaths. At every moment of the day four of the warriors-in-training were on guard duty except for breakfast when all were expected to be back for morning meal and prayer. The other twenty-four would either be working in the camp or out hunting for food.

As they approached, a Sangheili wearing a toga with a sash made out of hide was meeting with three others, the rest of the nighttime guard. His name was Olah ‘Seroum, the “leader” of the camp. He had distinguished himself early on; one of the two killed had originally been the leader, now Olah was in charge, and though he was often strict he was certainly the best they could ask for.

“Report, Oriné,” he demanded.

With great fatigue, the young Sangheili recounted his night’s duty in as few words as possible. “Nothing of note, aside from a few scavengers that were interested in the fire we lit. It was very quiet.”

Olah nodded, apparently satisfied. “Good. We shall eat, say prayer, then you and the other guards may rest.” Oriné nodded and trod towards the area where the food had been laid out. The sun’s heat was beginning to register now that it had been in the sky for roughly an hour. With the added light came added strain on their bodies: it was probably just an effect of the heat and their own psyche, but whenever it was daytime all the scars and wounds they suffered felt all the more prominent. They had grown used to this, even using the increased awareness the feeling brought on to their advantage while hunting; such opportunities didn’t remove the factor of discomfort, but it was beneficial.

Taking a meager helping of food, Oriné took a seat in the sand beside his friends and lay his spear down next to him. The meat was tough, as always, but driven by almost perpetual hunger they tore through the sun-burnt flesh ravenously. Constantly they shifted, adjusting for the swords on their hips. Predator attacks weren’t uncommon, especially in broad daylight, so no Sangheili was to be unarmed ever. Such negligence was what had caused the death of one of the warriors-in-training. He who had already broken his sword beyond repair would cut down the hilt and use rocks and sand to wear down the blade to dagger-length.

After they had all finished eating, Olah called out for peace. “Now we pray to the Forerunners,” he said, and they stood up only to drop back down on their knees and adopt the prayer stance. As one, they began to recite:

Forerunner hear us now and forever,
Forerunner save us from Heresy unwilling,
Forerunner banish evil from us and guide our hands,
Forerunner, we do thy bidding.

Stranded here in the desert, we ask for courage,
When cornered by beasts, we ask for strength,
As we suffer from thirst, we ask for cunning,
As you grant it, we are thankful.

When we join the Holy Covenant as warriors
We will fight to protect and preserve your legacy
Against those like the Humans and Heretics who defile your memory
Before we follow you on the Great Journey.

In your memory we find Glory,
And in your example we find Salvation.

They finished, looking up into the sky as they almost felt their faith being strengthened and their hope rejuvenating. They stood and began their daily tasks. No hunting parties would be sent out that day, but repairs had to be made to equipment and the tents. Oriné and the other guards were sent into a less-damaged tent in order to catch up on the sleep they had missed. Secretly grateful for the break in duty, each collapsed happily into his scratchy bedding and fell into slumber.

The young warrior-in-training dreamed of beautiful, wonderful Sanghelios. He imagined the day when he would return, one of torrential rain that would make all the buildings and roads slick with moisture. He would stand outside all day long when, at sunset, the rain would cease and the clouds would break and let the light shine through, warming his skin in a pleasant way that he had not known in a long time. Then he would stretch out on the balcony of his family’s modest home and look up into the sky, stars or no, and watch the purple hues of shuttles and dropships pass overhead. He thought of his mother and father, how happy they would be to see him and how proud they would be of his success. Both he and his father would sit in the foreroom and share tales of their survival on Jisako, their mother laughing at the jokes or blanching at the horrors, yet constantly departing and returning to bring new refreshments. And his sister would visit from the convent just to see him in his glory as a new and official member of the Covenant, as an Elite.

He dreamed for a good long time, losing himself in the fantasy, when three other Sangheili rushing into the tent suddenly woke him and the other three, looking quite disheveled. Oriné spotted Yarna among them.

“What’s going on?” he asked urgently, but his friend merely waved off his concern.

“A sandstorm just popped up,” he replied, brushing the loose particles from the textured grooves and scars in his skin, “Nothing to be worried about.” Nodding, the younger Sangheili tried to go back to sleep, but the peace he had felt previously was not forthcoming. So instead he occupied himself by staring up at the ceiling and tracing patterns in the hide while the winds whipped about the tent, trying to rip it from its secure base in the desert floor.

——

Searching for water was one of the hardest and most dangerous tasks the Sangheili faced while on Jisako. It was sparse, it was limited, and what little existed was far from camp and from other sources. From what they had seen in the past month, what little water there was on the planet came from the rain, which was itself slightly acidic. Though they had set up rain-catchers in the camp by disassembling the large crate that had been left with them, until they created a large enough store they still needed another source.

Oriné was not the leader of the camp, but he found himself in the unfortunate position of leading the seven-Sangheili hunting party as they hiked up a narrow mountain path. They all carried their swords with them, just in case they came across a predator or prey. Most of the creatures here were armored and armed with some defense or another, even if their role in the ecosystem was merely a “grazing” animal (though the tough, poisonous vegetation was completely inedible to the Sangheili).

The group reached the top of the path and looked around warily. There was indeed a small deposit of water in what looked like a spring basin, and though Oriné was relieved to see it he knew that such a source would also be known to the local fauna. The area they had found was ringed on all sides, except for the one from which they would enter, by sheer cliffs. There was a considerable distance from the edge of the pool to the sides of the cliffs, enough room for thick vegetation to have grown in and for predators to hide amongst that same vegetation.

Remembering his father’s training, Oriné slowly crept to the edge of the bushes (such as they were) and waited. His companions followed suit. As he listened, he thought about the position of this particular alcove, how even if the wind were blowing it would be difficult for it to enter here and disturb the plant-life; knowing this, he listened for rustling that would betray the presence of another creature. After several moments of waiting, there was nothing.

He turned to his friends. “It is safe for now,” he said in a low tone, “but we must act quickly. Fill your skins and we shall depart immediately.” They nodded and moved forward, pulling their water skins from their belts and dipping them into the pool. So far, the Sangheili had been able to make mediocre supplies from the remains of the animals they had hunted and slain.

They filled the skins quickly and turned to make their escape when Oriné heard a peculiar clicking sound. He motioned for the others to stop, but they were so eager to get away from the anxiousness of the place that they paid him no heed. As he cried out a warning, two shapes darted around the walls and fell upon the unfortunate Sangheili.

Immediately Oriné had his sword in hand and swung at the first shape, the blade striking and digging deep into alien flesh. The creature, whatever it was, screamed and fell off the poor form, twitching and struggling on the ground, staining the dirt and sand with an oily green blood. He was about to set upon the other when the Sangheili trapped beneath it pulled his own sword loose and drove it up into the thing’s belly. It cried out much the same as the other and twisted and writhed on the blade, but the warrior-in-training that it had pinned simply shoved the weapon deeper. Blood ran down his arms and stained the tatters of his robe, but there was a savage determination in the Sangheili’s eyes; finally the creature gave a final twitch, vomited blood onto its killer, and died.

The Sangheili that killed it tossed the body aside and stood, brushing the bodily fluids off his form. “Are you all right, Olah?” Oriné asked, checking him over for wounds.

“I breathe,” the brusque youth said, and nodded to the other Sangheili that had been attacked. “You there, do you yet live?”

“My shoulder hurts,” the other groaned, standing up and brushing the sand off his tunic. Oriné examined him and found that the creature had managed to sink its beak into his flesh, but not very deeply. Tearing a strip of cloth from his own robe, Oriné bandaged the wound tightly.

Standing back, Oriné smiled and met the Sangheili’s green eyes. “I must say Rtas, if you continue to run so headlong into danger, one day you’ll lose much more than just some skin from your shoulder.” Rtas gave a wry smirk then turned his attention to the creature that had jumped him.

It was a long, low thing, possessing a narrow segmented body and a dozen legs. Its head was oblong with two large eyes, now glazed over with death, and a short but sharp beak. Sangheili blood stained its maw, but more of its own lifeblood spilled out into a growing puddle. Oriné had landed a good hit, damaging its spine and heart in one blow, condemning it to a slow and ignoble death. None of the Sangheili could generate much sympathy for it.

Olah turned to the others in the group. “These may be good to eat,” he said. “Two of you will carry each one down the path, and we shall alternate who carries.” They nodded and moved to pick up the creatures.

Rtas watched them work. “Some type of predator, I would imagine.”

Oriné nodded. “Hopefully, that’s as big as they come.”

It wasn’t.

——

Oriné was awoken without warning as a tremor ran through the ground. As he fought his way out of sleepiness, he could hear the terrified cries of his comrades. Leaping up from the desert floor and grabbing his spear, the young Sangheili rushed out of the tent and gazed in awe of what he saw.

Right there, in the middle of the camp, stood a Yorahii beast. It was several meters taller than the warriors-in-training, with a rock-hard hide and many serrated teeth. Its quadruple-hinged jaw fell open and let loose an intense roar, shaking the earth beneath their hooves. Several of the students already had their spears and swords raised, and a couple were making an initial attack. Unfortunately, one’s spear broke and the other wasn’t able to hit one of its vulnerable joints, and with a mighty swing of its head it sent the two flying backwards and into the sand.

Hearing the commotion, Olah came rushing out of his tent and surveyed the scene. “Warriors, defensive stance!” he cried out, rushing to join his brothers-in-arms, “Corral the beast before you attack!”

The young Sangheili children circled around the predator, dodging its blunt forehead as it thrust towards some of them. As their comrades narrowly avoided the teeth of the creature, the warriors-in-training at the back would strike its thick hide with their spears, prompting it to turn and attack them so the others would have time to rest and then follow the same pattern. As the group had found out early during their stay on the planet, the best way to subdue a Yorahii was to exhaust it and then kill it while it couldn’t fight back. There was no honor in such an action, but it was necessary for their survival: the Yorahii before them would be enough to feed them for several weeks.

However, the suppressed jubilation each adolescent felt was dispersed as they heard a second cry come from outside the camp just before a second Yorahii crashed straight through the tent and charged for the collection of Sangheili. Olah called for them all to scatter, but the order came too late for some as three warriors-in-training were trampled underfoot.

Coming together, the Yorahiié bellowed their challenge at the camp before beginning to rampage through the ranks. The smaller, nimbler Sangheili leaped out of the way, even able to pick up and carry off their three injured comrades; as they were dragged out of harm’s way, Oriné and Yarna rushed to the place where they had fallen and quickly gathered up their weapons. Distributing the extras among his fellows, Oriné held on to one of the swords: it was in better condition than his was which could be important soon. He turned his attention back to the battle and saw that no one else had sustained serious injury, but no headway had been made and the Yorahiié were demolishing the encampment.

“Yarna!” he called out, causing his friend to look his way. “Get that one’s attention!” Nodding, the older Sangheili took off at a sprint, holding his spear before him and yelling a challenge. One Yorahii saw his charge and began its own; the warrior-in-training quickly began to backpedal, first allowing the beast to catch up and then matching its speed and swiping at it with his spear. As the two combatants ran past, Oriné brandished both swords and reached out with one of the blades. The slight hook grabbed hold of a small outcropping in its rocky skin and the young Sangheili quickly found himself being pulled through the sand. With great effort he pulled himself up against the hide and began climbing using the swords. As he finally reached the top, he pulled both swords free and began feeling along the ridge on its back.

Yorahii beasts, for whatever reason, always slept with their right side facing the desert wind. Whenever it blew in another direction they would unconsciously move themselves so the proper side was facing it. As a result, a lopsided ridge grew on their backs: the right side was heavily armored while the left side protected a long stripe of vulnerable, unarmored skin along the spine.

No one has ever attempted this before, Oriné reminded himself. Finally his thin fingers found a weak spot on the ridge. With a mighty tug he hefted the flap up, exposing the orange flesh beneath. Suddenly aware of what the creature on its back was doing, the Yorahii ceased its pursuit of Yarna and immediately began to flail about wildly. Oriné quickly dug the blade in as far as he could make it go; the sensation of muscles tearing and bones cracking were conducted up the weapon and into the warrior-in-training’s hand. The beast stumbled and crashed down, all feeling lost in its hindquarters. Seeing their opportunity, several other Sangheili scrambled up its back and began to attack it. It let out a mighty yet piteous groan, finally collapsing as a blade severed its spine at the neck. It would lie there for a while more, its breathing slowing more and more until it finally died of its wounds.

Oriné stood and looked back at the other Yorahii, where he saw several of his peers succeeding at the same tactic. A smile crossed his mandibles: seeing his friends use his own creation brought a great feeling of happiness over him. Finally, as the second beast fell, the crowd of Sangheili let loose a mighty victory cry. Dismounting from their prey, they quickly formed a circle, uttered a quick prayer, and then set about dismantling the carcasses and setting aside what could be used for food and what could be used to rebuild and repair the structures.

That night, Oriné had the honor of sleeping closest to the bonfire, under the open desert sky with the taste of Yorahii and water still fresh in his mind. He was a hero.

——

The night was full of sound, a huge change from the established norm. Four months had elapsed, the marooned Sangheili believed, and they had settled into a routine. Hunting parties every other day, constant camp maintenance and night guard shifts, and the proper storage of leftover food and water. Too often their camp had been infiltrated by small or medium predators looking for an easy meal, either of the conquered sustenance or the sleeping warriors-to-be.

At the same time, the Sangheili had grown used to living on the planet. They knew what to expect most of the time now, and from here on out they expected it to be an exercise in maintaining normalcy. Some exceptions still plagued them: their leader had died earlier in the week from dehydration. Everyone agreed that it had been his own fault for not keeping up his water intake, but the thought still shook them. To die so dishonorably was heresy, one that would affect your family.

Tonight the wind howled and harsh waves of sand blew through their camp. The small grains smashed and pounded against the hides that made up the walls and ceiling, keeping the occupants awake. Oriné was in a tent with Rtas, Olah, and the Councilor’s son, Yarna; the fifth occupant was currently on the night guard shift and would undoubtedly be suffering outside in the storm. They considered recalling the guards to the safety of the tents, but Olah, who had seemed to take the mantle of leader, reminded them that the armored Yorahii were not hindered by sandstorms and could ravage the camp if they were not careful.

Unable to sleep, idle conversation drifted up from each Sangheili, attempting either to make small talk or bore the others into slumber. So far the latter had proved unattainable.

Rtas shifted on his rolled-out hide. “Where is home for you all?”

Oriné scratched idly at a mandible, eyes riveted to the ceiling. “Lomak district of Sanghelios’s capital.” Fond memories sprang to mind of his home, ones that made him pine for his own bed and a pleasant meal.

From across the tent, Rtas rolled to look at his companion. “Really? As am I!”

“I am not far,” Yarna said dimly. “Sorlal district, among the manors.”

Oriné smirked. “Of course you are,” he droned, “for you are the son of a Councilor.” Yarna growled, reached over, and gave his friend a punch in the arm; he hated being referred to as such. He had fought hard in the first few weeks to show that he was as simple and humble a Sangheili as any of them.

“What of your family, Oriné?” Rtas had apparently taken an interest. “What are they like?”

“My father used to be a Ship Commander before he retired and bonded with my mother,” Oriné said, resting his hands on his stomach. “He is a fierce warrior, large and strong. He taught me everything I know. My mother is very kind and gentle in her ways, but she can be just as powerful and intimidating as my father when she speaks. Father always tells her that she has a dancer’s body but a warrior’s tongue.”

Oriné smiled warmly. “But I miss my sister most of all. We are twins.”

Rtas perked up. “You have a twin? A female twin? That is rare.”

The other Sangheili narrowed his eyes and flicked a mandible at his companion. “Not as rare as green eyes among Sangheili,” he retorted.

“Ordinarily I would be delighted to meet any of my Brothers’ beautiful sisters,” Yarna said from his place, “but if she is your twin, as you say, I fear her hideousness shall make my eyes melt—OW!” Oriné had reached over and punched him in the arm far harder than Yarna had done a moment ago.

Rtas chuckled low, then cast his unusual eyes over to Olah, who was sprawled on his side. “What of you, Olah? Where is home? What is your family like?”

Already the camp understood that Olah was a very tight-lipped, no-nonsense individual, so none of the tent’s occupants were surprised when Olah only responded with a grunt. He never spoke of his family, his home, and his friends if he had any; the only thing he concerned himself with was maintaining the camp.

The three other Sangheili turned the conversation to Sanghelios and what awaited them when they returned. Eventually they all drifted off to sleep, Oriné last of all. He fell into deep slumber and dreamed of when he would see his sister again.

——

The next day, as a hunting party was preparing to disembark, an unfamiliar hum filled the air. At first the camp fell back to its center and adopted a defensive formation, spears outstretched and all backs toward the middle of the campground where the fire still burned weakly. Confusion crossed their minds and was easily read on their faces: was this perhaps a new creature? Obviously it was coming from the air, so it must be some kind of flying predator, attracted by the smell of carrion and the thought of a meal.

Quickly, though, they spotted the distinctive, unmistakable shapes of Spirit dropships coming over the far-off mountains. They let out a collective celebratory cheer and rapidly set about preparing themselves for their long-awaited extraction. The three wounded Sangheili were brought out of their tent and laid out in the open where they could observe the incoming craft; the remaining twenty-five warriors-in-training began to take apart the tents and organize the food and resources they had used. It was tradition that all traces of their habitation was removed and erased, so the next batch of Sangheili in this sector would have to build from scratch and fend for themselves, like this one had.

When the four fork-shaped craft touched down, the trainees were lined up in orderly rows, the camp in pieces and stacked neatly nearby along with all the extra food. Olah ‘Seroum stood at the front, tall and muscular, and waited for the troop hatches to drop. When they did, a blue-armored Sangheili soldier stepped out and looked over their ranks. He nodded briefly in approval of their accomplishments, and withdrew a hand-held Lumidex with a simple list of names on it. It was time for roll call.

The warrior went down the list, noting those who had died and why. Only two had perished, one honorably: the family of the one who died fighting a predator would be notified of their son’s death, and while the other fallen Sangheili’s parents would be told of their child’s demise they would also be forbidden from bearing any other children until their remaining offspring (if they had any) could restore honor to their Lineage.

After the last of the names were called, the full-grown Sangheili looked back up over the crowd. “Well done, young ones,” he called out. “You have survived the greatest trial and are now Elites of the Covenant. Get aboard a dropship and prepare for departure: your parents will be honored to reacquaint themselves with you.” This time there was no cheer or audible elation; the newly-christened Elites somberly shuffled onto the transports. The true weight of what they had gone through was suddenly apparent to them, yet the burden was now gone from their shoulders. They had succeeded; so many other camps throughout history had lost all thirty warriors-in-training, yet they had survived and only lost two of their own. But they did not feel honor; they instead felt fatigued.

During the return to space, many of the Sangheili fell asleep. Oriné’s troop slot was right next to one of his more seriously wounded comrades, who died in his sleep that very same journey. Because it was from injuries sustained in combat it was considered honorable and no shame fell to his Lineage; Irut ‘Yonom’s name was forever secured in Covenant history as a valiant warrior.

Description
Author’s Note: For the sake of my many human readers, I have taken the liberty of translating the Covenant units of distance and time, as well as their language, into their human equivalents for ease of reading.

Chapter 1: Test on the Sands

The burning, parched desert world of Jisako was far from the comforts and lush beauty of Sanghelios. Gone was any hope of a constant source of water, of the pleasantry one could find in the native inhabitants, of the rich food and good company. Biting wind, scorching sun, and dangerous predators had replaced it all. It was the ultimate test for the Sangheili warrior, an ancient rite from the time of war with the Prophets. Warriors-in-training had been sent to this planet for generations, forced to spend the harsh days and frigid nights of an entire year with each other to learn the camaraderie required of them during their service to the Covenant.

It was still so, as the small camp of Sangheili adolescents prepared themselves to hunt for a morning meal. The year was almost up as far as they could tell, but the group had quickly lost track of time in the struggle to survive. Already two of them had died, one killed by a massive predator and the other by dehydration. The warriors-in-training had held funeral ceremonies as best they could, but they lacked the resources to spare for a pyre; the bodies also couldn’t be buried nearby because of the creatures they would undoubtedly attract and the risk of contaminating an as-of-yet unknown source of water. So the two young students, taken before their time and departed on their Great Journeys, had been left in a valley far to the east.

Dull weapons and dwindling supplies were also now a daily reality. The ceremonial swords they had been given had blunted and chipped over time, the shields having been long-since recommissioned as shelter-building materials, and the additional spears and arrows they had created themselves were damaged from prolonged use.

One Sangheili was laid out on his stomach on the sand a distance from the camp, his tired eyes sweeping over the horizon. The silhouettes of distant mountains were all that he could see, but he would remain ever vigilant. His two fingers and two thumbs of his right hand gripped the shaft of his spear, the other hand resting lax by the tattered sarong that hung from his waist and ready to grab the sword anchored there if need be. He was all but certain that swinging the sword even once and striking a predator’s hide would break the blade, but the spear too had become weak with overuse. It didn’t matter which one he broke, only which one he broke first.

Sand crunched and shifted behind him, but the warrior-in-training didn’t flinch: he recognized the sound of friendly footfalls easily. A shadow fell across his slowly-warming back, a back that was now rough and leathery where it had been soft and tender scarcely a year ago.

“Oriné, my friend,” the newcomer said, “it is time to eat.”

With a sigh of relief, Oriné ‘Fulsam pushed himself up from the sand and forced himself to stand on two wobbly legs. “Praise be to the Forerunners,” he muttered, turning to his companion Yarna ‘Orgalm, “I’m starving.”

Chuckling slightly, the older Sangheili put a comforting arm around his shoulder. “We all know how trying night-time guard duty can be,” Yarna said, leading his comrade back to the camp. He wore the same style of cloth draped around his waist as Oriné, and also had a sword hanging at his side. Though older and from a far nobler family, Yarna had formed a strong bond with the other, less Honored Sangheili, to the point of each considering the other his Brother. Then again, they had achieved Brotherhood status with their twenty-six companions after a year of fighting and shedding blood and tears together.

——

Oriné had never ridden in a dropship before, and exhilarated at this new opportunity. He was close to what would be his full height, he knew, but there was a significant enough difference between that and his current bearing that his eyes weren’t quite level with the viewing slot. Still, he had a good enough view that he was able to catch the top of the horizon as the Spirit leveled out.

As far as he could see, it was all sand. He stood in awe, firmly rooted to the spot by a magnetic harness, as he watched the dunes race by underneath. This planet was much different than Sanghelios, which was tropical in nature. Occasionally he spotted a mountain or valley made of stone and hard dirt, but only once did he ever see a lake of water, maybe only a large pond. Remembering his father’s advice, Oriné made a mental note of its position and tried to keep it in mind as the Spirit proceeded on its course. If they were lucky, the dropship would put down somewhere close by.

It was a long time before it settled to the sand below.

When the large door fell open before them, Oriné and the three other Sangheili on his side jumped down the makeshift ramp and onto the sand. His hooves burned and he yelped, dancing first on one foot and then the other. Some of the others sniggered at his misfortune, but most were too busy doing something similar.

Other Spirits settled down and disgorged their cargo, and the Sangheili all began to mingle amongst each other. Finally he adjusted to the heat and was able to look around. There were thirty Sangheili adolescents here in total, each dressed in the finest robes of his Lineage. Oriné’s family was moderately Honored and thus bore simple but elegant designs around the edges. The care with which they were sewn into the smooth fabric, as well as the images created, attested to the fact that most of his Lineage’s accomplishments were in the naval field, with some having achieved a level of glory in the army. His brother was in the navy, but ships bored Oriné; so much time spent jetting between planets. It seemed like a waste. This was what he loved, being surrounded by a tangible environment with its own unique difficulties.

One of the Sangheili caught his eye, however. The designs on his robe were intricate, complex, and covered almost all of the fabric. A hush fell over those Sangheili that took notice: he was the son of a Councilor. The most Honored and revered of the Lineages. Oriné tried to place the crest to a name, but came up with nothing. He was not worried; perhaps he would have been more intimidated if this honored Councilor’s son wasn’t also dancing from one hoof to the other.

From one of the ships came a Sangheili dressed in cobalt-blue armor. Once his presence was realized, all of the youths ceased motions and stood at rapt attention, whether or not the ground still burned them. This individual was a soldier of the Covenant, an Elite Minor. He represented everything that they were trying to become.

“Your ears,” he said. “You are about to embark on this most deadly and treacherous of tasks, but to survive means becoming a member of the greatest assembly known in our time. If you pass this test, you shall be inducted as Elites of the Holy Covenant and sent to a war academy for your proper education in fighting, tactics, and discipline.

“You will be on your own out here. We will not come until a full year on Sanghelios has passed, which means no one will check your progress or be aware of any achievements or failures that you make here. Other groups of Sangheili children like you have been put on this planet. Do not attempt to contact or interfere with them; the only time you may interact is if you contest them for resources. In that instance you must follow the rules of honorable combat.

“This is mid-day for Jisako. A crate will be deposited that contains enough swords and shields for the lot of you. I suggest you take the time before nightfall to find a suitable location and set up camp.” Without so much as a formal farewell, the Elite Minor turned and boarded the ship. The Spirits lifted into the air and flew off. As promised, they left behind a large purple crate with thirty hard metal swords and shields. The crowd of Sangheili gathered around it and began to distribute the weapons amidst themselves. There was no childish bickering or competition; that had been forced out of them through their parents’ pre-training. Everyone here had already earned their Clan name, a sign of maturity. Nobody would dishonor their Lineage now.

Oriné had just received his sword and shield when he heard whispers grow loud behind him. When he turned, he found that the rest of the Sangheili behind him had parted to allow the Councilor’s son forward. For a moment, he couldn’t recall proper protocol and simply stood there, unable to speak. Finally he remembered his place and offered his fellow Sangheili the weapons.

“For you, Excellency,” he said, using the honorific of the military. “You are worthier of them than I.”

Having expected the slightly older one to simply take the offering, Oriné was surprised when the Sangheili scowled and shoved the weapons back at him. Now fearing that he was in for retribution, or at least some stern words, Oriné was completely taken by surprise when the Councilor’s son turned to the rest of the group, seized the collar of his robe, and proceeded to tear and rend it until it was only tatters at his feet.

“Behold!” he cried, holding the largest piece in his hand, which still clearly displayed the Lineage crest. “I do not have a divine body, nor golden skin, nor diamond blood! I am simply a Sangheili like the rest of you!”

He turned back to Oriné. “Keep your honor and your pity both,” he said, pushing past the younger Sangheili and retrieving a sword and shield himself. “I don’t care for them.”

Oriné watched and nodded. He liked him already.

——

Primitive was the best description of the camp: five tents composed the warriors’ domiciles, the structures made from the bones of creatures and the coverings from their hides. Each could hold six sleeping Sangheili, but two had only five after the deaths. At every moment of the day four of the warriors-in-training were on guard duty except for breakfast when all were expected to be back for morning meal and prayer. The other twenty-four would either be working in the camp or out hunting for food.

As they approached, a Sangheili wearing a toga with a sash made out of hide was meeting with three others, the rest of the nighttime guard. His name was Olah ‘Seroum, the “leader” of the camp. He had distinguished himself early on; one of the two killed had originally been the leader, now Olah was in charge, and though he was often strict he was certainly the best they could ask for.

“Report, Oriné,” he demanded.

With great fatigue, the young Sangheili recounted his night’s duty in as few words as possible. “Nothing of note, aside from a few scavengers that were interested in the fire we lit. It was very quiet.”

Olah nodded, apparently satisfied. “Good. We shall eat, say prayer, then you and the other guards may rest.” Oriné nodded and trod towards the area where the food had been laid out. The sun’s heat was beginning to register now that it had been in the sky for roughly an hour. With the added light came added strain on their bodies: it was probably just an effect of the heat and their own psyche, but whenever it was daytime all the scars and wounds they suffered felt all the more prominent. They had grown used to this, even using the increased awareness the feeling brought on to their advantage while hunting; such opportunities didn’t remove the factor of discomfort, but it was beneficial.

Taking a meager helping of food, Oriné took a seat in the sand beside his friends and lay his spear down next to him. The meat was tough, as always, but driven by almost perpetual hunger they tore through the sun-burnt flesh ravenously. Constantly they shifted, adjusting for the swords on their hips. Predator attacks weren’t uncommon, especially in broad daylight, so no Sangheili was to be unarmed ever. Such negligence was what had caused the death of one of the warriors-in-training. He who had already broken his sword beyond repair would cut down the hilt and use rocks and sand to wear down the blade to dagger-length.

After they had all finished eating, Olah called out for peace. “Now we pray to the Forerunners,” he said, and they stood up only to drop back down on their knees and adopt the prayer stance. As one, they began to recite:

Forerunner hear us now and forever,
Forerunner save us from Heresy unwilling,
Forerunner banish evil from us and guide our hands,
Forerunner, we do thy bidding.

Stranded here in the desert, we ask for courage,
When cornered by beasts, we ask for strength,
As we suffer from thirst, we ask for cunning,
As you grant it, we are thankful.

When we join the Holy Covenant as warriors
We will fight to protect and preserve your legacy
Against those like the Humans and Heretics who defile your memory
Before we follow you on the Great Journey.

In your memory we find Glory,
And in your example we find Salvation.

They finished, looking up into the sky as they almost felt their faith being strengthened and their hope rejuvenating. They stood and began their daily tasks. No hunting parties would be sent out that day, but repairs had to be made to equipment and the tents. Oriné and the other guards were sent into a less-damaged tent in order to catch up on the sleep they had missed. Secretly grateful for the break in duty, each collapsed happily into his scratchy bedding and fell into slumber.

The young warrior-in-training dreamed of beautiful, wonderful Sanghelios. He imagined the day when he would return, one of torrential rain that would make all the buildings and roads slick with moisture. He would stand outside all day long when, at sunset, the rain would cease and the clouds would break and let the light shine through, warming his skin in a pleasant way that he had not known in a long time. Then he would stretch out on the balcony of his family’s modest home and look up into the sky, stars or no, and watch the purple hues of shuttles and dropships pass overhead. He thought of his mother and father, how happy they would be to see him and how proud they would be of his success. Both he and his father would sit in the foreroom and share tales of their survival on Jisako, their mother laughing at the jokes or blanching at the horrors, yet constantly departing and returning to bring new refreshments. And his sister would visit from the convent just to see him in his glory as a new and official member of the Covenant, as an Elite.

He dreamed for a good long time, losing himself in the fantasy, when three other Sangheili rushing into the tent suddenly woke him and the other three, looking quite disheveled. Oriné spotted Yarna among them.

“What’s going on?” he asked urgently, but his friend merely waved off his concern.

“A sandstorm just popped up,” he replied, brushing the loose particles from the textured grooves and scars in his skin, “Nothing to be worried about.” Nodding, the younger Sangheili tried to go back to sleep, but the peace he had felt previously was not forthcoming. So instead he occupied himself by staring up at the ceiling and tracing patterns in the hide while the winds whipped about the tent, trying to rip it from its secure base in the desert floor.

——

Searching for water was one of the hardest and most dangerous tasks the Sangheili faced while on Jisako. It was sparse, it was limited, and what little existed was far from camp and from other sources. From what they had seen in the past month, what little water there was on the planet came from the rain, which was itself slightly acidic. Though they had set up rain-catchers in the camp by disassembling the large crate that had been left with them, until they created a large enough store they still needed another source.

Oriné was not the leader of the camp, but he found himself in the unfortunate position of leading the seven-Sangheili hunting party as they hiked up a narrow mountain path. They all carried their swords with them, just in case they came across a predator or prey. Most of the creatures here were armored and armed with some defense or another, even if their role in the ecosystem was merely a “grazing” animal (though the tough, poisonous vegetation was completely inedible to the Sangheili).

The group reached the top of the path and looked around warily. There was indeed a small deposit of water in what looked like a spring basin, and though Oriné was relieved to see it he knew that such a source would also be known to the local fauna. The area they had found was ringed on all sides, except for the one from which they would enter, by sheer cliffs. There was a considerable distance from the edge of the pool to the sides of the cliffs, enough room for thick vegetation to have grown in and for predators to hide amongst that same vegetation.

Remembering his father’s training, Oriné slowly crept to the edge of the bushes (such as they were) and waited. His companions followed suit. As he listened, he thought about the position of this particular alcove, how even if the wind were blowing it would be difficult for it to enter here and disturb the plant-life; knowing this, he listened for rustling that would betray the presence of another creature. After several moments of waiting, there was nothing.

He turned to his friends. “It is safe for now,” he said in a low tone, “but we must act quickly. Fill your skins and we shall depart immediately.” They nodded and moved forward, pulling their water skins from their belts and dipping them into the pool. So far, the Sangheili had been able to make mediocre supplies from the remains of the animals they had hunted and slain.

They filled the skins quickly and turned to make their escape when Oriné heard a peculiar clicking sound. He motioned for the others to stop, but they were so eager to get away from the anxiousness of the place that they paid him no heed. As he cried out a warning, two shapes darted around the walls and fell upon the unfortunate Sangheili.

Immediately Oriné had his sword in hand and swung at the first shape, the blade striking and digging deep into alien flesh. The creature, whatever it was, screamed and fell off the poor form, twitching and struggling on the ground, staining the dirt and sand with an oily green blood. He was about to set upon the other when the Sangheili trapped beneath it pulled his own sword loose and drove it up into the thing’s belly. It cried out much the same as the other and twisted and writhed on the blade, but the warrior-in-training that it had pinned simply shoved the weapon deeper. Blood ran down his arms and stained the tatters of his robe, but there was a savage determination in the Sangheili’s eyes; finally the creature gave a final twitch, vomited blood onto its killer, and died.

The Sangheili that killed it tossed the body aside and stood, brushing the bodily fluids off his form. “Are you all right, Olah?” Oriné asked, checking him over for wounds.

“I breathe,” the brusque youth said, and nodded to the other Sangheili that had been attacked. “You there, do you yet live?”

“My shoulder hurts,” the other groaned, standing up and brushing the sand off his tunic. Oriné examined him and found that the creature had managed to sink its beak into his flesh, but not very deeply. Tearing a strip of cloth from his own robe, Oriné bandaged the wound tightly.

Standing back, Oriné smiled and met the Sangheili’s green eyes. “I must say Rtas, if you continue to run so headlong into danger, one day you’ll lose much more than just some skin from your shoulder.” Rtas gave a wry smirk then turned his attention to the creature that had jumped him.

It was a long, low thing, possessing a narrow segmented body and a dozen legs. Its head was oblong with two large eyes, now glazed over with death, and a short but sharp beak. Sangheili blood stained its maw, but more of its own lifeblood spilled out into a growing puddle. Oriné had landed a good hit, damaging its spine and heart in one blow, condemning it to a slow and ignoble death. None of the Sangheili could generate much sympathy for it.

Olah turned to the others in the group. “These may be good to eat,” he said. “Two of you will carry each one down the path, and we shall alternate who carries.” They nodded and moved to pick up the creatures.

Rtas watched them work. “Some type of predator, I would imagine.”

Oriné nodded. “Hopefully, that’s as big as they come.”

It wasn’t.

——

Oriné was awoken without warning as a tremor ran through the ground. As he fought his way out of sleepiness, he could hear the terrified cries of his comrades. Leaping up from the desert floor and grabbing his spear, the young Sangheili rushed out of the tent and gazed in awe of what he saw.

Right there, in the middle of the camp, stood a Yorahii beast. It was several meters taller than the warriors-in-training, with a rock-hard hide and many serrated teeth. Its quadruple-hinged jaw fell open and let loose an intense roar, shaking the earth beneath their hooves. Several of the students already had their spears and swords raised, and a couple were making an initial attack. Unfortunately, one’s spear broke and the other wasn’t able to hit one of its vulnerable joints, and with a mighty swing of its head it sent the two flying backwards and into the sand.

Hearing the commotion, Olah came rushing out of his tent and surveyed the scene. “Warriors, defensive stance!” he cried out, rushing to join his brothers-in-arms, “Corral the beast before you attack!”

The young Sangheili children circled around the predator, dodging its blunt forehead as it thrust towards some of them. As their comrades narrowly avoided the teeth of the creature, the warriors-in-training at the back would strike its thick hide with their spears, prompting it to turn and attack them so the others would have time to rest and then follow the same pattern. As the group had found out early during their stay on the planet, the best way to subdue a Yorahii was to exhaust it and then kill it while it couldn’t fight back. There was no honor in such an action, but it was necessary for their survival: the Yorahii before them would be enough to feed them for several weeks.

However, the suppressed jubilation each adolescent felt was dispersed as they heard a second cry come from outside the camp just before a second Yorahii crashed straight through the tent and charged for the collection of Sangheili. Olah called for them all to scatter, but the order came too late for some as three warriors-in-training were trampled underfoot.

Coming together, the Yorahiié bellowed their challenge at the camp before beginning to rampage through the ranks. The smaller, nimbler Sangheili leaped out of the way, even able to pick up and carry off their three injured comrades; as they were dragged out of harm’s way, Oriné and Yarna rushed to the place where they had fallen and quickly gathered up their weapons. Distributing the extras among his fellows, Oriné held on to one of the swords: it was in better condition than his was which could be important soon. He turned his attention back to the battle and saw that no one else had sustained serious injury, but no headway had been made and the Yorahiié were demolishing the encampment.

“Yarna!” he called out, causing his friend to look his way. “Get that one’s attention!” Nodding, the older Sangheili took off at a sprint, holding his spear before him and yelling a challenge. One Yorahii saw his charge and began its own; the warrior-in-training quickly began to backpedal, first allowing the beast to catch up and then matching its speed and swiping at it with his spear. As the two combatants ran past, Oriné brandished both swords and reached out with one of the blades. The slight hook grabbed hold of a small outcropping in its rocky skin and the young Sangheili quickly found himself being pulled through the sand. With great effort he pulled himself up against the hide and began climbing using the swords. As he finally reached the top, he pulled both swords free and began feeling along the ridge on its back.

Yorahii beasts, for whatever reason, always slept with their right side facing the desert wind. Whenever it blew in another direction they would unconsciously move themselves so the proper side was facing it. As a result, a lopsided ridge grew on their backs: the right side was heavily armored while the left side protected a long stripe of vulnerable, unarmored skin along the spine.

No one has ever attempted this before, Oriné reminded himself. Finally his thin fingers found a weak spot on the ridge. With a mighty tug he hefted the flap up, exposing the orange flesh beneath. Suddenly aware of what the creature on its back was doing, the Yorahii ceased its pursuit of Yarna and immediately began to flail about wildly. Oriné quickly dug the blade in as far as he could make it go; the sensation of muscles tearing and bones cracking were conducted up the weapon and into the warrior-in-training’s hand. The beast stumbled and crashed down, all feeling lost in its hindquarters. Seeing their opportunity, several other Sangheili scrambled up its back and began to attack it. It let out a mighty yet piteous groan, finally collapsing as a blade severed its spine at the neck. It would lie there for a while more, its breathing slowing more and more until it finally died of its wounds.

Oriné stood and looked back at the other Yorahii, where he saw several of his peers succeeding at the same tactic. A smile crossed his mandibles: seeing his friends use his own creation brought a great feeling of happiness over him. Finally, as the second beast fell, the crowd of Sangheili let loose a mighty victory cry. Dismounting from their prey, they quickly formed a circle, uttered a quick prayer, and then set about dismantling the carcasses and setting aside what could be used for food and what could be used to rebuild and repair the structures.

That night, Oriné had the honor of sleeping closest to the bonfire, under the open desert sky with the taste of Yorahii and water still fresh in his mind. He was a hero.

——

The night was full of sound, a huge change from the established norm. Four months had elapsed, the marooned Sangheili believed, and they had settled into a routine. Hunting parties every other day, constant camp maintenance and night guard shifts, and the proper storage of leftover food and water. Too often their camp had been infiltrated by small or medium predators looking for an easy meal, either of the conquered sustenance or the sleeping warriors-to-be.

At the same time, the Sangheili had grown used to living on the planet. They knew what to expect most of the time now, and from here on out they expected it to be an exercise in maintaining normalcy. Some exceptions still plagued them: their leader had died earlier in the week from dehydration. Everyone agreed that it had been his own fault for not keeping up his water intake, but the thought still shook them. To die so dishonorably was heresy, one that would affect your family.

Tonight the wind howled and harsh waves of sand blew through their camp. The small grains smashed and pounded against the hides that made up the walls and ceiling, keeping the occupants awake. Oriné was in a tent with Rtas, Olah, and the Councilor’s son, Yarna; the fifth occupant was currently on the night guard shift and would undoubtedly be suffering outside in the storm. They considered recalling the guards to the safety of the tents, but Olah, who had seemed to take the mantle of leader, reminded them that the armored Yorahii were not hindered by sandstorms and could ravage the camp if they were not careful.

Unable to sleep, idle conversation drifted up from each Sangheili, attempting either to make small talk or bore the others into slumber. So far the latter had proved unattainable.

Rtas shifted on his rolled-out hide. “Where is home for you all?”

Oriné scratched idly at a mandible, eyes riveted to the ceiling. “Lomak district of Sanghelios’s capital.” Fond memories sprang to mind of his home, ones that made him pine for his own bed and a pleasant meal.

From across the tent, Rtas rolled to look at his companion. “Really? As am I!”

“I am not far,” Yarna said dimly. “Sorlal district, among the manors.”

Oriné smirked. “Of course you are,” he droned, “for you are the son of a Councilor.” Yarna growled, reached over, and gave his friend a punch in the arm; he hated being referred to as such. He had fought hard in the first few weeks to show that he was as simple and humble a Sangheili as any of them.

“What of your family, Oriné?” Rtas had apparently taken an interest. “What are they like?”

“My father used to be a Ship Commander before he retired and bonded with my mother,” Oriné said, resting his hands on his stomach. “He is a fierce warrior, large and strong. He taught me everything I know. My mother is very kind and gentle in her ways, but she can be just as powerful and intimidating as my father when she speaks. Father always tells her that she has a dancer’s body but a warrior’s tongue.”

Oriné smiled warmly. “But I miss my sister most of all. We are twins.”

Rtas perked up. “You have a twin? A female twin? That is rare.”

The other Sangheili narrowed his eyes and flicked a mandible at his companion. “Not as rare as green eyes among Sangheili,” he retorted.

“Ordinarily I would be delighted to meet any of my Brothers’ beautiful sisters,” Yarna said from his place, “but if she is your twin, as you say, I fear her hideousness shall make my eyes melt—OW!” Oriné had reached over and punched him in the arm far harder than Yarna had done a moment ago.

Rtas chuckled low, then cast his unusual eyes over to Olah, who was sprawled on his side. “What of you, Olah? Where is home? What is your family like?”

Already the camp understood that Olah was a very tight-lipped, no-nonsense individual, so none of the tent’s occupants were surprised when Olah only responded with a grunt. He never spoke of his family, his home, and his friends if he had any; the only thing he concerned himself with was maintaining the camp.

The three other Sangheili turned the conversation to Sanghelios and what awaited them when they returned. Eventually they all drifted off to sleep, Oriné last of all. He fell into deep slumber and dreamed of when he would see his sister again.

——

The next day, as a hunting party was preparing to disembark, an unfamiliar hum filled the air. At first the camp fell back to its center and adopted a defensive formation, spears outstretched and all backs toward the middle of the campground where the fire still burned weakly. Confusion crossed their minds and was easily read on their faces: was this perhaps a new creature? Obviously it was coming from the air, so it must be some kind of flying predator, attracted by the smell of carrion and the thought of a meal.

Quickly, though, they spotted the distinctive, unmistakable shapes of Spirit dropships coming over the far-off mountains. They let out a collective celebratory cheer and rapidly set about preparing themselves for their long-awaited extraction. The three wounded Sangheili were brought out of their tent and laid out in the open where they could observe the incoming craft; the remaining twenty-five warriors-in-training began to take apart the tents and organize the food and resources they had used. It was tradition that all traces of their habitation was removed and erased, so the next batch of Sangheili in this sector would have to build from scratch and fend for themselves, like this one had.

When the four fork-shaped craft touched down, the trainees were lined up in orderly rows, the camp in pieces and stacked neatly nearby along with all the extra food. Olah ‘Seroum stood at the front, tall and muscular, and waited for the troop hatches to drop. When they did, a blue-armored Sangheili soldier stepped out and looked over their ranks. He nodded briefly in approval of their accomplishments, and withdrew a hand-held Lumidex with a simple list of names on it. It was time for roll call.

The warrior went down the list, noting those who had died and why. Only two had perished, one honorably: the family of the one who died fighting a predator would be notified of their son’s death, and while the other fallen Sangheili’s parents would be told of their child’s demise they would also be forbidden from bearing any other children until their remaining offspring (if they had any) could restore honor to their Lineage.

After the last of the names were called, the full-grown Sangheili looked back up over the crowd. “Well done, young ones,” he called out. “You have survived the greatest trial and are now Elites of the Covenant. Get aboard a dropship and prepare for departure: your parents will be honored to reacquaint themselves with you.” This time there was no cheer or audible elation; the newly-christened Elites somberly shuffled onto the transports. The true weight of what they had gone through was suddenly apparent to them, yet the burden was now gone from their shoulders. They had succeeded; so many other camps throughout history had lost all thirty warriors-in-training, yet they had survived and only lost two of their own. But they did not feel honor; they instead felt fatigued.

During the return to space, many of the Sangheili fell asleep. Oriné’s troop slot was right next to one of his more seriously wounded comrades, who died in his sleep that very same journey. Because it was from injuries sustained in combat it was considered honorable and no shame fell to his Lineage; Irut ‘Yonom’s name was forever secured in Covenant history as a valiant warrior.