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Chapter 2: Welcome to the Covenant

A little over a year ago, he had watched thirty Sangheili children board a handful of Spirits and take off into the sky. They had worn only their Honored Lineage robes and carried their families’ hopes and dreams with them, and on that day his youngest son had left to undertake the single most important trial known to his kind. Now he had to keep his emotions in check as he watched from the Birth-Givers’ balcony as another handful of Spirits set down and deposited twenty-seven children—

No, Orita ‘Fulsamee corrected himself, twenty-seven Covenant Elites. The survivors of the trial arranged themselves into orderly rows, emerald-colored armor glistening in the white light of Sanghelios’s star. From his place on the balcony, milling about with the other concerned and anxious parents, he tried to distinguish his son from the crowd, but the balcony was shamefully distant from the newly returned warriors. He did his best to hide his anxiousness, but despite all his attempts his mate put her slender hand on his shoulder in a motion of understanding.

“Orita,” Alsa cooed, “Relax, my love. He is home now, and we know it: we didn’t receive one of those horrible communiqués like the ‘Yonomee did.”

Orita’s shoulders sagged in exasperation, but he did not dare lower his head for fear of missing sight of his son. “Dama and Alna have another son; Irut was only their middle-child. Oriné is our last.”

“You worry far too much,” his mate chided him, smiling wryly. “Were it not for your injury, I would think that you had never fought a single battle in your entire life.” Orita could not help but chuckle, albeit dryly, at his mate’s often-used taunt. It was true that fatherhood had changed him from a battle-hardened veteran to what many had called a soft-hearted individual, but he knew what he was doing was right: the Lineage was all the strength he would need. His two sons would bring it honor, and his daughter would bring it more children. His time spent in the military was valuable and educational, but it paled in comparison to the importance of family.

His thoughts quickly returned to the present as the blare of a horn tore through the air. All the parents and family members present immediately stood ram-rod straight, their excited eyes sweeping over the plaza beneath them: their sons stood below them at rapt attention as a crimson-armored Major strode back and forth in front of them, bellowing a quick speech in a loud voice that was unintelligible to the spectators, being just far enough out of earshot. Finally he stopped in front of young Olah ‘Seroum and nodded. The young warrior spun around on his heel and barked several quick orders at the other twenty-six Sangheili, and then dropped his shoulders and smiled. With a sweeping motion of his arm he dismissed his troops, and quickly they all broke rank and ran laughing and whooping towards their parents, who likewise descended the ancient steps as quickly as they could to join with their children.

Families were reunited at last. Between the crying mothers, the proud fathers, and the happy children there arose such a din that all other Sangheili not involved in the reunion covered their ears their ears and hurried away from the plaza.

Alsa and Orita pushed through the crowd, intent on finding their son. Fortunately he had removed his helmet, thereby making it all the easier for his mother to find him and sweep him up into her arms, laughing and crying at the same time. The elder Sangheili looked on with a smile so large that he had only felt it once before, when his eldest son, Oriné’s older brother, had returned home in just as much splendor.

After a moment, young Oriné broke from his mother and went next to his father. They touched foreheads, an ancient sign of brotherhood, before embracing each other. “My son!” he cried, “You have done it! You have become an Elite, the greatest and noblest of all soldiers!” He hefted the young warrior onto his shoulder; he weighed considerably more than usual in his armor, but Orita hardly noticed, the joy in his mind was too overpowering.

“Father, please!” Oriné protested, but his parent would have none of it. The young Sangheili blushed hard, but realized that his comrades were themselves too caught up in their own reunions in order to take the time to make fun of him. So he let his father have his moment, and then slipped out of his grip. Compared to his father, Oriné was a very thin and lanky creature, but then again that applied for a great deal of the Sangheili when compared to Orita ‘Fulsamee. He was a massive man, rock-hard muscles perfectly toned that could easily tear through a human or Sangheili; at the moment he wore a loose and dark-colored garment that displayed intricate designs indicative of his current, if suspended, rank: Ship Commander.

Orita immediately began pressing his son for the story of his trial, but Alsa wouldn’t stand to hear the details. She wanted to get her boy home quickly in order to feed him a decent home-cooked meal and get him into more comfortable clothes. At first the two males protested but she affixed them with such a look to cause them to immediately submit. She led her two subdued men through the streets, much to the entertainment of the other nearby Sangheili.

The city of Lomak was only a part of the capital city of Sanghelios, one of eleven districts that made up the entire capital. It tended to be more of a tourist attraction, with many members of the Covenant venturing to it to enjoy the quaint scenery and exposure to Sangheili history: grand holographic murals could be found scattered throughout the city, each depicting an important scene or grand battle from history. The most popular were the ones that showed artistic renditions of the War of Fortune, the conflict with the Prophets that eventually led both sides to uncover the secrets of the Forerunner. However, this acceptance of outsiders applied only to the city at large; certain areas of Lomak were off-limits to other races, aside from servant Unggoy, and it was in such an area that the ‘Fulsam Lineage lived.

Aside from two large causeways Lomak was restricted to travel by foot, so the three Sangheili found themselves walking through the city on the way to their flat. Oriné took in the surroundings with silent beatitude: he was an adult now, by definition, but it still filled his heart with joy to be back in his home. They passed a great deal of acquaintances on their way, and stopped to greet each one and reintroduce the young ‘Fulsam, now a full-fledged Elite of the Covenant.

“When will you depart for Institution?” one female asked.

“Soon,” Oriné assured her, “very soon. We are allowed two weeks of leave before we are expected to be prepared for more and greater training.”

After the stranger had departed, Orita put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Do not fear Institution, my son. It will be trying, but you have overcome the greatest hurdle already. You will meet new friends and gain new allies.”

The young Sangheili only half-heartedly listened; Institution was still two weeks away, and Jisako was still fresh in his mind. He was more content to take in the surroundings and marvel at how much things had changed since he left, even relax and unwind among the familiarity. There was much to admire, especially in the light of having just returned from such a harsh world. There were no predators here, no fear of the nights or of never waking up from slumber: water was plentiful as large decorative fountains dotted the streets, and green ferns and ivy stalks grew up the sides of buildings. This was truly Paradise.

“When is the Ceremony of Appellation to be?” His mother’s question cut through his idle thoughts and drew him back to reality. The Ceremony was to be his official induction into the Covenant, his and his comrades’. They would receive their military names, and, though Oriné was careful not to admit his anticipation, they would be able to legally partake of the fine wine and brandy available to the Sangheili. He looked forward to drinking with his friends and even, if an opportunity arose, to play a classic drinking game with his father. They would use real wine this time, not uapa-flavored juice.

“Tonight, at the Grand Plaza beside the bay,” Oriné replied, nodding hello to a passing stranger. His mother squawked in surprise and began urging the two males to hurry; she had evidently not been aware that the ceremony was to take place so soon and wanted her boys fed well and dressed. Thus the two military Sangheili were grabbed by the shoulders and literally dragged through the streets by a single housewife.

——

“But mother!” Yarna ‘Orgalm protested as his birth giver ordered the Unggoy servants to collect cloth from the storeroom in the sub-levels of the manor, “I’m only to wear my armor. No other clothing is permitted!”

“Incorrect!” the proud Sangheili woman, a tall and toned female named Oslu Gal, cried out, wrapping a swath of brightly-colored fabric around her son’s neck and scrutinizing it. “You are not permitted to wear anything other than your armor for the actual ceremony, but there is nothing to be said against a civilized outfit for the banquet prior.”

The young Sangheili huffed, ripping the scarf from his neck and crossing his arms. “I will not be dressed up as a doll!”

In response the elder woman cuffed him smartly upside the head, forcing him to take a step back and drop the cloth as he reached up to nurse the mark. “You will do as you’re told! You will look like a gentile, you will bring honor to your Lineage, and you will like it!” Utterly defeated, Yarna stood still and accepted the treatment, not willing to encourage the wrath of his mother. Female though she was, she had the heart of a warrior. She had, in fact, been kicked out of the Priestesses’ Coven because she tried to resolve all her problems through violence. She had very nearly beaten the High Priestess to death immediately following her removal, but that was also how she had met her mate: Rakola ‘Orgalmee had been the only Honor Guard present strong enough to subdue her. She fell in love with him immediately.

Yarna gazed into the mirror nearby that presented his flat reflection and sighed softly, not loud enough for Oslu to hear. He did not share either his mother or father’s pride in his Lineage; certainly he felt compelled to bring more honor to it, but his father was already a very righteous and popular man. Why could he not simply live the life of a soldier? Why did he have to excel, to one day “outgrow” it and join the council?

Suddenly the reflection caught another Sangheili, and the young emerald-armor soldier turned around suddenly. There, standing in the doorway, was a tall and strong man, wearing bright silver armor and the finest cloak any had yet seen. In the hall beyond Yarna could see two armored Honor Guards, one holding a large and ornate headpiece for his charge. It was the silver armored one, however, who the child’s interest was focused on.

“By the Forerunner,” Rakola ‘Orgalmae breathed, “look at what that planet has done to my son! He is taller and stronger, surely smarter... this is a blessing that I will surely be thankful for come the Night of the Beholden.” The praise was heard by the young Sangheili but it did not register. It had been so long since Yarna had seen his father, especially in so revenant a mood. Ever since he was young, he had never been able to win his father’s attention for anything but the most pressing matters. He understood his position on the Council didn’t lend itself to much free time, but there was still a degree of familiarity that he saw among other families that he yearned for.

“Father,” Yarna whispered, unable to form a proper greeting. Fear filled him, remembering the pain of what happened last time he failed to deliver the necessary honorifics, but he was unprepared for what happened next.

The silver-armored councilor strode into the room and touched foreheads with his boy. “I am so sorry that I was unable to see you land, Yarna. The council was in session, and I nearly had to fight my way out of the chambers to get here now.” Yarna remained silent: such attention from his father was one of the things that he always wished for but was rare in receiving. The former Battalion Master had always pushed his son to be the best and believed that to levy a good thought that had not been earned by right of blood was tantamount to heresy. But now that Yarna had survived Jisako perhaps he truly deserved one, if not several.

Regardless this sudden turn-about had thrown the young cadet off-balance, and even when he recovered all he could do was smile, nod, and mutter some sort of thankful remark. Rakola nodded and glanced at his mate.

“You are the one dressing him, I presume?”

She huffed and nodded, waving to the Unggoy servants she had dispatched for the exotic fabrics as they tried to squeeze past the two Honor Guards blocking the hallway. “Fit for a Councilor,” she smirked and retrieved a bolt of cloth from the arms of her waiting slaves. “A similar pattern to what you wear to your political banquets should be dashing, though I’ll tone it down a bit: your son has not yet outranked you.”

He nodded in response, eyes having glazed over halfway through her explanation. “Very good, my love,” he said, turning to leave. “I must prepare myself as well. I will see you both when we are ready to depart.”

——

Any shreds of comportment Oriné still clung to by the time they reached their cozy flat vanished as soon as he saw his twin sister Fulsa. He bellowed the playful challenge of their childhood and flung himself at her. Hearing it but not believing her ears she looked up and squawked in surprise as he hefted her up in an embrace. She giggled and returned the hug, touching foreheads with him.

“Oriné!” she squealed when he let her go. “You’ve finally returned! And look at your armor!” She was different, holding herself straighter and with more confidence. Though it was obvious that she had grown up, perhaps not so much as himself, she was still his sister under all the blossoming womanhood.

“The Coven has changed you,” he mused, “but I’ll bet you’re still ticklish!” She yelped as he reached out and tried to get his nimble hands under her arms, where he remembered her to be most vulnerable. This continued for a while until finally she called for quarter, and he gave it with a snide remark. In return she sneered and flicked a mandible at him, though all in jest.

“So,” Oriné said, having collapsed onto the daybed by the window and removed his helmet, “tell me of the Coven.”

Fulsa groaned as she fell onto a cushion, being careful to tuck her robes under her legs as she did so. “It is awful. Long work days, little rest, and constantly memorizing scripture. And few of the other girls are ever willing to go out and have some fun! You would think that giving your mind a chance to breathe was a heresy, the way they remain cooped up in the temples.”

“Surely the fact that it is on High Charity offers you some entertainment?”

She snorted at this. “Hardly. Don’t misunderstand, the Holy City is a beautiful and inspiring place, but we are not yet permitted to venture very far beyond the temple district. Should we stray and are caught, the punishment is severe.”

Oriné hummed. “Not so severe.”

She shrugged. “The food is terrible as well. Everything is so dry that it tastes like sand! Nothing could be more miserable than that.” Hearing this, her twin brother burst out laughing, and Fulsa cringed at her own faux-pas. She quickly added, “I keep forgetting where you were. Then again, I was hardly present for father’s rants about Jisako and how he believed you were doing. I did receive communiqués from him regularly though, and mother too.”

“They were all right?”

“No, they feared for you with all their hearts. But now,” she said, reaching out her hoof and kicking his armored shin, “we can plainly see their concern was for naught.”

“I came close often enough,” he said, slipping his own foot under her cushion in an attempt to upend it. “Remind me to tell you of the hunting. Oh, and the Yorahii. I believe you’ll find enough substance to those tales to gossip to all your friends.” She pounced on him then, attempting to tackle him from the daybed and wrestle like they had before their separation.

As the two began their horseplay like they had never parted and like one wasn’t wearing armor and the other priestess robes, their parents watched from the other side of the main room, caught up in the happiness. Fulsa had long been removed from the household, being many light-years away for her training. Soon she would be officially considered a vestar and would learn the ways of a holy woman. There was little doubt in either of her parents’ minds whether or not she could become that which she wanted. But that was in the future, still a distance away. For now, they could revel in their happiness.

“Our family is whole again,” Orita beamed, but when he looked to Alsa he saw tears in her eyes. “What’s wrong, love?”

She stifled a sob before replying. “It’s... they’re so grown up now,” she said, watching them through eyes smeared with moisture. “In two weeks Oriné will be gone again, this time for quite a while, and only a month after that we’ll lose Fulsa too.” She grabbed a handful of her mate’s garment and buried her face in it; all he could do was wrap his arms around her, lead her out of the room, and whisper quiet reassurances in her ear. The siblings remained oblivious, too busied with catching up to notice the suffering of their mother.

——

As the day waned the members of the ‘Fulsam Lineage prepared to go to the ceremony. Alsa had since calmed down to the point of once again being jovial and dressed herself in her finest tunic and stola combination, with a palla wrapped around her shoulders. Orita and Oriné wore their armor, the former clad in the gold of his command post and the latter in the emerald of the Elite Juniors. Fulsa, having only recently been tutored by the Coven, wore her inductee robes of dark red. After her time as a vestar, when she become a Priestess of the First Circle, she would have gold trimmings sewn into it, but until that day she showed her humility through blandness. Despite the implied low ranking, the tones suited her well.

The sun had only recently set when they departed, but when they reached the Grand Plaza beside the bay Lomak was being bathed in the silvery green light of Qikost, one of Sanghelios’s moons. The water beyond sparkled, the waves rising and falling glittered with each swell and roared with each break upon the rocky shore. Artificial lights cast their illumination well beyond the borders of the open-air forum and the voices and laughter of the occupants carried far into the night. Oriné, upon spotting three of his comrades, rushed over to say hello while his family found themselves an acceptable table at which to sit. As the night continued and the guests were served, the young ‘Fulsam brought many of his comrades past for them to meet and exchange the required pleasantries. His father often asked them of the challenges they faced and how they overcame them, occasionally interjecting with his own tales of his survival.

The entire crowd, however, stopped at the arrival of the ‘Orgalm Lineage. The three members were dressed in fine clothes, a formal robe for Oslu and senatorial capes for the men, and they were flanked by six Honor Guards. The crowd parted as they made their way to a specially reserved table, conversation returning to normal after a short pause to admire the miniature procession.

Oriné was unfazed by his friend’s entrance and rushed over, embracing and touching foreheads with his closest Brother. “Come,” he said anxiously, speaking to all three, “you must meet my family!”

Alsa and Orita bowed low as they leaped to their feet. “My lord,” the ‘Fulsam matriarch said with great awe, “we were unaware that the son of a High Councilor had undergone the same trial as ours. We would have taught him the proper respect had we known.”

“I am Orita ‘Fulsamee, Excellency,” Oriné’s father said, introducing them, “and this is my mate, Alsa Sam, and my daughter, Fulsa.”

Yarna blushed; he had once confided in Oriné that he did not like the way people treated his family and did not look for the same amount of respect as they did. The younger Sangheili had since treated him as any other, even in front of his parents.

Rakola, however, did not seem fazed by the praise. “Orita...” he wondered aloud, clicking his mandibles in thought. “That is a merchant’s name, is it not? Odd that a Ship Commander would bear such a humble name. And your son, Oriné, he has such a name too.” There was no emotion in his voice, not even scorn. “Have you not pride in your Lineage?”

Openly shocked, Oriné watched as his father struggled to control his internal rage. Despite the pressure to do something dishonorable, perhaps foolish, the aging ‘Fulsamee managed to repress his anger and sound out a reserved departure. “Thank you for your attention, Excellency,” he said through tight mandibles, “but my family is overcome with hunger, as is yours, I’m certain. Perhaps we may speak another time.” Rakola lingered for a bit, but soon nodded his farewell and departed.

Yarna, however, remained with the ‘Fulsamee Lineage to talk. “I apologize for my father,” he said, tugging uncomfortably at the cape his mother had given him. “He is not one who is adept at conversing with others.”

“It makes him well-suited for the realm of politics,” Orita muttered dryly.

“Come, friend,” Oriné said, taking hold of Yarna’s shoulder and guiding him away, “we should meet and speak with the others while we still have time before the ceremony.”

Together they went from table to table, locating those who had been in their camp and greeting them; they would also, from time to time, find conversation amongst strangers who had been in other sectors. Between them they often found common experiences and either laughed or nodded solemnly about them. When they found Rtas, their group was complete and they sat at a table with some others of the same camp.

Light appetizers were served, but as it were the main courses wouldn’t be served until the ceremony was finished. Flagons were distributed, but no wine was given yet. Only uapa juice was offered, but the soon-to-be warriors waved off the Kig-Yar servants and glumly stared at their empty cups.

Eventually they were summoned to the pulpit by an Elite Minor who was weaving through the crowd and alerting all of the cadets. They fell into position in front of the raised platform, and the Minor bellowed for quiet. All eyes turned to them. Standing to one side was Olah ‘Seroum, to the other another cobalt-armored Elite Minor carrying several bundles, and on the raised platform itself was Fleet Master Lyos ‘Vadumee. As the crowd caught sight of him they fell into a respectful silence. ‘Vadumee was a war hero from the subjugation of the Jiralhanae into the Covenant, having been the one to spearhead the push to their home world. Rakola ‘Orgalmae had been a Field Commander then and helped coordinate the ground attack.

“Lords and ladies,” ‘Vadumee began, “your sons have, for the past year, endured the harshest and most brutal experience of their lives. The desert world of Jisako has long been the single greatest test of a warrior’s capabilities, forcing them to cooperate in the face of death and dishonor, teaching them through action the proper combat techniques and survival skills necessary for them to become Elites of the Covenant. Your sons undertook this challenge, and they overcame it.

“In our culture,” the Fleet Master continued, “there is no more sacred a thing than a name. Only those who have proven themselves worthy by reaching adulthood are given their clan name, and tonight we have come to give to these brave souls the Military Appellation.” He paused and smiled, his features softening. “My son is among these Sangheili and nothing has filled me with more pride since I learned of his success, so pardon me if I become emotional.

“Now, Olah ‘Seroum shall present the proper trophies.” Lyos ‘Vadumee relinquished the pulpit to the young Sangheili, who stepped up alongside the Elite Minor holding several boxes and attending many more stacked up nearby. Olah began calling forth his comrades, giving them each a box and proclaiming their full names.

Third to be called was Yarna. “Yarna ‘Orgalm!” his voice bellowed, and the Sangheili in question stepped up to Olah. “For your display of skill, bravery, and honor, you are to be given these as a prize and indicator of your new name, Yarna ‘Orgalmee.” Yarna bowed, accepted the box, and retreated back to his former place in line.

Next came Oriné. As he stepped up, Olah turned to the Minor and nodded. The Elite retrieved a specially decorated rectangular container that appeared to be carved from the sacred wood of a halli tree. “For your leadership in times of crisis and level-headedness when others would have panicked,” Olah declared, “you are to be given these as a prize and indicator of your new name, Oriné ‘Fulsamee.” The young Sangheili bowed and awaited his box. “Your skills with a blade have not gone unnoticed by your comrades,” Olah whispered to him as he handed it over, “and we have mentioned it to the Fleet Master. He gives you these; don’t let your skills wane.” Barely able to contain his curiosity long enough to find his place in the line, Oriné cracked the lid of the box slightly to peek and had to fight the urge to gasp at what lay inside.

Two silver nadier, ancient dueling rods of the Sangheili, were encased within. Intricate designs were carved down their lengths and caught some of the lamplight that sneaked through the open lid. In ancient times the nadier had been the premier way to settle honorable duels between Sangheili as they were non-lethal but required great skill to wield, because they had gravity manipulation devices inside the haft that could make them incredibly heavy. Nowadays there were energy swords that were even more difficult to lift, thus a better way at displaying skill, but a few nadier sets still existed. Now he was in possession of one.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur, the only thing catching his attention being when the Rtas, the Fleet Master’s son, accepted his Appellation gift. Finally, at the end of the ceremony, Lyos ‘Vadumee once again took to the pulpit and awarded Olah his new name, Olah ‘Seroumee.

“The ceremony is complete,” ‘Vadumee declared, and then relaxed. Joviality returned to his tone. “Now eat, drink, and be merry; in two weeks, these young warriors will depart to complete their training and join their Brothers on the front lines in our Holy Crusade against the humans. You will have to say goodbye, but do not fear, for it will not be long before we begin our Great Journey and we shall be reunited as immortals.

“Welcome to the Covenant.”

Description
Chapter 2: Welcome to the Covenant

A little over a year ago, he had watched thirty Sangheili children board a handful of Spirits and take off into the sky. They had worn only their Honored Lineage robes and carried their families’ hopes and dreams with them, and on that day his youngest son had left to undertake the single most important trial known to his kind. Now he had to keep his emotions in check as he watched from the Birth-Givers’ balcony as another handful of Spirits set down and deposited twenty-seven children—

No, Orita ‘Fulsamee corrected himself, twenty-seven Covenant Elites. The survivors of the trial arranged themselves into orderly rows, emerald-colored armor glistening in the white light of Sanghelios’s star. From his place on the balcony, milling about with the other concerned and anxious parents, he tried to distinguish his son from the crowd, but the balcony was shamefully distant from the newly returned warriors. He did his best to hide his anxiousness, but despite all his attempts his mate put her slender hand on his shoulder in a motion of understanding.

“Orita,” Alsa cooed, “Relax, my love. He is home now, and we know it: we didn’t receive one of those horrible communiqués like the ‘Yonomee did.”

Orita’s shoulders sagged in exasperation, but he did not dare lower his head for fear of missing sight of his son. “Dama and Alna have another son; Irut was only their middle-child. Oriné is our last.”

“You worry far too much,” his mate chided him, smiling wryly. “Were it not for your injury, I would think that you had never fought a single battle in your entire life.” Orita could not help but chuckle, albeit dryly, at his mate’s often-used taunt. It was true that fatherhood had changed him from a battle-hardened veteran to what many had called a soft-hearted individual, but he knew what he was doing was right: the Lineage was all the strength he would need. His two sons would bring it honor, and his daughter would bring it more children. His time spent in the military was valuable and educational, but it paled in comparison to the importance of family.

His thoughts quickly returned to the present as the blare of a horn tore through the air. All the parents and family members present immediately stood ram-rod straight, their excited eyes sweeping over the plaza beneath them: their sons stood below them at rapt attention as a crimson-armored Major strode back and forth in front of them, bellowing a quick speech in a loud voice that was unintelligible to the spectators, being just far enough out of earshot. Finally he stopped in front of young Olah ‘Seroum and nodded. The young warrior spun around on his heel and barked several quick orders at the other twenty-six Sangheili, and then dropped his shoulders and smiled. With a sweeping motion of his arm he dismissed his troops, and quickly they all broke rank and ran laughing and whooping towards their parents, who likewise descended the ancient steps as quickly as they could to join with their children.

Families were reunited at last. Between the crying mothers, the proud fathers, and the happy children there arose such a din that all other Sangheili not involved in the reunion covered their ears their ears and hurried away from the plaza.

Alsa and Orita pushed through the crowd, intent on finding their son. Fortunately he had removed his helmet, thereby making it all the easier for his mother to find him and sweep him up into her arms, laughing and crying at the same time. The elder Sangheili looked on with a smile so large that he had only felt it once before, when his eldest son, Oriné’s older brother, had returned home in just as much splendor.

After a moment, young Oriné broke from his mother and went next to his father. They touched foreheads, an ancient sign of brotherhood, before embracing each other. “My son!” he cried, “You have done it! You have become an Elite, the greatest and noblest of all soldiers!” He hefted the young warrior onto his shoulder; he weighed considerably more than usual in his armor, but Orita hardly noticed, the joy in his mind was too overpowering.

“Father, please!” Oriné protested, but his parent would have none of it. The young Sangheili blushed hard, but realized that his comrades were themselves too caught up in their own reunions in order to take the time to make fun of him. So he let his father have his moment, and then slipped out of his grip. Compared to his father, Oriné was a very thin and lanky creature, but then again that applied for a great deal of the Sangheili when compared to Orita ‘Fulsamee. He was a massive man, rock-hard muscles perfectly toned that could easily tear through a human or Sangheili; at the moment he wore a loose and dark-colored garment that displayed intricate designs indicative of his current, if suspended, rank: Ship Commander.

Orita immediately began pressing his son for the story of his trial, but Alsa wouldn’t stand to hear the details. She wanted to get her boy home quickly in order to feed him a decent home-cooked meal and get him into more comfortable clothes. At first the two males protested but she affixed them with such a look to cause them to immediately submit. She led her two subdued men through the streets, much to the entertainment of the other nearby Sangheili.

The city of Lomak was only a part of the capital city of Sanghelios, one of eleven districts that made up the entire capital. It tended to be more of a tourist attraction, with many members of the Covenant venturing to it to enjoy the quaint scenery and exposure to Sangheili history: grand holographic murals could be found scattered throughout the city, each depicting an important scene or grand battle from history. The most popular were the ones that showed artistic renditions of the War of Fortune, the conflict with the Prophets that eventually led both sides to uncover the secrets of the Forerunner. However, this acceptance of outsiders applied only to the city at large; certain areas of Lomak were off-limits to other races, aside from servant Unggoy, and it was in such an area that the ‘Fulsam Lineage lived.

Aside from two large causeways Lomak was restricted to travel by foot, so the three Sangheili found themselves walking through the city on the way to their flat. Oriné took in the surroundings with silent beatitude: he was an adult now, by definition, but it still filled his heart with joy to be back in his home. They passed a great deal of acquaintances on their way, and stopped to greet each one and reintroduce the young ‘Fulsam, now a full-fledged Elite of the Covenant.

“When will you depart for Institution?” one female asked.

“Soon,” Oriné assured her, “very soon. We are allowed two weeks of leave before we are expected to be prepared for more and greater training.”

After the stranger had departed, Orita put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Do not fear Institution, my son. It will be trying, but you have overcome the greatest hurdle already. You will meet new friends and gain new allies.”

The young Sangheili only half-heartedly listened; Institution was still two weeks away, and Jisako was still fresh in his mind. He was more content to take in the surroundings and marvel at how much things had changed since he left, even relax and unwind among the familiarity. There was much to admire, especially in the light of having just returned from such a harsh world. There were no predators here, no fear of the nights or of never waking up from slumber: water was plentiful as large decorative fountains dotted the streets, and green ferns and ivy stalks grew up the sides of buildings. This was truly Paradise.

“When is the Ceremony of Appellation to be?” His mother’s question cut through his idle thoughts and drew him back to reality. The Ceremony was to be his official induction into the Covenant, his and his comrades’. They would receive their military names, and, though Oriné was careful not to admit his anticipation, they would be able to legally partake of the fine wine and brandy available to the Sangheili. He looked forward to drinking with his friends and even, if an opportunity arose, to play a classic drinking game with his father. They would use real wine this time, not uapa-flavored juice.

“Tonight, at the Grand Plaza beside the bay,” Oriné replied, nodding hello to a passing stranger. His mother squawked in surprise and began urging the two males to hurry; she had evidently not been aware that the ceremony was to take place so soon and wanted her boys fed well and dressed. Thus the two military Sangheili were grabbed by the shoulders and literally dragged through the streets by a single housewife.

——

“But mother!” Yarna ‘Orgalm protested as his birth giver ordered the Unggoy servants to collect cloth from the storeroom in the sub-levels of the manor, “I’m only to wear my armor. No other clothing is permitted!”

“Incorrect!” the proud Sangheili woman, a tall and toned female named Oslu Gal, cried out, wrapping a swath of brightly-colored fabric around her son’s neck and scrutinizing it. “You are not permitted to wear anything other than your armor for the actual ceremony, but there is nothing to be said against a civilized outfit for the banquet prior.”

The young Sangheili huffed, ripping the scarf from his neck and crossing his arms. “I will not be dressed up as a doll!”

In response the elder woman cuffed him smartly upside the head, forcing him to take a step back and drop the cloth as he reached up to nurse the mark. “You will do as you’re told! You will look like a gentile, you will bring honor to your Lineage, and you will like it!” Utterly defeated, Yarna stood still and accepted the treatment, not willing to encourage the wrath of his mother. Female though she was, she had the heart of a warrior. She had, in fact, been kicked out of the Priestesses’ Coven because she tried to resolve all her problems through violence. She had very nearly beaten the High Priestess to death immediately following her removal, but that was also how she had met her mate: Rakola ‘Orgalmee had been the only Honor Guard present strong enough to subdue her. She fell in love with him immediately.

Yarna gazed into the mirror nearby that presented his flat reflection and sighed softly, not loud enough for Oslu to hear. He did not share either his mother or father’s pride in his Lineage; certainly he felt compelled to bring more honor to it, but his father was already a very righteous and popular man. Why could he not simply live the life of a soldier? Why did he have to excel, to one day “outgrow” it and join the council?

Suddenly the reflection caught another Sangheili, and the young emerald-armor soldier turned around suddenly. There, standing in the doorway, was a tall and strong man, wearing bright silver armor and the finest cloak any had yet seen. In the hall beyond Yarna could see two armored Honor Guards, one holding a large and ornate headpiece for his charge. It was the silver armored one, however, who the child’s interest was focused on.

“By the Forerunner,” Rakola ‘Orgalmae breathed, “look at what that planet has done to my son! He is taller and stronger, surely smarter... this is a blessing that I will surely be thankful for come the Night of the Beholden.” The praise was heard by the young Sangheili but it did not register. It had been so long since Yarna had seen his father, especially in so revenant a mood. Ever since he was young, he had never been able to win his father’s attention for anything but the most pressing matters. He understood his position on the Council didn’t lend itself to much free time, but there was still a degree of familiarity that he saw among other families that he yearned for.

“Father,” Yarna whispered, unable to form a proper greeting. Fear filled him, remembering the pain of what happened last time he failed to deliver the necessary honorifics, but he was unprepared for what happened next.

The silver-armored councilor strode into the room and touched foreheads with his boy. “I am so sorry that I was unable to see you land, Yarna. The council was in session, and I nearly had to fight my way out of the chambers to get here now.” Yarna remained silent: such attention from his father was one of the things that he always wished for but was rare in receiving. The former Battalion Master had always pushed his son to be the best and believed that to levy a good thought that had not been earned by right of blood was tantamount to heresy. But now that Yarna had survived Jisako perhaps he truly deserved one, if not several.

Regardless this sudden turn-about had thrown the young cadet off-balance, and even when he recovered all he could do was smile, nod, and mutter some sort of thankful remark. Rakola nodded and glanced at his mate.

“You are the one dressing him, I presume?”

She huffed and nodded, waving to the Unggoy servants she had dispatched for the exotic fabrics as they tried to squeeze past the two Honor Guards blocking the hallway. “Fit for a Councilor,” she smirked and retrieved a bolt of cloth from the arms of her waiting slaves. “A similar pattern to what you wear to your political banquets should be dashing, though I’ll tone it down a bit: your son has not yet outranked you.”

He nodded in response, eyes having glazed over halfway through her explanation. “Very good, my love,” he said, turning to leave. “I must prepare myself as well. I will see you both when we are ready to depart.”

——

Any shreds of comportment Oriné still clung to by the time they reached their cozy flat vanished as soon as he saw his twin sister Fulsa. He bellowed the playful challenge of their childhood and flung himself at her. Hearing it but not believing her ears she looked up and squawked in surprise as he hefted her up in an embrace. She giggled and returned the hug, touching foreheads with him.

“Oriné!” she squealed when he let her go. “You’ve finally returned! And look at your armor!” She was different, holding herself straighter and with more confidence. Though it was obvious that she had grown up, perhaps not so much as himself, she was still his sister under all the blossoming womanhood.

“The Coven has changed you,” he mused, “but I’ll bet you’re still ticklish!” She yelped as he reached out and tried to get his nimble hands under her arms, where he remembered her to be most vulnerable. This continued for a while until finally she called for quarter, and he gave it with a snide remark. In return she sneered and flicked a mandible at him, though all in jest.

“So,” Oriné said, having collapsed onto the daybed by the window and removed his helmet, “tell me of the Coven.”

Fulsa groaned as she fell onto a cushion, being careful to tuck her robes under her legs as she did so. “It is awful. Long work days, little rest, and constantly memorizing scripture. And few of the other girls are ever willing to go out and have some fun! You would think that giving your mind a chance to breathe was a heresy, the way they remain cooped up in the temples.”

“Surely the fact that it is on High Charity offers you some entertainment?”

She snorted at this. “Hardly. Don’t misunderstand, the Holy City is a beautiful and inspiring place, but we are not yet permitted to venture very far beyond the temple district. Should we stray and are caught, the punishment is severe.”

Oriné hummed. “Not so severe.”

She shrugged. “The food is terrible as well. Everything is so dry that it tastes like sand! Nothing could be more miserable than that.” Hearing this, her twin brother burst out laughing, and Fulsa cringed at her own faux-pas. She quickly added, “I keep forgetting where you were. Then again, I was hardly present for father’s rants about Jisako and how he believed you were doing. I did receive communiqués from him regularly though, and mother too.”

“They were all right?”

“No, they feared for you with all their hearts. But now,” she said, reaching out her hoof and kicking his armored shin, “we can plainly see their concern was for naught.”

“I came close often enough,” he said, slipping his own foot under her cushion in an attempt to upend it. “Remind me to tell you of the hunting. Oh, and the Yorahii. I believe you’ll find enough substance to those tales to gossip to all your friends.” She pounced on him then, attempting to tackle him from the daybed and wrestle like they had before their separation.

As the two began their horseplay like they had never parted and like one wasn’t wearing armor and the other priestess robes, their parents watched from the other side of the main room, caught up in the happiness. Fulsa had long been removed from the household, being many light-years away for her training. Soon she would be officially considered a vestar and would learn the ways of a holy woman. There was little doubt in either of her parents’ minds whether or not she could become that which she wanted. But that was in the future, still a distance away. For now, they could revel in their happiness.

“Our family is whole again,” Orita beamed, but when he looked to Alsa he saw tears in her eyes. “What’s wrong, love?”

She stifled a sob before replying. “It’s... they’re so grown up now,” she said, watching them through eyes smeared with moisture. “In two weeks Oriné will be gone again, this time for quite a while, and only a month after that we’ll lose Fulsa too.” She grabbed a handful of her mate’s garment and buried her face in it; all he could do was wrap his arms around her, lead her out of the room, and whisper quiet reassurances in her ear. The siblings remained oblivious, too busied with catching up to notice the suffering of their mother.

——

As the day waned the members of the ‘Fulsam Lineage prepared to go to the ceremony. Alsa had since calmed down to the point of once again being jovial and dressed herself in her finest tunic and stola combination, with a palla wrapped around her shoulders. Orita and Oriné wore their armor, the former clad in the gold of his command post and the latter in the emerald of the Elite Juniors. Fulsa, having only recently been tutored by the Coven, wore her inductee robes of dark red. After her time as a vestar, when she become a Priestess of the First Circle, she would have gold trimmings sewn into it, but until that day she showed her humility through blandness. Despite the implied low ranking, the tones suited her well.

The sun had only recently set when they departed, but when they reached the Grand Plaza beside the bay Lomak was being bathed in the silvery green light of Qikost, one of Sanghelios’s moons. The water beyond sparkled, the waves rising and falling glittered with each swell and roared with each break upon the rocky shore. Artificial lights cast their illumination well beyond the borders of the open-air forum and the voices and laughter of the occupants carried far into the night. Oriné, upon spotting three of his comrades, rushed over to say hello while his family found themselves an acceptable table at which to sit. As the night continued and the guests were served, the young ‘Fulsam brought many of his comrades past for them to meet and exchange the required pleasantries. His father often asked them of the challenges they faced and how they overcame them, occasionally interjecting with his own tales of his survival.

The entire crowd, however, stopped at the arrival of the ‘Orgalm Lineage. The three members were dressed in fine clothes, a formal robe for Oslu and senatorial capes for the men, and they were flanked by six Honor Guards. The crowd parted as they made their way to a specially reserved table, conversation returning to normal after a short pause to admire the miniature procession.

Oriné was unfazed by his friend’s entrance and rushed over, embracing and touching foreheads with his closest Brother. “Come,” he said anxiously, speaking to all three, “you must meet my family!”

Alsa and Orita bowed low as they leaped to their feet. “My lord,” the ‘Fulsam matriarch said with great awe, “we were unaware that the son of a High Councilor had undergone the same trial as ours. We would have taught him the proper respect had we known.”

“I am Orita ‘Fulsamee, Excellency,” Oriné’s father said, introducing them, “and this is my mate, Alsa Sam, and my daughter, Fulsa.”

Yarna blushed; he had once confided in Oriné that he did not like the way people treated his family and did not look for the same amount of respect as they did. The younger Sangheili had since treated him as any other, even in front of his parents.

Rakola, however, did not seem fazed by the praise. “Orita...” he wondered aloud, clicking his mandibles in thought. “That is a merchant’s name, is it not? Odd that a Ship Commander would bear such a humble name. And your son, Oriné, he has such a name too.” There was no emotion in his voice, not even scorn. “Have you not pride in your Lineage?”

Openly shocked, Oriné watched as his father struggled to control his internal rage. Despite the pressure to do something dishonorable, perhaps foolish, the aging ‘Fulsamee managed to repress his anger and sound out a reserved departure. “Thank you for your attention, Excellency,” he said through tight mandibles, “but my family is overcome with hunger, as is yours, I’m certain. Perhaps we may speak another time.” Rakola lingered for a bit, but soon nodded his farewell and departed.

Yarna, however, remained with the ‘Fulsamee Lineage to talk. “I apologize for my father,” he said, tugging uncomfortably at the cape his mother had given him. “He is not one who is adept at conversing with others.”

“It makes him well-suited for the realm of politics,” Orita muttered dryly.

“Come, friend,” Oriné said, taking hold of Yarna’s shoulder and guiding him away, “we should meet and speak with the others while we still have time before the ceremony.”

Together they went from table to table, locating those who had been in their camp and greeting them; they would also, from time to time, find conversation amongst strangers who had been in other sectors. Between them they often found common experiences and either laughed or nodded solemnly about them. When they found Rtas, their group was complete and they sat at a table with some others of the same camp.

Light appetizers were served, but as it were the main courses wouldn’t be served until the ceremony was finished. Flagons were distributed, but no wine was given yet. Only uapa juice was offered, but the soon-to-be warriors waved off the Kig-Yar servants and glumly stared at their empty cups.

Eventually they were summoned to the pulpit by an Elite Minor who was weaving through the crowd and alerting all of the cadets. They fell into position in front of the raised platform, and the Minor bellowed for quiet. All eyes turned to them. Standing to one side was Olah ‘Seroum, to the other another cobalt-armored Elite Minor carrying several bundles, and on the raised platform itself was Fleet Master Lyos ‘Vadumee. As the crowd caught sight of him they fell into a respectful silence. ‘Vadumee was a war hero from the subjugation of the Jiralhanae into the Covenant, having been the one to spearhead the push to their home world. Rakola ‘Orgalmae had been a Field Commander then and helped coordinate the ground attack.

“Lords and ladies,” ‘Vadumee began, “your sons have, for the past year, endured the harshest and most brutal experience of their lives. The desert world of Jisako has long been the single greatest test of a warrior’s capabilities, forcing them to cooperate in the face of death and dishonor, teaching them through action the proper combat techniques and survival skills necessary for them to become Elites of the Covenant. Your sons undertook this challenge, and they overcame it.

“In our culture,” the Fleet Master continued, “there is no more sacred a thing than a name. Only those who have proven themselves worthy by reaching adulthood are given their clan name, and tonight we have come to give to these brave souls the Military Appellation.” He paused and smiled, his features softening. “My son is among these Sangheili and nothing has filled me with more pride since I learned of his success, so pardon me if I become emotional.

“Now, Olah ‘Seroum shall present the proper trophies.” Lyos ‘Vadumee relinquished the pulpit to the young Sangheili, who stepped up alongside the Elite Minor holding several boxes and attending many more stacked up nearby. Olah began calling forth his comrades, giving them each a box and proclaiming their full names.

Third to be called was Yarna. “Yarna ‘Orgalm!” his voice bellowed, and the Sangheili in question stepped up to Olah. “For your display of skill, bravery, and honor, you are to be given these as a prize and indicator of your new name, Yarna ‘Orgalmee.” Yarna bowed, accepted the box, and retreated back to his former place in line.

Next came Oriné. As he stepped up, Olah turned to the Minor and nodded. The Elite retrieved a specially decorated rectangular container that appeared to be carved from the sacred wood of a halli tree. “For your leadership in times of crisis and level-headedness when others would have panicked,” Olah declared, “you are to be given these as a prize and indicator of your new name, Oriné ‘Fulsamee.” The young Sangheili bowed and awaited his box. “Your skills with a blade have not gone unnoticed by your comrades,” Olah whispered to him as he handed it over, “and we have mentioned it to the Fleet Master. He gives you these; don’t let your skills wane.” Barely able to contain his curiosity long enough to find his place in the line, Oriné cracked the lid of the box slightly to peek and had to fight the urge to gasp at what lay inside.

Two silver nadier, ancient dueling rods of the Sangheili, were encased within. Intricate designs were carved down their lengths and caught some of the lamplight that sneaked through the open lid. In ancient times the nadier had been the premier way to settle honorable duels between Sangheili as they were non-lethal but required great skill to wield, because they had gravity manipulation devices inside the haft that could make them incredibly heavy. Nowadays there were energy swords that were even more difficult to lift, thus a better way at displaying skill, but a few nadier sets still existed. Now he was in possession of one.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur, the only thing catching his attention being when the Rtas, the Fleet Master’s son, accepted his Appellation gift. Finally, at the end of the ceremony, Lyos ‘Vadumee once again took to the pulpit and awarded Olah his new name, Olah ‘Seroumee.

“The ceremony is complete,” ‘Vadumee declared, and then relaxed. Joviality returned to his tone. “Now eat, drink, and be merry; in two weeks, these young warriors will depart to complete their training and join their Brothers on the front lines in our Holy Crusade against the humans. You will have to say goodbye, but do not fear, for it will not be long before we begin our Great Journey and we shall be reunited as immortals.

“Welcome to the Covenant.”