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Chapter 3: Time among Friends

Oriné cracked a bleary eye to the morning light and immediately groaned and rolled over, trying to shield himself from the brightness. His tear ducts dilated, however, and flooded the miniscule crack between his eyelids with water, dissolving the natural adhesive that held them together. Five minutes later, despite all his effort, he could not keep them closed and reluctantly allowed himself to wake up.

Rising carefully from his bed so as not to move his head too much, he gingerly swung his legs out from under the silken sheets and touched his hooves to the stone floor. Only the slightest hints of cold penetrated the calluses on his soles, perhaps one of the few advantages that living on a desert planet for a year provided. Waking up was never easy, though, especially from a first-time rest in such a comfortable bed after such a long time.

He shook his head automatically to try and dispel the cobwebs, but realized his mistake when a white-hot lance of pain ripped through his skull. His hands flew immediately to his temple and squeezed, praying that the pressure would relieve his suffering. In retrospect, he chastised himself, just because I am now allowed to drink should not have meant that I should drink in excess. Visions of crystal glasses filled with opaque Sangheili whiskey crossed his mind and he banished them away with all due haste, the mere thought making him sick. The light pouring into his room did little to ease his discomfort, so he stood on uneasy legs and hobbled over to the window. With a swift tug he drew the curtains closed... but it turned out to be far too hard of a pull, instead yanking the swathes of cloth from their position and exposing him to even more sunlight.

For a full minute he squinted at the material in a mixture of anger and helplessness before finally dropping one of the swathes and wrapping the other around his naked waist as a casual sarong. He gazed for a moment outside; a cool breeze blew through the portal and he could see the streets below where children laughed and ran about, their parents struggling to regain control of them. From the height of the sun he determined it to be roughly midday. His mental faculties were finally returning to him and he turned from the window, exiting his room.

The young Sangheili followed the hall out into the main room of their flat, where his father and sister were kneeling before the low-set family table, so entranced in a duel of wits in the form of a game that they didn’t notice his entrance. Someone else, however, did.

“Oriné!” His mother was behind him, arms crossed and a half-amused, half-irritated look on her face. “Have we decided that our draperies are far more comfortable than our actual clothes, or has that planet deprived you of such civilization that you have forgotten?” The younger male winced; the tone of his mother’s voice displayed her annoyance, something he wished to avoid, and its tenor bore into his brain. It so disoriented him that he was too slow in replying for her tastes. “What? Shall you only respond to your full name now, Oriné ‘Fulsamee?” she asked, her glare becoming harder.

“Sorry, mother,” Oriné said. It was all he could come up with; he was not yet at a level of capability as to explain himself. He was unsure whether this was actually a hangover or if he was still drunk.

Alsa smiled, her look softening considerably. “It is of no consequence; I meant to change the curtains in your room but never did get around to it. Come,” she said, motioning him into the kitchen, “have something to eat.”

“It won’t stay down,” he warned but entered the room anyway. It was small, having only counter tops inlaid with cooking technology and enough room for a smaller version of the table in the main room. He settled himself on his knees and Alsa waved to an open doorway.

“Sasat!” she called. “Come out of there for a moment and attend to my son!”

Almost immediately a stocky creature emerged from the storeroom. She had a cylindrical tank attached to her back and a hose that ran along her neck to a breather on her face; Oriné easily recognized his family’s Unggoy slave maid.

The diminutive creature bowed quickly. “I shall do so, my lady,” she said, “but you should probably hurry to your mate’s side and assist him; I fear that Fulsa is again beating him at Rocnas’al.” Alsa nodded and strode out of the room, muttering something about how her daughter should have been a warrior as well.

Next Sasat turned her attention to the young Sangheili. “My lord, it’s good to see you again,” she said, with what he thought was a smile; the breather covered her mouth quite well. Though she had been their slave maid for longer than he had been alive, after a year away she seemed almost completely alien to him. He had much to adjust to now, and because he was technically now a soldier, that included being addressed as “lord” by the lower castes. “What do you hunger for?”

He smiled in return. “I do not know, Sasat,” he admitted, “I’m a bit hung-over this morning and I’m afraid anything too substantial will not rest well.”

Nodding, she turned to consult the cabinets. “I believe I can come up with something,” she said, and began rummaging. Her stubby arms didn’t have a great reach, nor did her height offer her access to the higher cabinets, but the lower ones were fully stocked. As she searched, she hummed for a moment before speaking up again, “How was Jisako?”

For a moment Oriné shuddered. “It was very difficult,” he said, “but I survived.”

“And you are a stronger Sangheili for it,” she replied, not glancing away from her searching. “How well did you eat there?”

“Only meat from animals that we could catch,” he said, his thoughts returning to the familiar world, “and occasionally that which we could skin off a predator we killed.”

“What did you do about water?”

“The only water that came was from the rain, and storms were few and far between. It had a taint of acid and we had to give it time in the sun before we could drink it; otherwise we would burn our throats.” She hummed an affirmative, and he gave her a questioning look. “Most people who have not been there are horrified by these stories.”

She looked over at him and smiled again. “The Unggoy home world is a frigid land with naturally occurring pillars of fire. Now I live on such a hot world that even the rain feels too warm. I’m no stranger to dangerous climates.” With that she went back to her work, leaving Oriné thinking.

Finally she appeared to have found what she needed and withdrew from the depths of the cupboard. Using some of the water from the stores and a bowl she mixed the ingredients together. “This is a good soup,” she told him as she worked, “one that will ease into your stomach.” It needed to be heated; now she faced the challenge of reaching the warming plate. Oriné rose from his position.

“Let me help,” he offered, and took the bowl and set it on the hot surface.

“Thank you, my lord, but you didn’t need to help me,” Sasat said, bowing.

Oriné waved, still uncomfortable at the terminology. “It was no trouble,” he said, “and can you please return to calling me by my first name, like before I left?”

She cocked her head in puzzlement. “Honorifics make you uneasy?”

“Yes, I don’t like them,” he replied. “They sound hollow. I don’t feel that I’ve earned them.” She merely shrugged and instructed him to remove the soup when it was time to do so. He took the soup back to the table, knelt, recited his prayer, and began to drink.

A frightful yelling interrupted him when two-thirds of the bowl was emptied. He leaped from his sitting position and ran into the main room from which the sound originated. There, his father was standing and appearing to dance while his mother stood nearby smiling and his sister kneeled dejectedly at the table.

“No fair!” she pouted to her mother. “I had him before you helped him!”

“It’s not nice to pick on your father,” Alsa grinned, “and besides, letting him win once in a while isn’t a bad choice.” The younger female merely huffed and crossed her arms; Oriné chuckled and walked over.

“Good morning, dearest sister,” he said half-teasingly. “Hopefully your loss will not spoil the day for you.”

She smiled at him when he approached, but her mandibles twitched in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m finally returned from a year-long period on a desert world!” Oriné explained. “I’m going to go all over the city today with Yarna, and I want you to come along. You’ve been here this whole time, so I am relying on you to show me what’s changed.” She quickly agreed and scampered off to get ready.

His father came up behind him. “By the by, son,” he said, “sometime in the next couple of weeks I hope to open a communication with your brother so that he may congratulate you on your successful survival.”

Oriné nodded. “It would be nice to hear from Orna again.”

“Indeed it would,” Orita agreed. The Lineage had heard nothing from their oldest child in a long time. He had climbed the ranks of the Covenant quickly, from his very first ground battle which displayed his amazing prowess and strategy. He had moved to commanding a squad, and then jumped to commanding a ship. His current rank matched that of his father’s and was expected to soar beyond; the Sangheili prided themselves on having their children excel them.

Fulsa returned and, with their parents’ blessing, left to go deeper into the city. Lomak loomed all around them, its majesty still flooring Oriné despite his chance to gaze upon it yesterday. People milled all about, talking and laughing; it felt so different now to be surrounded by people of his own race, ones that were not hardened or scarred by desert winds and vicious predators. They passed close to one of the burbling fountains he had seen on his way back from the dropship and he reared his head back in shock before remembering that water was plentiful.

I have truly been absent, he lamented. His sister pointed out several places that had changed since his departure, including the disappointing fact that one of his favorite sweets shops had closed itself. Apparently the owner’s mate had died and he took his own life, following the honorable tradition of the Sangheili. Still, it was too bad: he had delighted in the Kig-Yar confections the shop owner had carried and was certain he would never find a higher quality outlet.

“So where are we going?” Fulsa asked him. She had been showcasing the sights but her brother was leading the expedition.

“The manor district,” he said casually. “We shall find Yarna there.”

“Oh, right,” she said, “he’s that Councilor’s son you brought past our table last night.” She paused as a thought occurred to her. “You’re going to knock on the front door of a Councilor’s house... dressed like that?”

He glanced down, remembering his fiasco with the curtains. “Yes,” he stated plainly. Fulsa shook her head and the pair kept walking. The manor district was technically a part of Sorlal, the neighboring city, but it shared its border with Lomak so travel there was easy. When they arrived, the twins were briefly overwhelmed by the grandiose nature of the place. Sacred halli trees divided the causeway leading into the district, casting a comfortable shade over the few pedestrians. Small basins filled with water surrounded the roots, more for the use of dehydrated Sangheili than for the trees themselves that collected their moisture from the frequent rainstorms. The manors were generally three stories high with flat roofs and repellent energy domes on the top for said rain, though there were a few that were different. However, they all paled in comparison to the ‘Orgalm Manor at the end of the roadway.

A long and straight paved walkway led right up to the front door, but on either side were open lawns and towering trees. Sangheili here and there stretched out on the grass beneath them, either soaking in the sun or resting in the shade. Apparently the ‘Orgalm Lineage has no problem sharing their wealth, Oriné noted.

The twins strode right up to the front door and pressed the holographic rune set into the center, sounding a chime that reverberated throughout the grounds. It was light but loud, not so much as to disturb anyone but certainly to notify others of their presence. Both Oriné and Fulsa saw Honor Guards seeming to appear from thin air on either side of them a distance away, both armed with... the young warrior frowned. He didn’t recognize the weapons; they must have been newly developed. Though the Covenant used Forerunner artifacts as they were found, the military often tried to use the same concepts to build and improve upon the weapons. Plasma rifles and pistols were the basic Forerunner weapons they used, and by attempting to reverse engineer them the Covenant had created Needlers and Fuel Rod Guns. The weapons carried by the Honor Guards here, with bulbous stocks and long thin barrels, must have been the latest attempt at yet again improving the arsenal.

With a hiss the door in front of them parted and a timid Unggoy slave poked his head out. “Yes, Excellencies?” Oriné sighed at the honorific but didn’t bother to correct him.

“We are here to go with Yarna ‘Orgalmee into the city,” he said. “We are expected.”

The Unggoy bowed low and retreated, allowing the pair to step into the foyer. It was lavishly decorated with precious metals that glinted magnificently in the faded purple light of an overhead fixture. There was a small table in the middle of the room, in front of which both Sangheili kneeled. As they did so, the table beeped in recognition, part of it descending into a hidden shaft; when it returned, it bore two glasses of wine. Both crinkled their noses in disgust: Oriné could still feel his headache buzzing in the back of his head, and Fulsa as a priestess-to-be was forbidden from imbibing alcohol... at least until she wasn’t in the home of a Councilor. The tray upon which the drinks were placed stayed there for a moment until it detected that neither glass had been removed, at which point it retreated again. When next it appeared, it carried glasses of water, which both Sangheili accepted. They gulped it down and returned the cups to the tray; it beeped almost happily and descended again, returning empty.

Moments later Yarna entered the room, wearing a casual tunic. Upon seeing Oriné his mandibles parted in a wide smile and embraced his friend.

“We saw each other only last night,” Oriné chided the other Sangheili jokingly. “No need to be so affectionate.”

Yarna punched him lightly in the arm. “Only you would say that, Oriné, and get away with it.” He paused, taking notice of Fulsa. “Ah, you must be Oriné’s sister! I have heard so much about you. It is a pleasure for us to finally meet.”

“Greetings, Excellency,” Fulsa said, getting up just to bow. “It’s an honor to be in your lovely home.”

At this a puzzled look crossed the slightly older Sangheili’s face. “Excellency?”

“Yes,” she replied, “are you not the son of a High Councilor?”

“I am,” he said warily.

She bowed again. “Then you and all your family are truly deserving of honor.”

Now annoyance was all that dominated his features. “Now see here,” he growled, “I am hardly any older than you, and you would not treat an equal with such respect. I will not have it! I demand that you call me Yarna; I am neither a Councilor nor an accomplished warrior and shall not be treated as either until I have fulfilled one or both of those roles!” The rant was obviously ironic and Fulsa giggled, but nodded her agreement. “Good,” Yarna said, “now let’s go. I tire of this boring place.”

As the group moved as one out the door, Yarna cast a sly glance at his fellow Elite. “Oriné, my friend,” he said, no small amount of amusement in his voice, “are you wearing a curtain?”

——

The sun was beginning its long and graceful decline in the sky when the trio decided they had walked about enough. After first dipping their hands in a nearby fountain they made for an open-air eatery. A tarp had been erected to protect against the rays of the primary star Urs; the two other stars in the cluster, Fied and Joori, were visible depending on the time of day, but they hadn’t the same effect on the surface temperature of Sanghelios.

Grateful for the shade, Oriné signaled an Unggoy servant and ordered drinks for himself and his companions. His own headache had died down, so he asked for a cup of toriqoo, a thick and energizing drink made from a blend of several native roots. Yarna did not seem to suffer from hangovers and requested a goblet of a light wine; Fulsa, conscious of her newfound station and the sigil she had to wear around her neck, asked only for water.

Soon after Oriné felt a presence behind him and turned to find himself staring into a pair of emerald eyes. “Friends,” Rtas ‘Vadumee said jovially, “I’m happy to see you up and active! After last night, I feared you would be bedridden for at least a full day.”

“I’m afraid Oriné cannot remember last night’s events with anything resembling clarity,” Yarna said, chuckling and motioning for the newcomer to take a seat. “He is far more vulnerable to the drink than we are.”

Rtas sat and smiled. “Then he does not recall the dancing?”

Oriné felt the tremors of his headache returning. “What dancing?”

“Oh,” Rtas said knowingly, “there was much dancing.”

Seeing his sister giggling at some memory, Oriné quickly attempted to derail the subject. “I don’t believe you were formally introduced,” he said. “Rtas, this is my sister Fulsa. Fulsa, this is my good friend and comrade Rtas ‘Vadumee.”

“A pleasure to be in your presence,” she said.

Rtas eyed the sigil around her neck. “Far from it, the honor is mine to stand in your radiant and holy beauty. To be a priestess, a speaker for the Prophets and the Gods Themselves is the highest divinity any Sangheili can hope to achieve.” He made a show of standing and giving a low and protracted bow. Fulsa blushed madly, a deep violet hue coming to her cheeks, and Yarna and Oriné raised their hands in front of their mandibles to hide their smirks.

Their drinks arrived and they sat chatting and relaxing in the shade. It had been a long time since they were able to be so social, and now the three cadets were reveling in the ability; Fulsa was just happy to be included, as she had civilization at her fingertips while away for her own studies.

“I wanted to thank you and your father for the nadier,” Oriné said as he set his cup on the table. Rtas set aside his own flute of water and shook his head.

“No thanks are necessary,” he said. “My father reviewed our reports of Jisako and decided that you deserved them. I have my own set; we should come together some time for a duel so that we may learn together the intricacies of nadier combat.”

“I would like that.”

Their conversations continued until the sky began to glow a light orange. Realizing the time, they exchanged farewells (Rtas again being overly enthusiastic in his goodbye to Fulsa, and promising Oriné a duel for tomorrow evening) and went on their own ways. Oriné and his sister walked with Yarna back to the manor district, and after seeing him safely to his door they made their way back to their own modest flat.

The sky was a deep bronze color when they alighted on their balcony and entered the home. Dinner was almost prepared thanks to the combined efforts of Alsa and Sasat. It was a hearty meal, with a course of fish and a course of meat, all spiced and seasoned to Oriné’s taste. Soups were prepared, there was bread to be had, and for after dinner the ‘Fulsam matriarch had even managed to find some of Oriné’s beloved Kig-Yar sweets. It was all for the sake of the returning cadet, in honor of him having survived.

Truly, he knew, he was blessed.

——

“You don’t seem well.”

Alsa was startled out of her internal reverie by Sasat’s statement. The Unggoy was with her in the kitchen as the late morning light streamed in through the window. The pair of them were attempting to reorganize the cupboards so that the small slave maid might have better access to the cooking materials she required. Unfortunately they couldn’t make the stovetop any lower, but they could build a platform for her to stand on.

She shuffled a container of preservatives into a cupboard. “I suppose I’m concerned,” she muttered.

“About what?”

“Oriné,” she replied. “He’s home and it’s like a dream come true, but in not too long a time he’ll be gone, and so will Fulsa. One a warrior to bring death to the heretics, the other a priestess to spread the word of the Prophets.” At the moment, Oriné wasn’t in the flat. He and his father had gone out for practice, Orita wanting to see how Oriné had developed while away on the desert world. Fulsa was on the premises, but in her room meditating. “I fear for them.”

“I understand,” Sasat said. “The care of a mother cannot be outweighed by promises of glory and divinity. I myself feel anxiety over the fate of my many children, though I may never see them again.”

Alsa’s heart broke a little more upon hearing that. “Your children were taken from you?”

“Yes, by order of the Prophets. They were to be raised into warriors and breeders all.”

The Sangheili female hesitated for a moment. She felt pity and sorrow for the Unggoy slave maid, but to express it would also be to defy the Prophets’ will. No matter how much her heart bled, she could not speak it. “How many children have you had?” she asked instead.

“Twenty-six.”

Her mandibles fell agape. Sasat smiled at her reaction. “Yes,” the maid said, “we Unggoy are set apart by our the ability to make many children. Ordinarily there are around seven young per clutch, but I was blessed with more.”

“And... you were allowed to keep none of them?”

A spell of silence fell over the Unggoy. “No,” she said finally. Alsa put a hand on Sasat’s shoulder, a gesture of support and understanding. In a way, her two children, not to mention their older brother, were being taken from her as well, but to far more noble and ambitious callings than Unggoy young.

It is hard to remember, she reminded herself, but others suffer just as much as I.

——

Oriné and Rtas ‘Vadumee collapsed in the street, their breathing coming in labored and difficult. Their breath was ragged and stilted and anyone passing by would have thought they were having difficulty breathing; only they knew that it was supposed to be laughter. Both clutched a nadier rod in each bruised hand, the silver shining brilliantly in the moonlight.

“You pick things up quickly,” Rtas finally managed, rolling his left eye to face Oriné. “Already you have almost mastered the ancient dueling arts. When you finally do take up the energy sword, I fear for your opponents.”

The other Sangheili chuckled and coughed. “Do not forget you were the one who taught me, and your father was the one who gave me the gift of these nadier.” He glanced over at his companion. Rtas was physically like any other Sangheili except his emerald eyes. The most common eye colors were black and brown, and even more common than green was red; myth said that green eyes denoted significance in the Great Design of the Forerunner, but Oriné didn’t quite believe that. Internally, however, Rtas was a very intense individual. If you were his friend he would make every sacrifice for your sake, and if you were his enemy he would strike you down with the force of a God.

For a moment they lay there staring into the sky. The light of the moons drowned the stars but it was still beautiful. Had they had the inclination to get up and find higher ground they could have gazed out over the intricate twinkling of the capital city, but they were too damaged to do much moving.

It was too bad, because a moment later Oriné heard his name called from the balcony of his family’s flat nearby. It was his mother. “Come home at once!” she shouted. “We have a communication with your brother!”

He eased himself up slowly, though his mind was alight with giddy happiness. At his feet Rtas waved his hand dismissively. “Go, speak with your brother. I must return home myself.” Oriné nodded his goodbye and took off at a steady limp, tenderly entering the gravity lift that led up to his family’s balcony. He pushed aside the drapery that led inside and saw his family gathered around a blue-purple hologram. It depicted a Sangheili dressed in the armor of a Ship Commander, standing tall and proud; his entire family was turned to face him, the hologram on a one-point-five second delay.

“Orna!” Oriné called out and waved with one hand, the other clutching his side where he was certain his rib was bruised. “How is space?”

Orna smiled. “Dark, brother. Dark and cold. How have you been? What have you been up to?”

Their father nodded towards the damaged Sangheili. “He has been outside training with Rtas ‘Vadumee in nadier duels.”

“He will be a fearsome warrior,” the youngest ‘Fulsam male said, “but I am fine, brother. As you can see I survived Jisako with all my limbs intact.” He stretched out his arms to emphasize his point; his shoulders burned in their complaint.

His brother grinned. “Yes, but have your comrades named a maneuver after you?”

Oriné had to admit they had not.

For the next hour the family talked of what had transpired since they last heard from the older son. Each related personal tales but the primary focus was on Oriné and Orna. The eldest spoke first, relating his stories of life battling the humans and exploring space. He told riveting accounts of space battles, hearts-throbbing discoveries, and personal loss. They ended with a vague description of an engagement he was not permitted to discuss.

“Suffice to say,” he finished, “there are terrible and frightening things in the blackness, much that the Covenant has to fear.”

Oriné went next, sharing details of his time spent on Jisako. At some points his mother left the room, unable to hear the vivid hardships her son had to endure or the sights he now carried in his heart. He finished with his final battle with a Yorahii beast that left both his father and brother stunned.

“Son, are you telling lies in my house?” Orita could hardly believe it.

“Certainly not. It’s the truth.” He beamed.

Orna shook his head. “I can’t believe they didn’t name a maneuver after you. I accomplished less and they insist on calling that trap in the sand the Orna-salas. You should have an Oriné-salal.” The little brother merely shrugged. Small talk ensued for another good half-hour before finally the eldest ‘Fulsam child had to take his leave.

“I must prepare the simulations for tomorrow,” he said, “No one believes me when I tell them this ship is hardy enough to survive a trip through the Arkonon nebula; I have to go out of my way to show them, especially that ‘Kaeromee. He’s an incredible doubter.” Each member of the family stepped forward and touched foreheads with the hologram. It was a hard-light version so they could feel the photons pushing against their own skin, offering life-like resistance. It disappeared soon after, leaving a fading purple after-image.

Afterwards the family settled down for an evening meal. “How goes your training with the young ‘Vadumee?” Orita asked before digging into a bowl of fruit. “You said he was a worthy opponent.”

“Yes he is,” Oriné replied, showing his various cuts and bruises.

Alsa and Fulsa blanched. “This is your first time and he didn’t hold his blows?” his mother demanded.

“It is a rule of dueling, my love,” her mate replied, putting a hand on her shoulder. “One cannot train in the ways of spilling blood without partaking in the act.”

The younger male smiled sheepishly. “It is a rule Rtas is very familiar with.”

——

That night, Orita stood out on the balcony of his flat and stared out into the street. Off in the distance were lights and sounds of the city where the mere setting of the sun could not halt the veracity of life. The moon still hung in the sky; it would be another two months before it moved out of sight of the capital.

He allowed the breeze to calm him, though it occasionally picked up speed and swiped at his robe: there was a storm coming soon. What was also coming was Oriné’s departure, with only half a week left until his son would depart to Institution. Memories welled up from his aging mind of his own arrival and the trials he would face. Jisako was certainly more physically difficult, but Institution would test his heart, his mind... and his faith. Not only would he face many combat exercises but he would have to learn the biology, history, and culture of his enemies and allies. When Orita had himself attended the enemy had been the Jiralhanae, but the ultimate goal of that war had been their subjugation into the Covenant as Brutes. There had been no glassing of planets or widespread genocide of that race; other species had been completely wiped out in the name of the Holy Covenant, but the Jiralhanae proved themselves useful, or so the Hierarchs said.

These humans, however, had been declared vile affronts to the gods by the Prophet Hierarchs. Their planets were not to be conquered but converted to ash. Their people had no place even as slaves, only as ghosts. The now-retired Ship Commander had fought in the early campaigns of that war and found that, while primitive, they were resourceful. Certainly of more value than the Jiralhanae.

The Sangheili shook his head and cleared his mind. His thoughts were bordering on heresy. That would not do.

For a while longer he stood stoically gazing off into space, where his mind tricked him into believing he could see the hovering starships, until he sensed another presence beside him. He turned and saw Alsa, a light shawl wrapped around her shoulders to protect her neck from the wind. The moonlight on her face was beautiful and enraptured him for quite a time.

Eventually Orita regained the mental faculty to speak. “How do you feel?”

“Hollow,” she said. “Do you recall what happened after Orna left for Institution? We could not contact him, and it was rare when he contacted us. After his successful survival he didn’t even return home, he was just sent straight to the front lines. All those months of waiting, agonizing... we had no idea if he was alive or dead.”

Orita moved and wrapped his arms around his mate. “Yes, that may be true, but when we heard from him again he was already an Elite Major. He had his own squad of troops to command. Do you remember the honor we felt then, and the happiness?”

“I remember the additional wait after that.”

“As do I. I remember that our son actually came home and was the same rank as I already, having time and again proved himself in combat.” He continued before she could interrupt. “And though there was another period of waiting now he has contacted us again, and he is eligible for the position of Ship Master. He will be given his own ship. Not long after he shall become a Fleet Commander, then a Fleet Master... and perhaps, one day, he will achieve the rank of Supreme Commander.” She raised her head up to look at him and he took the opportunity to rest his forehead against hers. “What honor shall we feel then? Our son will be a true leader in the Covenant and bring us honor, glory, happiness... security.”

There was a long period of silence. “What of Oriné?” she asked.

“You heard his tale from Jisako,” Orita replied, “as did I. I have no doubt that he will succeed Institution and go on to achieve as much as Orna has.” That seemed to comfort Alsa, so the two stood there gazing across the cityscape for a while longer. He had retreated here to be in quiet and silence, but his mate had required reassurance and that meant talking. Though it wasn’t something he had wanted to do, he had no problems talking, especially to his mate.

Afterwards, however, they didn’t say much at all.

——

Oriné ‘Fulsamee, clad in his emerald armor, stared up at the massive cruiser that had descended from orbit and landed in the large open field, precipitation falling down in a light but constant sheet. He stood among the twenty-six other Elite Juniors that had survived Jisako, which in turn stood among the hundreds more that had also passed their trials of Jisako but in different sectors. Yarna ‘Orgalmee stood in front of him, and in front of them both was Olah ‘Seroumee. They stood rigidly at attention in a standard grid pattern, staring straight ahead, and waiting for the order to walk forward into the purple shaft of light.

This is it, he thought, there is no turning back. I could not have run away before, it is true, as I would have brought dishonor to my Lineage. But now... now it is so much more palpable. His eyes swept over the curvaceous hull of the purplish-grey ship, taking in the bulbous form. The battle cruiser, the Steadfast Knight, was unfamiliar to him; his studies on Sanghelios concerned only his own race and its culture with minimal exposure to the Covenant overall except through the Convent’s cathedrals. There he had learned reverence, but very little technology; he knew about shields, though, and could see where the rain was being deflected away from the hull.

A horn blasted through the constant hiss of falling moisture and immediately the Elite Juniors surged forward, moving as one towards the gravity lift. As soon as each section was inside they were lifted up into the belly of the waiting cruiser. When Oriné’s section entered it felt like a thousand small, invisible hands seized every part of his body and lifted him through the air. There was a surge of adrenaline at the experience and he could see the ground drop away. He twisted his head to look over his shoulder and saw the capital city fall far beneath him, consumed in grey mist, the buildings becoming more obscure the higher he ascended. Somewhere, amidst the buildings, his father and mother were watching a live hologram of their son departing. Would they know he was in this section?

Oriné was drawn into the ship itself. That last bleak view of Sanghelios would stay with him for many years as the last time he surveyed his home world with any sense of joy.

Description
Chapter 3: Time among Friends

Oriné cracked a bleary eye to the morning light and immediately groaned and rolled over, trying to shield himself from the brightness. His tear ducts dilated, however, and flooded the miniscule crack between his eyelids with water, dissolving the natural adhesive that held them together. Five minutes later, despite all his effort, he could not keep them closed and reluctantly allowed himself to wake up.

Rising carefully from his bed so as not to move his head too much, he gingerly swung his legs out from under the silken sheets and touched his hooves to the stone floor. Only the slightest hints of cold penetrated the calluses on his soles, perhaps one of the few advantages that living on a desert planet for a year provided. Waking up was never easy, though, especially from a first-time rest in such a comfortable bed after such a long time.

He shook his head automatically to try and dispel the cobwebs, but realized his mistake when a white-hot lance of pain ripped through his skull. His hands flew immediately to his temple and squeezed, praying that the pressure would relieve his suffering. In retrospect, he chastised himself, just because I am now allowed to drink should not have meant that I should drink in excess. Visions of crystal glasses filled with opaque Sangheili whiskey crossed his mind and he banished them away with all due haste, the mere thought making him sick. The light pouring into his room did little to ease his discomfort, so he stood on uneasy legs and hobbled over to the window. With a swift tug he drew the curtains closed... but it turned out to be far too hard of a pull, instead yanking the swathes of cloth from their position and exposing him to even more sunlight.

For a full minute he squinted at the material in a mixture of anger and helplessness before finally dropping one of the swathes and wrapping the other around his naked waist as a casual sarong. He gazed for a moment outside; a cool breeze blew through the portal and he could see the streets below where children laughed and ran about, their parents struggling to regain control of them. From the height of the sun he determined it to be roughly midday. His mental faculties were finally returning to him and he turned from the window, exiting his room.

The young Sangheili followed the hall out into the main room of their flat, where his father and sister were kneeling before the low-set family table, so entranced in a duel of wits in the form of a game that they didn’t notice his entrance. Someone else, however, did.

“Oriné!” His mother was behind him, arms crossed and a half-amused, half-irritated look on her face. “Have we decided that our draperies are far more comfortable than our actual clothes, or has that planet deprived you of such civilization that you have forgotten?” The younger male winced; the tone of his mother’s voice displayed her annoyance, something he wished to avoid, and its tenor bore into his brain. It so disoriented him that he was too slow in replying for her tastes. “What? Shall you only respond to your full name now, Oriné ‘Fulsamee?” she asked, her glare becoming harder.

“Sorry, mother,” Oriné said. It was all he could come up with; he was not yet at a level of capability as to explain himself. He was unsure whether this was actually a hangover or if he was still drunk.

Alsa smiled, her look softening considerably. “It is of no consequence; I meant to change the curtains in your room but never did get around to it. Come,” she said, motioning him into the kitchen, “have something to eat.”

“It won’t stay down,” he warned but entered the room anyway. It was small, having only counter tops inlaid with cooking technology and enough room for a smaller version of the table in the main room. He settled himself on his knees and Alsa waved to an open doorway.

“Sasat!” she called. “Come out of there for a moment and attend to my son!”

Almost immediately a stocky creature emerged from the storeroom. She had a cylindrical tank attached to her back and a hose that ran along her neck to a breather on her face; Oriné easily recognized his family’s Unggoy slave maid.

The diminutive creature bowed quickly. “I shall do so, my lady,” she said, “but you should probably hurry to your mate’s side and assist him; I fear that Fulsa is again beating him at Rocnas’al.” Alsa nodded and strode out of the room, muttering something about how her daughter should have been a warrior as well.

Next Sasat turned her attention to the young Sangheili. “My lord, it’s good to see you again,” she said, with what he thought was a smile; the breather covered her mouth quite well. Though she had been their slave maid for longer than he had been alive, after a year away she seemed almost completely alien to him. He had much to adjust to now, and because he was technically now a soldier, that included being addressed as “lord” by the lower castes. “What do you hunger for?”

He smiled in return. “I do not know, Sasat,” he admitted, “I’m a bit hung-over this morning and I’m afraid anything too substantial will not rest well.”

Nodding, she turned to consult the cabinets. “I believe I can come up with something,” she said, and began rummaging. Her stubby arms didn’t have a great reach, nor did her height offer her access to the higher cabinets, but the lower ones were fully stocked. As she searched, she hummed for a moment before speaking up again, “How was Jisako?”

For a moment Oriné shuddered. “It was very difficult,” he said, “but I survived.”

“And you are a stronger Sangheili for it,” she replied, not glancing away from her searching. “How well did you eat there?”

“Only meat from animals that we could catch,” he said, his thoughts returning to the familiar world, “and occasionally that which we could skin off a predator we killed.”

“What did you do about water?”

“The only water that came was from the rain, and storms were few and far between. It had a taint of acid and we had to give it time in the sun before we could drink it; otherwise we would burn our throats.” She hummed an affirmative, and he gave her a questioning look. “Most people who have not been there are horrified by these stories.”

She looked over at him and smiled again. “The Unggoy home world is a frigid land with naturally occurring pillars of fire. Now I live on such a hot world that even the rain feels too warm. I’m no stranger to dangerous climates.” With that she went back to her work, leaving Oriné thinking.

Finally she appeared to have found what she needed and withdrew from the depths of the cupboard. Using some of the water from the stores and a bowl she mixed the ingredients together. “This is a good soup,” she told him as she worked, “one that will ease into your stomach.” It needed to be heated; now she faced the challenge of reaching the warming plate. Oriné rose from his position.

“Let me help,” he offered, and took the bowl and set it on the hot surface.

“Thank you, my lord, but you didn’t need to help me,” Sasat said, bowing.

Oriné waved, still uncomfortable at the terminology. “It was no trouble,” he said, “and can you please return to calling me by my first name, like before I left?”

She cocked her head in puzzlement. “Honorifics make you uneasy?”

“Yes, I don’t like them,” he replied. “They sound hollow. I don’t feel that I’ve earned them.” She merely shrugged and instructed him to remove the soup when it was time to do so. He took the soup back to the table, knelt, recited his prayer, and began to drink.

A frightful yelling interrupted him when two-thirds of the bowl was emptied. He leaped from his sitting position and ran into the main room from which the sound originated. There, his father was standing and appearing to dance while his mother stood nearby smiling and his sister kneeled dejectedly at the table.

“No fair!” she pouted to her mother. “I had him before you helped him!”

“It’s not nice to pick on your father,” Alsa grinned, “and besides, letting him win once in a while isn’t a bad choice.” The younger female merely huffed and crossed her arms; Oriné chuckled and walked over.

“Good morning, dearest sister,” he said half-teasingly. “Hopefully your loss will not spoil the day for you.”

She smiled at him when he approached, but her mandibles twitched in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m finally returned from a year-long period on a desert world!” Oriné explained. “I’m going to go all over the city today with Yarna, and I want you to come along. You’ve been here this whole time, so I am relying on you to show me what’s changed.” She quickly agreed and scampered off to get ready.

His father came up behind him. “By the by, son,” he said, “sometime in the next couple of weeks I hope to open a communication with your brother so that he may congratulate you on your successful survival.”

Oriné nodded. “It would be nice to hear from Orna again.”

“Indeed it would,” Orita agreed. The Lineage had heard nothing from their oldest child in a long time. He had climbed the ranks of the Covenant quickly, from his very first ground battle which displayed his amazing prowess and strategy. He had moved to commanding a squad, and then jumped to commanding a ship. His current rank matched that of his father’s and was expected to soar beyond; the Sangheili prided themselves on having their children excel them.

Fulsa returned and, with their parents’ blessing, left to go deeper into the city. Lomak loomed all around them, its majesty still flooring Oriné despite his chance to gaze upon it yesterday. People milled all about, talking and laughing; it felt so different now to be surrounded by people of his own race, ones that were not hardened or scarred by desert winds and vicious predators. They passed close to one of the burbling fountains he had seen on his way back from the dropship and he reared his head back in shock before remembering that water was plentiful.

I have truly been absent, he lamented. His sister pointed out several places that had changed since his departure, including the disappointing fact that one of his favorite sweets shops had closed itself. Apparently the owner’s mate had died and he took his own life, following the honorable tradition of the Sangheili. Still, it was too bad: he had delighted in the Kig-Yar confections the shop owner had carried and was certain he would never find a higher quality outlet.

“So where are we going?” Fulsa asked him. She had been showcasing the sights but her brother was leading the expedition.

“The manor district,” he said casually. “We shall find Yarna there.”

“Oh, right,” she said, “he’s that Councilor’s son you brought past our table last night.” She paused as a thought occurred to her. “You’re going to knock on the front door of a Councilor’s house... dressed like that?”

He glanced down, remembering his fiasco with the curtains. “Yes,” he stated plainly. Fulsa shook her head and the pair kept walking. The manor district was technically a part of Sorlal, the neighboring city, but it shared its border with Lomak so travel there was easy. When they arrived, the twins were briefly overwhelmed by the grandiose nature of the place. Sacred halli trees divided the causeway leading into the district, casting a comfortable shade over the few pedestrians. Small basins filled with water surrounded the roots, more for the use of dehydrated Sangheili than for the trees themselves that collected their moisture from the frequent rainstorms. The manors were generally three stories high with flat roofs and repellent energy domes on the top for said rain, though there were a few that were different. However, they all paled in comparison to the ‘Orgalm Manor at the end of the roadway.

A long and straight paved walkway led right up to the front door, but on either side were open lawns and towering trees. Sangheili here and there stretched out on the grass beneath them, either soaking in the sun or resting in the shade. Apparently the ‘Orgalm Lineage has no problem sharing their wealth, Oriné noted.

The twins strode right up to the front door and pressed the holographic rune set into the center, sounding a chime that reverberated throughout the grounds. It was light but loud, not so much as to disturb anyone but certainly to notify others of their presence. Both Oriné and Fulsa saw Honor Guards seeming to appear from thin air on either side of them a distance away, both armed with... the young warrior frowned. He didn’t recognize the weapons; they must have been newly developed. Though the Covenant used Forerunner artifacts as they were found, the military often tried to use the same concepts to build and improve upon the weapons. Plasma rifles and pistols were the basic Forerunner weapons they used, and by attempting to reverse engineer them the Covenant had created Needlers and Fuel Rod Guns. The weapons carried by the Honor Guards here, with bulbous stocks and long thin barrels, must have been the latest attempt at yet again improving the arsenal.

With a hiss the door in front of them parted and a timid Unggoy slave poked his head out. “Yes, Excellencies?” Oriné sighed at the honorific but didn’t bother to correct him.

“We are here to go with Yarna ‘Orgalmee into the city,” he said. “We are expected.”

The Unggoy bowed low and retreated, allowing the pair to step into the foyer. It was lavishly decorated with precious metals that glinted magnificently in the faded purple light of an overhead fixture. There was a small table in the middle of the room, in front of which both Sangheili kneeled. As they did so, the table beeped in recognition, part of it descending into a hidden shaft; when it returned, it bore two glasses of wine. Both crinkled their noses in disgust: Oriné could still feel his headache buzzing in the back of his head, and Fulsa as a priestess-to-be was forbidden from imbibing alcohol... at least until she wasn’t in the home of a Councilor. The tray upon which the drinks were placed stayed there for a moment until it detected that neither glass had been removed, at which point it retreated again. When next it appeared, it carried glasses of water, which both Sangheili accepted. They gulped it down and returned the cups to the tray; it beeped almost happily and descended again, returning empty.

Moments later Yarna entered the room, wearing a casual tunic. Upon seeing Oriné his mandibles parted in a wide smile and embraced his friend.

“We saw each other only last night,” Oriné chided the other Sangheili jokingly. “No need to be so affectionate.”

Yarna punched him lightly in the arm. “Only you would say that, Oriné, and get away with it.” He paused, taking notice of Fulsa. “Ah, you must be Oriné’s sister! I have heard so much about you. It is a pleasure for us to finally meet.”

“Greetings, Excellency,” Fulsa said, getting up just to bow. “It’s an honor to be in your lovely home.”

At this a puzzled look crossed the slightly older Sangheili’s face. “Excellency?”

“Yes,” she replied, “are you not the son of a High Councilor?”

“I am,” he said warily.

She bowed again. “Then you and all your family are truly deserving of honor.”

Now annoyance was all that dominated his features. “Now see here,” he growled, “I am hardly any older than you, and you would not treat an equal with such respect. I will not have it! I demand that you call me Yarna; I am neither a Councilor nor an accomplished warrior and shall not be treated as either until I have fulfilled one or both of those roles!” The rant was obviously ironic and Fulsa giggled, but nodded her agreement. “Good,” Yarna said, “now let’s go. I tire of this boring place.”

As the group moved as one out the door, Yarna cast a sly glance at his fellow Elite. “Oriné, my friend,” he said, no small amount of amusement in his voice, “are you wearing a curtain?”

——

The sun was beginning its long and graceful decline in the sky when the trio decided they had walked about enough. After first dipping their hands in a nearby fountain they made for an open-air eatery. A tarp had been erected to protect against the rays of the primary star Urs; the two other stars in the cluster, Fied and Joori, were visible depending on the time of day, but they hadn’t the same effect on the surface temperature of Sanghelios.

Grateful for the shade, Oriné signaled an Unggoy servant and ordered drinks for himself and his companions. His own headache had died down, so he asked for a cup of toriqoo, a thick and energizing drink made from a blend of several native roots. Yarna did not seem to suffer from hangovers and requested a goblet of a light wine; Fulsa, conscious of her newfound station and the sigil she had to wear around her neck, asked only for water.

Soon after Oriné felt a presence behind him and turned to find himself staring into a pair of emerald eyes. “Friends,” Rtas ‘Vadumee said jovially, “I’m happy to see you up and active! After last night, I feared you would be bedridden for at least a full day.”

“I’m afraid Oriné cannot remember last night’s events with anything resembling clarity,” Yarna said, chuckling and motioning for the newcomer to take a seat. “He is far more vulnerable to the drink than we are.”

Rtas sat and smiled. “Then he does not recall the dancing?”

Oriné felt the tremors of his headache returning. “What dancing?”

“Oh,” Rtas said knowingly, “there was much dancing.”

Seeing his sister giggling at some memory, Oriné quickly attempted to derail the subject. “I don’t believe you were formally introduced,” he said. “Rtas, this is my sister Fulsa. Fulsa, this is my good friend and comrade Rtas ‘Vadumee.”

“A pleasure to be in your presence,” she said.

Rtas eyed the sigil around her neck. “Far from it, the honor is mine to stand in your radiant and holy beauty. To be a priestess, a speaker for the Prophets and the Gods Themselves is the highest divinity any Sangheili can hope to achieve.” He made a show of standing and giving a low and protracted bow. Fulsa blushed madly, a deep violet hue coming to her cheeks, and Yarna and Oriné raised their hands in front of their mandibles to hide their smirks.

Their drinks arrived and they sat chatting and relaxing in the shade. It had been a long time since they were able to be so social, and now the three cadets were reveling in the ability; Fulsa was just happy to be included, as she had civilization at her fingertips while away for her own studies.

“I wanted to thank you and your father for the nadier,” Oriné said as he set his cup on the table. Rtas set aside his own flute of water and shook his head.

“No thanks are necessary,” he said. “My father reviewed our reports of Jisako and decided that you deserved them. I have my own set; we should come together some time for a duel so that we may learn together the intricacies of nadier combat.”

“I would like that.”

Their conversations continued until the sky began to glow a light orange. Realizing the time, they exchanged farewells (Rtas again being overly enthusiastic in his goodbye to Fulsa, and promising Oriné a duel for tomorrow evening) and went on their own ways. Oriné and his sister walked with Yarna back to the manor district, and after seeing him safely to his door they made their way back to their own modest flat.

The sky was a deep bronze color when they alighted on their balcony and entered the home. Dinner was almost prepared thanks to the combined efforts of Alsa and Sasat. It was a hearty meal, with a course of fish and a course of meat, all spiced and seasoned to Oriné’s taste. Soups were prepared, there was bread to be had, and for after dinner the ‘Fulsam matriarch had even managed to find some of Oriné’s beloved Kig-Yar sweets. It was all for the sake of the returning cadet, in honor of him having survived.

Truly, he knew, he was blessed.

——

“You don’t seem well.”

Alsa was startled out of her internal reverie by Sasat’s statement. The Unggoy was with her in the kitchen as the late morning light streamed in through the window. The pair of them were attempting to reorganize the cupboards so that the small slave maid might have better access to the cooking materials she required. Unfortunately they couldn’t make the stovetop any lower, but they could build a platform for her to stand on.

She shuffled a container of preservatives into a cupboard. “I suppose I’m concerned,” she muttered.

“About what?”

“Oriné,” she replied. “He’s home and it’s like a dream come true, but in not too long a time he’ll be gone, and so will Fulsa. One a warrior to bring death to the heretics, the other a priestess to spread the word of the Prophets.” At the moment, Oriné wasn’t in the flat. He and his father had gone out for practice, Orita wanting to see how Oriné had developed while away on the desert world. Fulsa was on the premises, but in her room meditating. “I fear for them.”

“I understand,” Sasat said. “The care of a mother cannot be outweighed by promises of glory and divinity. I myself feel anxiety over the fate of my many children, though I may never see them again.”

Alsa’s heart broke a little more upon hearing that. “Your children were taken from you?”

“Yes, by order of the Prophets. They were to be raised into warriors and breeders all.”

The Sangheili female hesitated for a moment. She felt pity and sorrow for the Unggoy slave maid, but to express it would also be to defy the Prophets’ will. No matter how much her heart bled, she could not speak it. “How many children have you had?” she asked instead.

“Twenty-six.”

Her mandibles fell agape. Sasat smiled at her reaction. “Yes,” the maid said, “we Unggoy are set apart by our the ability to make many children. Ordinarily there are around seven young per clutch, but I was blessed with more.”

“And... you were allowed to keep none of them?”

A spell of silence fell over the Unggoy. “No,” she said finally. Alsa put a hand on Sasat’s shoulder, a gesture of support and understanding. In a way, her two children, not to mention their older brother, were being taken from her as well, but to far more noble and ambitious callings than Unggoy young.

It is hard to remember, she reminded herself, but others suffer just as much as I.

——

Oriné and Rtas ‘Vadumee collapsed in the street, their breathing coming in labored and difficult. Their breath was ragged and stilted and anyone passing by would have thought they were having difficulty breathing; only they knew that it was supposed to be laughter. Both clutched a nadier rod in each bruised hand, the silver shining brilliantly in the moonlight.

“You pick things up quickly,” Rtas finally managed, rolling his left eye to face Oriné. “Already you have almost mastered the ancient dueling arts. When you finally do take up the energy sword, I fear for your opponents.”

The other Sangheili chuckled and coughed. “Do not forget you were the one who taught me, and your father was the one who gave me the gift of these nadier.” He glanced over at his companion. Rtas was physically like any other Sangheili except his emerald eyes. The most common eye colors were black and brown, and even more common than green was red; myth said that green eyes denoted significance in the Great Design of the Forerunner, but Oriné didn’t quite believe that. Internally, however, Rtas was a very intense individual. If you were his friend he would make every sacrifice for your sake, and if you were his enemy he would strike you down with the force of a God.

For a moment they lay there staring into the sky. The light of the moons drowned the stars but it was still beautiful. Had they had the inclination to get up and find higher ground they could have gazed out over the intricate twinkling of the capital city, but they were too damaged to do much moving.

It was too bad, because a moment later Oriné heard his name called from the balcony of his family’s flat nearby. It was his mother. “Come home at once!” she shouted. “We have a communication with your brother!”

He eased himself up slowly, though his mind was alight with giddy happiness. At his feet Rtas waved his hand dismissively. “Go, speak with your brother. I must return home myself.” Oriné nodded his goodbye and took off at a steady limp, tenderly entering the gravity lift that led up to his family’s balcony. He pushed aside the drapery that led inside and saw his family gathered around a blue-purple hologram. It depicted a Sangheili dressed in the armor of a Ship Commander, standing tall and proud; his entire family was turned to face him, the hologram on a one-point-five second delay.

“Orna!” Oriné called out and waved with one hand, the other clutching his side where he was certain his rib was bruised. “How is space?”

Orna smiled. “Dark, brother. Dark and cold. How have you been? What have you been up to?”

Their father nodded towards the damaged Sangheili. “He has been outside training with Rtas ‘Vadumee in nadier duels.”

“He will be a fearsome warrior,” the youngest ‘Fulsam male said, “but I am fine, brother. As you can see I survived Jisako with all my limbs intact.” He stretched out his arms to emphasize his point; his shoulders burned in their complaint.

His brother grinned. “Yes, but have your comrades named a maneuver after you?”

Oriné had to admit they had not.

For the next hour the family talked of what had transpired since they last heard from the older son. Each related personal tales but the primary focus was on Oriné and Orna. The eldest spoke first, relating his stories of life battling the humans and exploring space. He told riveting accounts of space battles, hearts-throbbing discoveries, and personal loss. They ended with a vague description of an engagement he was not permitted to discuss.

“Suffice to say,” he finished, “there are terrible and frightening things in the blackness, much that the Covenant has to fear.”

Oriné went next, sharing details of his time spent on Jisako. At some points his mother left the room, unable to hear the vivid hardships her son had to endure or the sights he now carried in his heart. He finished with his final battle with a Yorahii beast that left both his father and brother stunned.

“Son, are you telling lies in my house?” Orita could hardly believe it.

“Certainly not. It’s the truth.” He beamed.

Orna shook his head. “I can’t believe they didn’t name a maneuver after you. I accomplished less and they insist on calling that trap in the sand the Orna-salas. You should have an Oriné-salal.” The little brother merely shrugged. Small talk ensued for another good half-hour before finally the eldest ‘Fulsam child had to take his leave.

“I must prepare the simulations for tomorrow,” he said, “No one believes me when I tell them this ship is hardy enough to survive a trip through the Arkonon nebula; I have to go out of my way to show them, especially that ‘Kaeromee. He’s an incredible doubter.” Each member of the family stepped forward and touched foreheads with the hologram. It was a hard-light version so they could feel the photons pushing against their own skin, offering life-like resistance. It disappeared soon after, leaving a fading purple after-image.

Afterwards the family settled down for an evening meal. “How goes your training with the young ‘Vadumee?” Orita asked before digging into a bowl of fruit. “You said he was a worthy opponent.”

“Yes he is,” Oriné replied, showing his various cuts and bruises.

Alsa and Fulsa blanched. “This is your first time and he didn’t hold his blows?” his mother demanded.

“It is a rule of dueling, my love,” her mate replied, putting a hand on her shoulder. “One cannot train in the ways of spilling blood without partaking in the act.”

The younger male smiled sheepishly. “It is a rule Rtas is very familiar with.”

——

That night, Orita stood out on the balcony of his flat and stared out into the street. Off in the distance were lights and sounds of the city where the mere setting of the sun could not halt the veracity of life. The moon still hung in the sky; it would be another two months before it moved out of sight of the capital.

He allowed the breeze to calm him, though it occasionally picked up speed and swiped at his robe: there was a storm coming soon. What was also coming was Oriné’s departure, with only half a week left until his son would depart to Institution. Memories welled up from his aging mind of his own arrival and the trials he would face. Jisako was certainly more physically difficult, but Institution would test his heart, his mind... and his faith. Not only would he face many combat exercises but he would have to learn the biology, history, and culture of his enemies and allies. When Orita had himself attended the enemy had been the Jiralhanae, but the ultimate goal of that war had been their subjugation into the Covenant as Brutes. There had been no glassing of planets or widespread genocide of that race; other species had been completely wiped out in the name of the Holy Covenant, but the Jiralhanae proved themselves useful, or so the Hierarchs said.

These humans, however, had been declared vile affronts to the gods by the Prophet Hierarchs. Their planets were not to be conquered but converted to ash. Their people had no place even as slaves, only as ghosts. The now-retired Ship Commander had fought in the early campaigns of that war and found that, while primitive, they were resourceful. Certainly of more value than the Jiralhanae.

The Sangheili shook his head and cleared his mind. His thoughts were bordering on heresy. That would not do.

For a while longer he stood stoically gazing off into space, where his mind tricked him into believing he could see the hovering starships, until he sensed another presence beside him. He turned and saw Alsa, a light shawl wrapped around her shoulders to protect her neck from the wind. The moonlight on her face was beautiful and enraptured him for quite a time.

Eventually Orita regained the mental faculty to speak. “How do you feel?”

“Hollow,” she said. “Do you recall what happened after Orna left for Institution? We could not contact him, and it was rare when he contacted us. After his successful survival he didn’t even return home, he was just sent straight to the front lines. All those months of waiting, agonizing... we had no idea if he was alive or dead.”

Orita moved and wrapped his arms around his mate. “Yes, that may be true, but when we heard from him again he was already an Elite Major. He had his own squad of troops to command. Do you remember the honor we felt then, and the happiness?”

“I remember the additional wait after that.”

“As do I. I remember that our son actually came home and was the same rank as I already, having time and again proved himself in combat.” He continued before she could interrupt. “And though there was another period of waiting now he has contacted us again, and he is eligible for the position of Ship Master. He will be given his own ship. Not long after he shall become a Fleet Commander, then a Fleet Master... and perhaps, one day, he will achieve the rank of Supreme Commander.” She raised her head up to look at him and he took the opportunity to rest his forehead against hers. “What honor shall we feel then? Our son will be a true leader in the Covenant and bring us honor, glory, happiness... security.”

There was a long period of silence. “What of Oriné?” she asked.

“You heard his tale from Jisako,” Orita replied, “as did I. I have no doubt that he will succeed Institution and go on to achieve as much as Orna has.” That seemed to comfort Alsa, so the two stood there gazing across the cityscape for a while longer. He had retreated here to be in quiet and silence, but his mate had required reassurance and that meant talking. Though it wasn’t something he had wanted to do, he had no problems talking, especially to his mate.

Afterwards, however, they didn’t say much at all.

——

Oriné ‘Fulsamee, clad in his emerald armor, stared up at the massive cruiser that had descended from orbit and landed in the large open field, precipitation falling down in a light but constant sheet. He stood among the twenty-six other Elite Juniors that had survived Jisako, which in turn stood among the hundreds more that had also passed their trials of Jisako but in different sectors. Yarna ‘Orgalmee stood in front of him, and in front of them both was Olah ‘Seroumee. They stood rigidly at attention in a standard grid pattern, staring straight ahead, and waiting for the order to walk forward into the purple shaft of light.

This is it, he thought, there is no turning back. I could not have run away before, it is true, as I would have brought dishonor to my Lineage. But now... now it is so much more palpable. His eyes swept over the curvaceous hull of the purplish-grey ship, taking in the bulbous form. The battle cruiser, the Steadfast Knight, was unfamiliar to him; his studies on Sanghelios concerned only his own race and its culture with minimal exposure to the Covenant overall except through the Convent’s cathedrals. There he had learned reverence, but very little technology; he knew about shields, though, and could see where the rain was being deflected away from the hull.

A horn blasted through the constant hiss of falling moisture and immediately the Elite Juniors surged forward, moving as one towards the gravity lift. As soon as each section was inside they were lifted up into the belly of the waiting cruiser. When Oriné’s section entered it felt like a thousand small, invisible hands seized every part of his body and lifted him through the air. There was a surge of adrenaline at the experience and he could see the ground drop away. He twisted his head to look over his shoulder and saw the capital city fall far beneath him, consumed in grey mist, the buildings becoming more obscure the higher he ascended. Somewhere, amidst the buildings, his father and mother were watching a live hologram of their son departing. Would they know he was in this section?

Oriné was drawn into the ship itself. That last bleak view of Sanghelios would stay with him for many years as the last time he surveyed his home world with any sense of joy.