The Captain's Tale (Part 2)

The final battle would be the debut of the newest warships to enter the UF fleet, a triad of star destroyers that had been developed after countless years of research based on what little access the scientists had to 'Ranth. Without bodies to channel and redistribute the zeon needed, they'd been forced to find a new method of finding power for the massive ships. Of course, they didn't look very far, depending on who you ask.

After nearly a dozen years unsuccessfully testing various methods, many researchers were ready to throw in the towel. There was simply no way to power the massive ships without some kind of conduit for the zeonic energy, and no one not raised in the nexus containers could last for more than an hour inside of one. There was power there to be tapped, power that 'Ranth's revelations had revealed to them, but with the Council's sanctions against using the Draconic methods, it seemed that strength was forever out of reach.

It is interesting to note then that it wasn't science, but religion that came up with the answer to the problem of the star destroyers. The scientists and researchers at work in the labs had been toiling for years while Avalon was fighting the war, slaving away without any real help from the only real source of information the UF had on the massive ships. Though her colleagues were driven to despair, an older Waterfolk summoner eventually brought up the suggestion that they ask the gods for help.

Religion and science had often been at odds in history. Though the mystic arts had certainly become a heavy influence in the scientific field, magitech was a far cry from asking divinely-powerful beings for assistance. The 'gods,' which took many names across different cultures, were understood by many to simply be powerful spiritual beings. Of course, the argument was often made that that was the very definition of a god, which had sparked heated debates for centuries. Still, when Leira suggested it, her colleagues felt they had nothing left to lose.

For Leira, there was no other god to ask first than the god of her people: Leviathan. For years the Aeons, as some called them, had been only summoned for a maximum of a few minutes at a time, and usually only in the heat of battle. Leviathan, one of the greatest Aeons in history, could only be summoned by the most devout of believers in his power, and Leira was one of those few with both the power and the dedication to even attempt calling him into her presence.

Over the course of five years, Leira prepared to summon her god. She prepared sacrifices, drew elaborate patterns to please him, and gathered like-minded individuals from both her people and other followers of the Water Aeon to be present. The summoning itself wasn't televised until after it was over, but few in the UF at the time will ever forget the image of the massive, snake-like dragon emerging from the oceans of Plesi IV.

The negotiations were brief, and rather one-sided. Leira had one objective, and was given permission to give much in exchange for Leviathan's help. No one quite knew what the Aeon could do, would do, or even if he would take the negotiations seriously, but Leira had faith. She took the time to explain the situation to him, and it seemed the only reason he even bothered to listen at all was the vast amount of tributes she'd offered to him first. When she was done, she asked only one question, the question that would become the standard for the other two summonings that would take place over the next decade.

“Will you let your followers be snuffed out by the non-believers?”

The answer, for all three of the Trinity, was no. They would help the UF crush those who stood against their might, but they had many conditions. The star destroyers could only be manned by faithful followers. New temples would need to be erected, and grand sacrifices made for every day that the Aeons would be used to power the ships. It was an expensive venture, more expensive than any before it, but if it meant the end of the war then the Council agreed it would be a price worth paying.

Avalon, being neither a devout follower of any religion, or a willing convert, wasn't allowed on board the star destroyers. This suited him fine, as he hadn't planned to give up his commission of the Merina in the first place. It was fortunate, and a sign of good fortune, many said, that three other Admirals were devout followers, one for each of the beasts. Many believed that though Avalon had done much, the final battle would be decided by these three men.

The forces that opposed the UF had collectively named themselves the Followers of Uriel, or the FU for short. For some, it was a sign of their dedication to the great Beryl of Freedom, but for all the races of the FU it was a clear sign of their opposition to the UF. They gathered at the edge of their collective space, in an area that had been cleared specifically for the purpose of the battle.

The UF forces gathered opposite, and though the UF fleet was much more massive, every commander knew that desperation would make their opponents deadly foes. The three star destroyers, named for the Aeons inhabiting them, stood solidly amidst megameters of smaller ships, and at the center of the fleet was the Merina.

It took almost a week for each side to gather their full forces. Neither fired a shot, since there was no point in starting the fighting any earlier than needed. During that week, Avalon spent much of his time either alone, or with 'Ranth. They spoke of things, of plans for after the war, and mostly of freedom. 'Ranth had become obsessed with the topic, or perhaps he always had been, and in that final week he spoke to Avalon most passionately about the subject.

Freedom for 'Ranth meant doing something more with his life. Dragons had always been protective of what they had, but 'Ranth had never had much at all. He had his life in his cage, but after everything ended, he would be a member of the Republic as much as anyone else. He wanted to live like other dragons had, or as Avalon had, though he knew either would be impossible. Avalon never told him that it was impossible though, instead he spoke as if it all would be true, because to Avalon freedom and equality were the truths he held most dear. They were all he'd fought for, and perhaps that was why 'Ranth confided in him on that final night.

Official reports say that the conversation between 'Ranth and Avalon never took place. Logs recovered from the Merina show that he was, officially, in his own quarters the entire night. Eyewitnesses, however, tell a different story, especially Rem, who was there in the room with them.

Rem had been invited to the room late in the evening, apparently a short while after the actual conversation had begun. She did not speak, was not invited to, but Avalon and 'Ranth spoke quietly for hours about nothing in particular. She listened, dutifully, knowing there would be a point eventually to her presence, and it came in the form of a single line that history knows all too well.

“Dragons like you,” Avalon said to 'Ranth as they stared out at the enemy formation, “are the souls of your ships.”

Whether Avalon knew he would say something that would profoundly change the future in that conversation is something no one knows besides him. He has never revealed his intentions behind inviting Rem to the conversation, and Rem herself has admitted her own insights are merely guesses. Still, Avalon's innocent statement to 'Ranth about his importance would change everything once the war was over. There was still one last battle, however, and it would be a battle for the ages.

Few slept the night before the battle began, but at the appointed time in the morning everything began. Each of the Admirals present was given command over a section of the battle a megameter wide, and though the lines would shift as needed, it was an incredibly massive undertaking. Both sides knew the importance of keeping their fleets strong, but with so many massive ships there was simply no point in sending smaller ships first.

For three days nothing smaller than a Destroyer moved or fired. Each side suffered losses equal to those in nearly a dozen typical battles. But no matter how massive the death toll, the count skyrocketed when the smaller ships began fighting as well. As much carnage and chaos as there had been before, with the tiny fighters and warbirds clouding the skies the entire field became a mass of static and bright flashes as they were gunned down. Another three days were spent fighting this way before the star destroyers entered the fray.

The Leviathan was the first among them to fire his main cannon. The magical might of the Aeon himself, channeled through the ship's cannons, became an unforgettable blast of tidal energy that annihilated or crippled half a dozen battlecruisers, though one was a friendly fire. Many in the FU forces thought the UF had somehow convinced the Dragons to their side, and in a way they were right. Their thoughts would be short-lived, however, as it was only an hour later that the Dragons themselves appeared at the far end of the battlefield.

The battle was hardly a column any longer, but there was still a clearly-divided line along the center. The Dragons, approaching from the side, had a clear advantage. Most starships in those days weren't meant for long, drawn-out battles. Where fighters and warbirds were lucky if they had a day or two of fighting capability before requiring a refueling, and were lucky enough to have a place to dock during battle, ships as large or larger than battlecruisers were only meant to last a week, and that week mark was coming on quickly with no chance for withdrawal.

The Dragons and their own three star destroyers didn't have to do much to decimate either side at first. Their newest weapon, a railgun with an effective range of an entire megameter, tore through nearly three dozen ships before running out of steam. The UF proposed a temporary ceasefire, but the FU would hear none of it, and fought twice as hard while not targeting any Dragon ships, in the futile hope they would become temporary allies.

As the Dragons forces were absorbed into the conflict, making a clear beeline for Avalon and the Merina. Whatever else they knew about fighting, they knew the core of any fighting unit was its leader, and even if there were four other Admirals, Avalon had been the thorn in their side for too long.

Avalon and his crew, at the center of the field, were perhaps the most exhausted group in that sector of space. They were hardened fighters, every one of them, but a skeleton crew was difficult to keep up under the best circumstances. A week of non-stop combat had brought them all to the brink of physical and mental endurance. Even Avalon looked weak and haggard, but there was no end in sight. Even the Behemoth, which had turned to face the incoming star destroyers, had been crippled to almost nothing from a collective volley from both Dragon and FU forces.

With his back against the wall, and his crew at the end of their collective ropes, Avalon desperately thought of a way out of the situation. Even if the remaining two star destroyers could be mobilized fast enough, he and his crew were all but dead in the water. He left his command post, leaving the tireless Rem in his place. She was an impressive leader, but in Avalon's sector losses began to climb.

Avalon made his way to 'Ranth, who had been waiting for him, and in a conversation no one has ever heard they decided to try the impossible to save what they valued most. Alone, as the rest of his crew worked through fatigue and minor madness, Avalon hauled 'Ranth and his cage down to the core of the ship. What few engineers he had were surprised to see him there, but after a few quick words they helped him with his slightly mad scheme.

To Rem's horror, the ship went dead in the middle of a maneuver. The Merina floated helplessly through the battle, slamming into a friendly ship they had meant to turn away from. Down in engineering, 'Ranth stoically watched as he and his cage were shoved into the hole the core had been yanked from, and hooked into the machine. The ship's lights flickered on for a moment, and then 'Ranth's cage cracked and exploded in an instant.

The zeonic force supercharged the Merina herself, giving her enough energy to pull out of the volley of fire from enemy forces that had rained down in her moment of weakness. As Rem and the rest of the crew utilized the burst of power, unaware of how fleeting it was or how it had been obtained, Avalon struggled to his feet. The zeonic field from the tank was still generating an impossible amount of energy, but 'Ranth was completely gone. No one and nothing could take his place, but the ship had a short while where it could continue to draw from that raw field.

The plan hadn't worked, and so Avalon ordered the crew to replace the core, recharging it as much as possible from 'Ranth's now-empty cage. He had been all but defeated, and though he would fight til his last breath, Avalon had no reason to believe his life wouldn't end that day.

The crew, however, said that his skin began to glow as he walked out of the core room, and by the time he was on the bridge his skin was shimmering with what appeared to be scales. He gave a simple order, one which only his crew would've possibly followed at that moment.

“Hit me with everything you've got.”

There was only a moment of hesitation. The briefest of seconds where everyone on the bridge thought that maybe he had finally broken, that Avalon Felanore had finally admitted defeat, but then Rem shot him in the head, and he didn't even blink as the blast was absorbed. For an entire minute, the bridge was as much of a firefight as the entire battlefield. Avalon stood in the middle of it all, his glowing scales slowly becoming more and more real with each hit.

At a point just as arbitrary as his order, Avalon held up his hand for them to stop, just as the core was replaced in the Merina. He told Rem to continue with the battle, and for the second time in his history, Avalon left the safety of the ship to brave the cold of space without a suit for protection. He appeared outside, a dozen meters from the ship, and to everyone's amazement he simply absorbed a blast from a diving warbird.

The warbird pilot fired again and again, but each shot just solidified Avalon's scales. Before the pilot could pull himself together, Avalon reached up and stopped the ship with a single hand. He had always been strong, impossibly so, but seeing him tear the warbird in two after such a display was awe-inspiring.

Because of his size, it was impossible for the other ships on the battlefield to tell what was going on. All they knew was that any shot that might've actually hit to Merina was somehow absorbed, and a dot of light was beginning to form wherever the shots died. Soon enough, Avalon might as well have been a small, frantic star as he absorbed bullets, blasts, and everything in-between. His crew's slowed reactions were compensated for by his incredible speed and new-found abilities. His presence, once it was reported to other ships, rallied the barely-conscious and the hopeless.

Avalon continued on like this for hours, without any signs of fatigue, and Rem began to give what crew members she could time off. He was like a golden god, and the brighter he grew the more it seemed the battle stopped elsewhere to watch what was happening. Eventually though, the Dragons got within firing range and they aimed their collective force at the glowing light.

Two railshots zipped forward, along with a flurry of shots that would've massacred an entire squadron, but Avalon charged into every shot that he could while his crew narrowly avoided the most threatening ones that slipped past. The railshots were stopped dead in their tracks, and afterwards the glow around Avalon had taken shape into that of a gigantic dragon. Those who'd been on board the Merina recognized the form, as bright and intangible as it was, as 'Ranth.

The entire battle stopped.

Even the Dragons, who had never paused for more than a moment, waited silently in a mix of awe and respect. All eyes were focused on the glowing draconic form, hovering just outside the Merina. For many, there wasn't a sound in the universe at that moment. The hums of their engines or malfunctioning circuits were all drowned out by the muteness of the glowing 'Ranth.

Some Followers of 'Ranth say that Avalon's role in 'Ranth's ascension to godhood was what granted him the role of avatar. Others argue that it was because of the bond they shared during 'Ranth's mortal life. A few, though they are usually discounted, simply believe that Avalon was chosen because he was the only person powerful enough to hold 'Ranth's immense power. Whatever the reason though, it was undeniable during that silence that the face of the galaxy would never be the same again.

Some say that the war ended in that silence. That moments later when Avalon released a massive blast of energy that the glowing 'Ranth exhaled onto the Dragon's star destroyers, it was only to confirm what everyone already knew to be true. That the remaining two days of fighting were nothing more than petty squabbles to determine just how much the UF had won. The Dragon star destroyers were each either destroyed or crippled to the point of unusability. And though the glowing form faded after the blast, and Avalon shimmered back onto the bridge in a quivering heap, not a ship dared to fire at the Merina as it slowly coasted out of the battlefield on impulse power.

The war was over.

Although the Dragon army and several rebel factions would continue to plague the galaxy for the next twenty years, the Republic was officially established as the central government for all sentient races within its borders. Avalon's ship, having been shredded in the battle and its main engines rendered basically useless, had to be abandoned in order to transport the crew back home, and for the first time Avalon let it go. He took up a new ship when he arrived home, another dreadnaught, this one named 'Ranth, and he continued to serve wherever there was battle until the non-aggression pact was signed with the Dragon Empires in AF 20.

Then, finally, he settled down, never leaving the military but finding a place to call home and marrying a beautiful young woman. Her name was Iminali, and she had been his pilot on the Merina. Rumors have it that they had been lovers for years, and that Avalon had married himself to her shortly after 'Ranth had been taken aboard, but there has never been confirmation of either. The ceremony was the largest televised event in history, with even the most resentful of races tuning in to see Avalon the Shinigami in a dress uniform with tears in his eyes.

A few years later, I was born.

Yes, I am Avalon's only son, Tyr. My story is not nearly so glorious as my father's, but it is my story nonetheless. I was born in AF 24 to Iminali and Avalon Felanore. I was an only child, and raised from birth never knowing anything but the peace of the now firmly-rooted Republic.

There still wasn't equality as I was growing up. The races that had fought against the UF, especially those species from the short-lived FU, were heavily sanctioned in many places. Although legally equal, even as a child I could see the scorn and the unfair treatment of teachers to my Ursine and Demon classmates. Businesses were legally allowed to refuse entry to anyone for any reason, although they typically lifted these restrictions in the presence of my father.

My father was an instrument of change wherever he went in my youth. He was the greatest of heroes, a living legend, but even when he wasn't by my side I was still forever in his shadow. Stories of my father's youthful antics came from every side, and because of that I was kept under strict eye. Stories of his academic prowess were equally omnipresent, and so I was often given extra work to 'stimulate my superior intellect.'

It would have been easy to be bitter in my formative years. Even if it weren't for the teachers, my classmates had all heard the stories of Ironheart Avalon, and many knew them better than I did. Some resented me for my father's actions, while others looked to me for guidance and power beyond my years. Strangers too, seeing my father's eyes or my my mother's thick red hair, would come up and speak to me, offering gifts and false whispers if I would bring their concerns or their opinions to my father in their stead.

I was pulled into a lot of fights I never wanted to be a part of, but they never lasted long. Vengeful classmates, poisoned by their parents' hatred, would knock me down in the schoolyard, or kick me underneath the tables. I came home crying often, but my parents were always there to support me.

Unlike what many still think he was like, my father was nothing but a loving man. He was there for me if I needed help with homework, or just someone to talk to. He came to meetings and school performances, even if I was embarrassed to have him there. Of course he was strict as well, any military parent would be, but he never once raised a hand to me. Not in anger, nor as punishment for my mistakes. The only time I even remember him being angry with me was when I came home and declared that I hated all of the Entelecheia.

I was expected to be the most brilliant student, but the Entelecheia in my classes had often outperformed me. Some of them were rather haughty about it too, and that, combined with the disapproving remarks from teachers, had pushed me over the edge that day. My father, who had overheard the outburst, got up from his chair almost immediately and walked over to me, kneeling in front of me.

We had talked about equality before. The stories he and my mother told me would always involve overcoming prejudices. I had been informed from birth that racism, faithism, sexism, or any other -ism that involved unfair treatment would not be tolerated. I had broken this rule twice already, receiving warnings and minor punishments, but this time my father's entire posture was different.

“Have I failed you so?” he asked me, his words sharp, and his gaze hard.

I had never seen my father so cold, so lacking in compassion. It was the sort of stare that an Ursine mother gives an intruder that comes too close to her cubs. Those eyes dared me to continue down the path I was on, and promised me the worst sort of hell if I did. I cried hysterically, begging his forgiveness, which he gave without hesitation. From then on, whether from fear of my father or because the message had finally gotten through, I never universally hated a group again.

As unquestioningly influential as my father was on my development, my mother was somehow more so. While home often, he was still an Admiral, and she had retired once the pact had been sealed with the Dragon Empire. I always felt closer to my mother, not just because she was home more often, but because she and I shared a special bond that my father didn't: we were born mages.

Her gift had been passed down to me, while my father's manipulation of Ki had simply passed me by. It was hardly a unique situation, but the expectation that I would be exactly like my father should have been shattered when it was learned I had The Gift. My mother held no expectations of my powers, only nurtured me and taught me everything she knew about manipulating the currents of zeon.

I looked more like her too, with my crimson hair, my pale skin, and even my lips, which I wouldn't have ever known if she hadn't pointed it out to me. I talked like her, taking up some of her Kionian linguistic features instead of sticking to the Republic Standard. I even, for a very short time, considered adopting her last name instead of my father's just to get away from the relation. I had only really inherited my father's eyes, his name, and his presence.

While it was true that I was no Avalon, my very existence carried weight. By the time I was 6 years old, I had attracted large swaths of my classmates to me. Even those who hated my father found me, personally, harder to dislike. Even those rare few that didn't know I was my father's son were more generous with me, more allowing, and I will admit to having, once or twice, taken advantage of an extra dessert at lunch.

Near the end of my 2nd grade year they completed the starship Alexander, one of the most magnificent ships in the fleet that had rare mystical properties. Its core somehow allowed it to maintain a larger area inside the ship than outside, and could therefore house almost twice the number of people and warbirds as a normal battlecruiser without losing effective combat strength. My mother and I marveled at the power of such a spell, for as magic users ourselves we knew all too well what cost maintaining a spell at that level would require.

I had next to no ability to cast even the simplest of spells without immense amounts of preparation. Though my connection to the zeonic flow was strong, and my own pool was immensely deep for my age, I simply could not pull from it very quickly. It seemed that I would not be able to follow exactly in my mother's footsteps, but she didn't mind that at all.

“You're my imiko,” she told me late one evening. “Anything else is nonsense.”

Imiko, my first nickname, which means 'beloved son' in Kionian. Even though it was a derivative of my mother's name, Iminali, her name was harder to directly translate, but roughly meant 'beloved one.' I say roughly only because, having learned the nuances of the Kionian dialect, I know that there is no real term or phrase that does the word justice in Republic Standard.

At night she would tell me stories with her songs, singing soft lullabies enhanced by her hologram spells. I didn't know that some of her songs were also spells at the time. I was too distracted by the dancing figures that gave her words a life of their own. With practice, I began to develop the ability to add my own images to the scenes, but it took years to get to that level of skill with my limited abilities.

So, I grew up in the shadow of my father, but with my mother's warmth surrounding me. That warmth shielded me from the few enemies I made as I grew into a teenager, it guided me through the hardships of elementary education, and would always be with me no matter where I went. Cliche, perhaps, but it was my life and so it didn't really matter.

As a teenager, I experienced a whole new set of teachers who expected great things of me. I was coming into my own identity, both as a young man and as a magician, though I could still only really perform parlor tricks. I made friends quickly, and enemies it seemed just as fast. My enemies now weren't just kids tainted by their parents, but also jealous rivals.

Rivalries with me were always something I tried to avoid, but they were inevitable in many ways. I was intelligent, and though I knew I was hardly the smartest member of my class at any given time I was perceived to be the most intelligent because of how little effort I seemed to put into my studies. I was, unfortunately, also effortlessly popular with teachers, and especially with female classmates. It wasn't so much that I had any real practice with women. In fact, I was woefully inexperienced when it came to the attention they gave. The ease with which I interacted with them, I think, was simply that I was more in touch with my 'feminine side' thanks to my closeness with my mother.

Of course, being my father's son I was, apparently, a born leader. Without meaning to I would inspire classmates to participate, or encourage them to do their best with a simple reassuring smile. They looked to me when no one knew the answer, and so I was seen as brave for taking guesses when no one else would. Because girls were always giving me looks, friends and even younger boys would come to me for advice, and listen to what I said as though I had any real advice to give. My position as a leader solidified mostly as a self-fulfilling prophecy. People expected me to be one, treated me like one, and so I became one.

This put me at odds with other natural leaders, or those who wanted power of their own. There were a few who saw me as an ally, or acted friendly towards me to use my position to their advantage, but there were far more that viewed my popularity as an obstacle in their path. I started finding myself in fights, unable to defend myself properly, but though my father offered I never accepted any training from him. I didn't want to fight anyone, and told him as much, which he understood.

The Republic was founded on peace, even if there had been a long war to obtain that peace. I would find my own way to deal with bullies and rivals that didn't involve punching them. It was a noble thought, at least, but after I refused my father told me something that would be prove terribly true, sooner than later.

“Sometimes you have to fight, Tyr, or else evil will continue to thrive.”

It was during my first year of secondary school that I found myself in a fight that would change the way I interacted with the world from then on. The scene was nothing unusual. My closest friends and I had just finished watching the announcement of the creation of the Soul Ships, which were a group of ships that had intelligent, living AIs installed in them. No one knew the secret of how this was done, and if my father did then he kept it silent from me. No one would know for years that they were created after endless years of research based on that one phrase that Rem had revealed from 'Ranth's final conversation. It had been a long shot, but having an alternative to Aeons meant taking any long shot they possibly could.

On our way home, we ran across the Umbra Snakes, a gang led by a vicious classmate of mine named Thomas whose idea of a good time involved beating helpless young kids. He didn't even take anything from them, just beat them so they would know who was in charge. We'd often managed to distract the Snakes long enough so that one of us could pull the victim away, since I refused to fight and the others let my will take precedent.

Today, it was an Ursine cub. Normally an Ursine could take care of itself, but the poor young boy was blind, and so his swipes sailed uselessly through the air past his attackers. It made me angry to think that Thomas could be so brutal, so degraded as to prey on the truly defenseless. He had taken equality to heart, but in the worst of ways.

I had studied history, finding the topic fascinating since I was very young, so I now knew the exploits of my father and the other heroes of the war, but I knew more than just their names. I knew the stories of the heroes and the legends from before the war, from all throughout the rises and the falls of Empires, Kingdoms, and the Contact Wars. I knew of Nerval, whose name was the only thing that remained of him. I knew of Area, who broke the chains of slavery to become the greatest warlord of history. I knew of Kristoff, Loli Ann, Gygjur, and of course I knew of Holst, the king of heroes.

As I saw the Ursine boy, helpless and alone against the tyranny of The Umbra Snakes, I thought of those countless heroes and I knew, for the first time, that my father had been right.

I didn't realize what I had done until it was over, and Thomas lay bleeding at my feet. I had to be told later that in a moment I had bolted towards the Snakes, shouting for them to stop, and that in the next I had become a white lion, powerful and huge, that had swatted the thugs aside as though they were dolls. Thomas, who had been laughing a moment before, stared at me with eyes as wide as saucers, and in my rage I pounced on him, slashing his face just once before I regained some semblance of myself.

By the time my friends caught up to me, I was myself again, just a 15 year-old boy with some blood on one of his hands. Thomas was sobbing hysterically when he wasn't screaming in pain, and I stayed with him and the Ursine boy until the paramedics and the authorities arrived. Both of them were fine within a week, and in that same span of time I learned what had happened to me.

It was called Incarnation, and it was an ancient art that few in the Republic still knew how to perform. The art had mostly died out in the days of starship warfare, and had dwindled even further in the peaceful spans of time in-between wars. Incarnations were the spirits of heroes, warriors, and great leaders that had changed the world while they were alive. They were the men, women, and the handful of creatures whose lives and deaths were the kind that people sang songs and wrote stories about. I was gifted with an affinity for summoning their spirits to me and binding them with my own flesh and soul, but that wasn't all.

It seemed that my ability to summon and bind these legends to me was somehow corrupted. During tests of my ability, which I had insisted on, I could not determine which incarnation I would summon. Others with this power would choose a specific person, perhaps even gather some of their former possessions if they were available, and boost their own ability to call forth that particular incarnation. No matter what I brought to the table though, or how hard I focused, I seemed to have no luck in determining where my power would come from.

While I was relieved to know that my magical aptitude simply lie in another field, it unreliability was a constant thorn in my side. Still, after my stunt with Thomas and the Umbra Snakes, no one at the school wanted to challenge me anymore. They called me a monster, a term that was usually reserved as a derogatory slur for the least humanoid of races like the Pardalis. I lost both friends and admirers after that, but it didn't take very long before I gained new ones.

Now, when I told people to stop, they stopped.

Fear was hardly how I wanted to bring about peace, but it worked for me when charm wouldn't until I turned 18. At 18 I had a decision to make about what I wanted to do which neither fear nor charm could help with me. I could go to a university, study history and languages, two of my passions. I could get a job, and had no shortage of offers to take up if I decided that a lifelong career was where I wanted to go. In the end though, I followed in the footsteps of both my parents: I joined the military, and my time at the Academy would prove to be the most trying yet.

For the first time in my life, people didn't only expect me to follow my father's example. They did, however, expect me to follow either his or my mother's. It was odd for me, to be pulled in two separate directions depending on which instructor I was speaking with. I wish I could say it was refreshing to finally be considered more like my mother, but I found that two shadows were just darker than one.

I had a natural aptitude for diplomacy, and when I displayed no real affinity towards piloting, I was soon fast-tracked for command school. Though I would've preferred to study more history I was given endless training in tactics, and my leadership skills progressed even faster. My position in the military was not one I could choose, not unless I was willing to wield my father's position as others were. This was the one course of action I would never take. Not only would doing so admit to those that had predetermined my path that my father had more influence over my life than I did, but I knew I would only alienate those people I had befriended by proving I wasn't relying on him.

It was around the time I joined the academy that the riots began. When word got out that Soul Ships were created by sacrificing the lives of people, there was outrage. Many were shocked that not only was the Council willing to sacrifice people to produce a better power supply for a single warship, but that they had likely sacrificed hundreds to get to that point. It didn't matter all the volunteers had been terminally ill and had willingly given up their lives. It never really does with public outrage.

Perhaps sparked by the Republic's loss of appeal in this matter, human supremacist groups became more active. Many of these groups were simply trying to limit the rights and freedoms on those races that had formed the FU, but more extremist groups wanted to deny rights to any non-human species, even those that had fought in the UF all along. Minor skirmishes and riots broke out constantly while I studied at the Academy, and several acts of domestic terrorism occurred as well.

During this time of tension and turmoil, I experienced my first taste of love. Before the Academy I had dated several times. I was heterosexual, much to the dismay of some of my former classmates, but had also never found anyone that I truly could say I cared for in the way that my parents did for one another. That changed when I met Latia.

Latia was a beautiful and charming Daimah, who flirted mercilessly, but had never so much as been kissed before her 18th birthday. She was bright, though certainly not as the same level as I was, and when our eyes first met at the mess hall one day I wanted nothing more than to meet her. It took three days before I would get the chance. Three days of her eyes haunting my dreams, of a complete lack of interest in school and my other duties, and of complaints from my friends that I was a hopeless romantic.

When we finally did have a chance to meet, it was only because of a mutual friend that arranged for us to find one another during the lunch hour. I had never met a more stunning woman in all of my life, and, in an attempt to impress her, nearly ruined our first conversation by saying as much in Nepranus, the ancient language of the Duk'zarist. Universal translation had been possible for hundreds of years, but the Duk'zarist had simply kept their language from being added to translators, and there will always be languages that no one programs into them because they are dead or incomplete.

She thought I was showing off, and I had to beg her to stay. I would be forever glad that she did. Over the next three years we stole as much time with each other as we could. She was not destined to be a commander as I was, but rather something more akin to a medic, but whenever possible we would find a way to end up in the same classes, sitting next to one another and stealing glances until we were released from our studies. We would dismiss our studies to talk sweetly to one another, and within a few short months she had stopped flirting with anyone else entirely.

When we kissed it was like wildfire and electricity. When she whispered to me it was a warm summer breeze in my ear. When we made love, which we only ever did once on the eve of graduation, it was exaltation. I promised her I would find her again after I graduated from Command School. I promised her we would always be together so long as there was ever a place we could be together. I promised her my love, my undying loyalty.

I would never see her again after that night.

Two years can be longer than anyone can imagine. I missed Latia immensely, but Command School left little time for thinking of anything else. Every hour of every day we were expected to be ready for surprise exams, for surprise inspections, or for combat simulation. I excelled at everything, as my father had, but not nearly so effortlessly as he. I knew that at times he was brought to observe me, to comment on my progress. All admirals were brought in from time to time to evaluate commanders, and whenever one of them said a recruit wouldn't make it, no matter their reasoning, that recruit was pulled from the ranks. I was never pulled, but I saw at least a dozen of my peers pulled, sometimes in the middle of an exercise.

Hand-to-hand combat was, by far, my weakest area. I relied on the power of my incarnations to pull me through, since I really had no combat skills of my own to speak of. Even after learning that fighting was necessary, I had simply never taken any initiative. My incarnations were powerful enough that I didn't really need to, and the few reasons I ever lost was either because the wrong one came at the wrong time, or my opponent was skilled enough to outlast the incarnation.

For two years I fought and I worked my way through the ranks, learning dead languages and dialects to keep me from thinking of Latia, while outside riots increased in frequency, and civil unrest grew. Most people had gone back to their lives, but the sects of humanist extremists had grown, and their actions sparked racial conflicts in communities where there shouldn't have been any. The Republic was slowly tearing itself apart by the time I was given command of a ship of my own.

It was the Alexander. The ship I had marveled at as a child, and one of the 25 Soul Ships in existence. I was a diplomat at heart. I loved history, diplomacy, and even music, but I had been given control of a battlecruiser. A battlecruiser with a personality and a mind of its own, even if that mind was more or less programmed to obey my orders. This was the ship they gave me command of, and though I wholly suspected it was my father's influence, I could prove nothing, and couldn't deny such an opportunity without seeming disrespectful.

The Alexander was everything I had expected it to be from childhood, and more since the ship had received recent upgrades before being given to me. One of these upgrades was an Avatar that the ship's AI could inhabit in order to better interact with the crew. It was a simple robotic thing, easily distinguishable from even the most mechanical of races that might've found themselves on board, but it was strange to interact with all the same.

For two years I traveled across the galaxy in the Alexander. I kept the peace where I could, and learned the names and faces of nearly every crew member in that space of time. Latia was not one of them, and I never found out where she was assigned. Such things were 'not my concern,' apparently. I was lonely, and tired of fighting, despite how seldom I actually had to do so.

My parents visited me from time to time. My father could excuse any visit he wanted now that I was on board a vessel, and my mother would accompany him every time. I was glad to have them, really, because they were the only two people who could distract me from thoughts of Latia for the first year. Over time though, as it became increasingly apparent I wouldn't see her anytime soon, I found other ways to distract myself from her absence. I read. I learned even more obsolete and dead languages. And then there was Sirre, one of the rare Hamadryad who can live without a sister tree.

She was kind, gentle, and was a healer on board the Alexander. We talked, mostly, and kissed only once, but I grew attached to her in a way I'd promised Latia I had reserved only for her. Sirre didn't understand my reserved emotions, but she was patient enough to wait.

“Whatever it is that keeps you from me,” she said to me during the artificial night on board the ship. “I will wait until it is gone.”

The next day, today, really, they attacked, and my world was ripped at the seams.

No one knows where they came from or how they arrived in our space so quickly. One moment we were suppressing a rebellion, and the next unknown vessels popped up across the radars and began firing. There was no time to react. Not a moment between the first hit, which tore a hole in Alexander wide enough for a destroyer to pass through, and the second which gutted most of the thrusters. Thousands died instantly, and hundreds more spilled out into the void of space before Alexander could close whatever bulkheads were left to close.

Another blast, and thousands more died. The fighter bay, where so many had rushed to the moment the alarms went off, went up in an instant. The power of the unknown ships was so incredible, that even the few shots from our cannons we got off didn't even phase them. Over and over Alexander was pummeled, and I could do nothing because all of the capabilities of my ship had been dismantled within seconds.

Then, a blast tore through the bridge, and that it where I find myself now.

Now, with my crew depleted to next to nothing, all I can think of is how much has gone wrong. How, if only there had been another way, another choice made, I might be anywhere else, and these shots wouldn't be killing my crew. I can't feel the tears flowing down my face, but the console is wet with them. Tears and blood. So much blood. Everywhere.

“Alexander!” I shout, my heartbeat becoming the only recognizable measure of time. Thud. “Get us!” Thud. “Out of!” Thud. “Here!”

Thud.

Thud.

And then the sounds are gone. The explosions and the sirens and the cries of the crew in my earpiece are all gone. The fear and the pain and the rocking of the entire world all cease. There is nothing and darkness and light everywhere, all at the same time.

And yet still there is so much blood.

And still I am alone.