Chapter 5

Whack!

The blunt end of the sparring assegai collides brutally with Intara's jaw. Her head whips to the side, and she crashes down to the white, padded flooring, her assegai dropping beside her. Pulsing throbs erupt from the side of her face.

 The pain flares and escalates to a searing and blinding white agony.

"Stand up, Intara," Lescius says coolly.

She does not move. Not even an inch.

Her body fully registers the earlier lashes, their aches still splintering. Every part of her burns, and pain shoots through her muscles like crackling electrical wires.

"If you can still draw breath, you can stand," Lescius insists. "And if you can still stand, you will never be defeated."

The burning wanes and the pain fades to a dull throb.

Unhurriedly, Intara lifts her head, her trembling body still flattened on the floor.

The copper tang of blood pools in her mouth, so she turns her head to one side and expels a mauve splotch that taints the white perfection. Her distracted gaze coasts over the rack of assegais that stand in the room's corner, against the immaculate wall of their training chamber.

"I am cycles away from joining the Umbraculum, yet you still insist. During each layover, every recess. The little time we have together, you choose to spend training me as though I have enlisted in the Bellatoris."

She plants her hands beside her chest and pushes herself up, retrieving her assegai as she stands. She wipes the corner of her mouth with her white sleeve. The slender silver assegai that stands beside her father reaches his height. But her own dwarfs her. 

She watches him carefully.

"To be the best; you must defeat the worst part of yourself - weakness," Lescius says. "Weakness is a vulnerability that your adversaries will seize upon without hesitation. It will undermine your resolve and endanger not only you but also those who rely on your strength and judgement. To falter is to invite peril, to hesitate is to invite defeat."

He lifts the assegai and twirls it in front of him in a graceful flourish.

"The Umbraculum will guide you," he continues, using his assegai to execute large, circular movements as it flows from hand to hand, rapidly spinning around his back, before returning for an impressive flourish in front of him. "But your journey begins here," he insists, thudding the foot of the assegai on the floor for emphasis.

"What if... what if I cannot?" Intara asks, avoiding his eyes.

He cocks his head to the side and studies her quizzically.

"Cannot what?" His tone is harsh.

Intara's gaze slowly rises to his. "What if I cannot be the best?"

Lescius snorts. "Impossible," he states brusquely. "You are a Niblian. Therefore, you are not weak."

She exhales and assumes a stance with one foot ahead, slanting forwards. She grips her assegai with both hands, lengthened beside her flank and tilts the front part. The blunt tip is aimed at his forehead. She roars as she charges at him, swinging her assegai in a figure-eight motion, emphasising downward horizontal strikes that her father parries effortlessly. Each blow reverberates as the bodies of the assegais thud together.

Eventually, they break apart. Intara backs away.

Now it is his turn.

***

Periods later.

The darkness of night befalls the city of Kairfell. Song of the city thrushes as the spectre-silver moon pours down azure-sieved light. The world awash in hues of dark blue. Lescius Niblian strolls through his dwelling with his earpiece activated, conversing with General Ortis.

"Your progeny, as we like to call him. The prodigal progeny. He shines the brightest, as his father did, and his father before him. Upholding the mantle as did every Niblian that has enlisted into the Bellatoris." 

Lescius chuckles and hops up the steps, making a straight arrow towards the archway. "I am glad that his training is going well," he says and breezes down the air corridor.

 The walls are sheathed in natural stone cladding, each narrow slab meticulously arranged in a staggered pattern. Subtle, radiant strips of light rim every edge, casting a soft, otherworldly glow that traces down the length of the walls. The light streaks like veins of energy, pulsing faintly, as if the very structure is alive, breathing with the rhythm of the high-tech.

"Although… I am curious. Will the Orbus join the Bellatoris as well?"

Lescius falters in his steps, breaking his stride before he resumes his assertive gait.

 "We have spoken about this. She is not an Orbus and you are to never call her that again—never to breathe a word of any of it," he seethes. 

Heeding to the pent-up breath the General releases, echoing his frustration in Lescius's ear. For a thoughtful moment, the line goes silent.

"My old friend, she must know that she does not belong to House Niblian, or any Limen for that matter."

Lescius slows his pace and stops before the door to Intara's bedchamber. "She might not be my blood, but she is my progeny as much as Crux is. She is mine and since she is, she belongs to House Niblian."

Lescius waves his hand before the door and it gleams with a ripple of light that flutters diagonally from the foot until the peak. The body of the door becomes transparent, now he can see beyond. He stares through the transparency, watching Intara sleep. She is curled into a ball, burrowed beneath the white covers.

"She is my progeny," Lescius affirms passionately, "and that is all she needs to know."

"What of your true progeny? He was conceived naturally and what have you been telling others when they ask about the Orbus? That she was procreated in a birthing pod, in a genesis chamber, perhaps?" he asks with his tone enwrapped with disdain.

Lescius places his hand on his own shoulder. And it slithers to the back of his neck, where his black House Mark is etched in the centre, lengthening down his spine to the boundary of his shoulders.

"Neither. Since it does not concern anyone else."

Ortis's exasperation bellows with another deep breath. "Lescius, you must—"

"You were there," he whispers angrily, still watching Intara through the transparent door. "You witnessed her Deverian ceremony, where she was lustrated, and became one of my own." His hands curling around his neck, angst-ridden.

"Old friend," the General begins solemnly. "Just because she wears the emblem of a Niblian, does not mean that she is one. She has a right to know what she really is. And if she finds out the truth elsewhere. She will grow to resent you." 

Lescius flaps a downward hand and the door darkens back into opacity. Turning his back to it, he says, "If I tell her the truth, she will inquire about her homeworld and how she was alienated from her biological guardians." He wipes his mouth with his hand. Harrowed by the mere thought. "The gods have spared her and my House we will care for her as our own. I withhold the truth only to protect her. If she came to know of her true origins…that is a pain that I would not even wish upon my enemies."