Seth woke up before the break of dawn.
As quick as he could, he shuffled off his bed, eyes dreary with the remnants of sleep. Down on the floor, he crawled beneath his bed.
Extricating the orb from its place in the wall with one functioning arm was a lesson in futility, but it wasn't long before he pulled it out of its hole. It had dropped a few times over the week and had given him the idea that it would rather break something before it broke, yet he held it with the care of cradling an egg.
He sat cross legged on his bed a moment after, orb in hand and a trepid smile. Even now, it was an odd thing to look at. Everywhere skin met the orb, lightning struck, coming apart at the boundary between glass-like skin.
Each lightning bore a nature of its own. One was white with a hue of blue and struck like the lightning in a thunderstorm. Another was green, and while it streaked across, it didn't simply terminate as its white counterpart, rather it seemed to run into the boundary of the orb until it finished, spreading in a phantom of green veins.
The red lightning was like a whip, striking only to pull back into nothingness. This one he felt most. However, his favorite to look at was the black one. It struck, always in a straight line, and whenever it made contact it would freeze then dissolve into motes. Then it would strike again. There was a certain lackluster in its strikes. If it had a will, it would be easy to believe it only struck because it was its duty. Like an employee that did only the barest minimum, enough to keep its job but too little to be deserving of any actual reward.
Each strike left a mark. The green left a streak of veins, spreading as wide as his palm. The red left ghostly cracks just as wide. The white left what seemed like fireworks, while the black left a black splotch like a patch of burnt land.
Enthralling to look at as they were, Seth was more focused on absorbing whatever he could from the orb. Even now, alone in his room, mind focused on his task and poked at the edges with the panic of being caught, he failed.
When a knock came at his door, followed by the expected mildly red glow of the rune lock, then the unsubtle jimmying of the handle, Seth had tucked the orb away in a different hiding spot.
"What have I told you about locking this door?" his mother bellowed from the other side.
"That I shouldn't. But I still do, regardless," Seth murmured as he crawled out of bed, sleep's hold long since gone from him.
He met the door, and with practiced adeptness unhinged the bolt and turned the handle lock. He opened his door to a displeased scowl on his mother's face.
"Your brothers continue to set a wrong image for you," she said strictly, "You're nowhere near the threshold of being souled and already you disrespect me."
Seth paused, confused. A moment later, and a knowing look on his mother's face, he knew what she meant. He bowed his head in remorse and apologized in quiet words. "Sorry, mother."
It was easy to forget golds heard far better than the unsouled.
Today his mother was dressed as if for an occasion. She wore a green gown that hugged her everywhere. Her shoulder pads were less pads and more akin to antelope horns, works of ivory spreading out from her shoulders to the height of her head, brown as dying oak with a flair for the dramatic. At her feet the gown was flowing, sweeping along the ground with every step she took.
Lady Darnesh twirled once before affording him one of her rare motherly smiles, the one she reserved mostly for Jeremy. "Do you like it?" she asked. "Your father thinks it might be too much for just seeing you off, but I think there's no such thing as too much."
Seth had long since learned his mother made sides of everything, so he returned her smile with one of his own, hoping it sufficed to take her side while not opposing his father's.
"Alright," his mother blushed, pleased by his reaction. "It's been an hour since dawn and your father's already downstairs. Let's not keep them waiting."
Seth looked at her with confusion. He hadn't even taken his bath, or combed his hair. He hadn't even brushed his teeth.
"Please tell me there's time for me to take my bath," he said.
His mother paused, as if he'd just told her the world was round and she hadn't known. With a frown and an absent twirl of her hand, she nodded. "Fair enough. I guess your father's friend from the academy won't be around for another hour, so get to it, toot sweet."
..................…..
True to his mother's words, an entourage arrived at the entrance of the compound an hour after. Seth counted at least eight cars, more cars than he'd ever seem in one place, and it made him wonder just who his father knew.
"They belong to the Baron," Jonathan said absently.
Seth turned his head to his brother. Jonathan didn't return the look, simply gazing ahead, his eyes on the convoy as they pulled into the compound. Seth had to tilt his head upwards for his gaze to meet his brother's. He wasn't sure if it was a testament to how tall his brother was or how short he was. Regardless, his brother didn't watch the convoy as one did their superior. It was more the attention a predator gave to a trespasser on its territory.
There were eight Humvees in total. Each one was a deep ocean blue, the official color of the Baron. One, however, stood out. Of similar size, its only difference was its color. A strong verdigris green, it was the color of a tainted sea. This one held Seth's attention.
When the cars came to a halt of smoke and dust, Lord Darnesh bowed his head in quiet subservience. Their mother was the next to bow, bowing more appropriately at the waist. Jonathan was an emulation of his father, and Derek took his cue from their brother.
Jeremy took his from their mother.
Seth did not hesitate. When he bowed, he was the icon of Jonathan, however, his brother's defiance was empty in his stance.
Instructor Macbeth was exactly what Seth expected of an instructor of the academy. He was a man as tall as his father, perhaps taller by an inch, and stood with a straight back as though someone had stuck a pole in the back of his robe. His robe in question was a dark shade of emerald green with a white line that split it down the middle on the left side. The robe stopped just above his ankles, revealing the legs of brown trousers and a shiny pair of shoes that looked extraordinarily expensive. It threatened to put his mother's entire wardrobe to shame.
"Lord Darnesh." Instructor Macbeth bowed to Seth's father, bending at the waist. Only then did his father lift his head.
Macbeth turned his attention to Seth who was also lifting his head and said, "I take it this is the young Seth. How is the headache?"
Seth's reply was a simple nod. He'd learned over the years that when in doubt, actions were a safer means of communication than words.
Macbeth turned away almost immediately, and Seth was certain the man hadn't cared for his answer and had merely thrown the question as a side note, a display of knowledge, at best.
Seth found he was not impressed.
"Is he ready?" Macbeth continued, addressing his father.
"Yes," Lord Darnesh answered.
"Good," Macbeth nodded, then turned away. "As much as I'd like to stay a bit and have a chat, the roads aren't the best these days. There are rumors of priests seeking out retribution now for what was done to them so long ago."
Seth's gaze followed the man and found his attention transfixed on the fleet of cars. Each one was flanked by two men in military attire. Their uniforms were crisp shirts tucked into combat trousers and finished with military boots. Most of them wore the blue of the Baron, and only two wore the verdigris green Seth was beginning to believe was the color of the academy.
But what held his attention were their firearms. Each held a semi-automatic rifle inscribed with varying runes he knew were required to make the weapon work. Rumors had it that each gun had enough fire power to hurt a gold. It made him wonder how the government and Barons had lost to the seminary despite such artillery power.
Seth's father came up beside him. surprising him, took him by the shoulders, then turned him so that they faced each other.
"You're not ready," he said without preamble. "Do not try to convince yourself that you are. You will go into the academy and you will fail many times."
Seth wasn't sure if this was a pep talk of some kind. Perhaps it was simply what his father believed and was bringing him to accept his faith.
"However," Lord Darnesh continued, "what matters is how many times you rise after each failure. Do you think you can continue to rise each time, Seth?"
Seth's response delayed with a mild hesitation. It was almost as though his father was telling him goodbye. Like he was not going to be returning, and his mind ran straight to his orb in its hiding spot. Still, he nodded slowly, as if giving thought to his answer.
His father nodded, then stepped away from him, and an indescribable feeling settled in Seth's spine. It was something he could not put words to. But if he was to make an attempt, he would akin it to dread.
Something was very wrong.
..................…
Jabari stood at the center of the room.
It was wide, which was to be expected of the room of a noble, but it wasn't so wide as to be extravagant. Lord Darnesh had always been a man of simple wishes. His ambition was borne only of his wife, and Jabari had no doubt she'd played a part in his fealty to the Baron. She would want him to rise through the ranks until he was Baron himself if she had a say in the matter. She would want them to grasp at the idea of longevity.
But Jabari knew Barons didn't live forever. They simply lived longer than others. Even then, he knew enough about Christian Darnesh to know the man sought nothing of immortality. The extended life gold authority gave him was more than enough.
Jabari gave his attention to the room again, casting the thought aside. He spread his senses through the entire house undetected, searching. When he found what he wanted, he withdrew his senses.
Downstairs the boy's father was giving him over in servitude to the academy. The boy was suffering and the father didn't know how to fix it. He hoped, in his love as a father, that this would help the boy. It was the wrong decision but Jabari didn't hold it against him. He had seen fathers make graver decisions in the name of love. Mothers did far graver things in its name than fathers could ever fathom. But that was a memory for another day.
He walked slowly, making his way to the bathroom. If any was watching, he would've seemed slow, almost cautious. Many had died making that assumption. There was no doubt that many more would.
In the bathroom he reached to the roof, his height giving him enough leverage to push one of the plates up and to the side. There, hidden in the darkness, was the orb he sought.
He plucked it from the darkness, not bothering to replace the plate. He didn't even bother to study the object; the soul.
He didn't care much for it. It was merely a tool with a use.
With a simple wave of his hand the wall of the room was gone, as though it had never been there, and he stepped through it, dropping to the ground beneath soundlessly.
With what he came for in hand, he walked away as the wall reforged itself behind him: reality obeying him as it always did.