Luma walked out into the midday artificial sun —a massive yellow powerstone embedded in the ceiling of the cave settlement.
It's warmth returned some of the energy the restriction ritual had taken from him, but to him it was... lacking. It had once given him a sense of... belonging, but now it was like a stranger... it was the wrong sun.
"Luma," a voice called out.
He turned toward the corner of the healing tent, and a figure appeared. Tall and slender, donning a blue cloak with white stripes running down its length.
"Captain," he responded, his eyes not leaving the white stripes. "I didn't think they'd appoint a captain to be my watcher."
The watcher held a flat look at him, stepping forward to inspect the restriction tunic.
Not the talking type, huh, he thought. As she examined his tunic, he found himself intrigued by the blue stone that acted as her right eye. Watchers weren't often seen walking the streets, and apart from the single time Shala had spoken to one, he'd never seen their powerstones.
"You are permitted to walk the central wards," she said, her voice soft and measured. "If you venture into the living wards, I have been given instruction to use all force at my disposal to neutralize you."
"Neutralize? Like what? Kill me?" he asked.
A silent glare was her response.
She touched the blue power stone on his tunic then the stone in her eye, and began humming.
A pained smile found its way on Luma's mouth. The words hurt.
Sure, he did now know this woman —the tribe was too large for him to know every captain that lived here— but he was certain that they had common bonds, common blood, they were part of the same 'unified' people afterall. For one of his own to threaten him... it was a first.
Pain turned to anger, and his smile drooped into annoyed frown. I did it for them. They took one of our own, and now I'm being treated like a criminal for trying to avenge them?
A commotion in the background pulled him back to reality.
"Someone send for an enabler!"
An elderly healer with the same tribal paintings as Meya was shouting orders. Behind her a tunneler was being carried into one of the tents on a leather stretcher. Bloodied bone protruding from the mangled flesh that was his arm.
"We must leave the healing quarter," the watcher said. "We disturb their operation."
Luma stared at the tent the team of healers had entered for a moment. That was his first time seeing injuries like that. Shala had given him the impression that the worst a tunneler could come back with were a few scratches.
The central ward was separated into four quaters, isolated from each other by jagged walls that rose high towards the cieling.
The healing quarter was among the most advanced of them, the paths between tents forged from Ajah — the scales of subterranean scarabs, crystalline and translucent, taking up the color of whatever power stone was being used in the tent along side it.
Each step Luma took drained color from the section he was walking on. He figured it was probably the restriction tunic, though he hoped that it did not hinder the healing of those in dire need of it.
Is it always so full? he wondered. He'd never had a reason to be here, and all the times he'd asked Guzla and Shala to bring him, they would just go silent and change the topic.
"Make way!" a healer shouted.
He and the watcher jolted to the edge of the street, allowing a group of healers to storm past them. They were carrying another tunneler —skin charred and emitting smoke. The sickly sweet scent of burned flesh threatened to empty his guts. And the wild screams of the unfortunate tunneler, reminded him of a terra-boar being slaughtered.
"May the sun light his way," the watcher whispered under her breath, before moving on, her face as neutral as ever.
She must see things like this everyday, Luma thought, knowing that those screams would haunt his dreams tonight.
The journey was filled with the shouts of healers, and the howls of those to be healed. It was a depressing place, the air constantly clogged by the scent of blood and the faint bitterness of medicinal herbs.
He was relieved when they finally made it to the cavernheart, the area where the central quarters intersected.
"I'm going to the instruction quarter, is that permitted?" he grunted, deigning not to look at the watcher.
She touched her eye, and whispered something under her breath. A moment later, she nodded.
*
Unlike the other quarters, the instruction quarter was devoid of tents. Instead it was filled with circular areas, marked with sticks, that acted as both training arenas and classrooms.
A small group of students around Luma's age were currently seated in one such area. An older man dressed in a black cloak stood at the centre.
Instructor Jirkula, Luma thought to himself. He had taken his classes three expiditions ago, one of his more favourite.
"That will be all for today," the instructor was saying as Luma stopped to watch. He gave Luma a once over, before collecting the materials laid out on the wooden desk beside him.
For a moment, Luma thought that he would come talk to him, however he stopped to talk to the watcher instead. "Why should he be allowed to wander here," he whispered, though his poor attempt made sure Luma could hear. "There are children. What if he—"
"The chieftain has permitted him to walk this area," the watcher interrupted. "Your worries are heard. However they are unwarranted," she added.
The instructor clicked his tongue, turning to look at Luma once again before taking off in a huff.
So even you, Jirkula? Luma thought, more saddened than angry.
He sat just outside the arena's perimeter. If he couldn't go home, then getting a refresher on his classes was the best he was going to get. Especially since the second trial of his rising would be soon. He would not be without answer or solution like in his last.
However after sitting there for several minutes, no instructor came to take the class.
Instructor's don't usually run this late, he thought.
"Oi, you," he shouted towards one of the students. "What's your next class?"
The student whipped around, his eyes darting between Luma and the watcher beside him.
"Me?" the boy asked hesitantly.
"Which instructor do you have next?"
"Guzla."
A punch to the gut. With a sigh, Luma stood up. "So its the power stones class is it?"
He turned to the watcher. "Am I permitted to walk into the arena?" he asked.
"What is it you intend to do?"
Luma gave a tired smile. "To teach what has been taught to me," he replied. "For the good of the tribe," he added. "As is our way, no?"
The watcher stared at him with a measured gaze, before touching her stone eye.
Or perhaps, it isn't. I'm starting to think you lied to me Guzla, he thought staring up at the artificial sun.
The watcher was having a heated whispered discussion with whoever was conncected to her power stone. It seemed that she was against their judgement.
The tribe you taught me about doesn't exist. Or maybe... it never was the tribe I thought it was.