As the sun graciously rose above the far reaches of Eclipsa, a small outpost nestled in the valley behind Neos City, the shadows grew long beyond the city's perimeter. There was a coolness and thick presence of night left in the air, only mildly disrupted by the hazy, droning offerings of automated machines in the city. To many, that supplied indications of progress, memories of the metropolis, integral to the life of the last civilization of humanity. But to Orion Ardyn, it was one of those other reminders of how far he was from the life he was supposed to live.
Orion stood on the dejected wooden fence separating Eclipsa from the wilds beyond, watching the cracked earth and few trees scattered across the terrain. This particular section had withstood as years of neglect and battle had passed by-rubblish fieldaper the blackened fields, scattered piles of rusting scrap, and the skeletal remnants of buildings long gone. Once this land had been part of a sprawling, lush forest; now it was barely more than an expiring crumpled stretch, accosted by the remnants that awed a planet gone wrong.
He inhaled a breath of damp soil, with the faintest hint of ozone in the air; he exhaled slowly. The morning air is always refreshing, even in a place like this.
Behind him, Eclipsa was living its simple life like always. The outpost was small, home to a dozen families and a few traders making a living from whatever little the land could provide. It wasn't much, but enough for them. Most of the buildings were made from salvaged metal and scrap wood, and hand-stiched roofs. Life was basic, quiet, and simple. The most excitement anyone experienced was a new shipment of supplies from Neos City or a mutated creature from the wasteland wandering too close to the perimeter.
Orion wasn't much for the social scene. Silence never bothered him. In fact, he liked it that way. His Aura-the energy resonating through every living thing-was never that strong. Throughout his life, he felt like an outsider: a shadow in a world of light. The children in Eclipsa all had their Auras, their ability to summon basic Essentia techniques-small manifestations of power that made them stand out and important. But not Orion. Even now, in a meaningful sense, his Aura had never awakened.
He often wondered why he put forth the effort, not that he was really supposed to be here; hell, not that he fit anywhere.
"Breakfast is served, Orion!"
His mother, Sylvia Ardyn, called him from the little wooden house behind. She was a gentle lady whose frailness spoke of Eclipsa's hardships. Though average, her Aura was steady, a soothing voice at the back of Orion's life. It was her support that kept him going, given his reluctance to believe in most of her closured-understandings.
"I'm on my way," Orion replied flatly.
He turned towards the house. The path, cut in the earth and worn smooth, made the steps greet friendly faces before passing the garden where his mother used to grow a feeble supply of food: potatoes, some leaves, and herbs. Though small, the garden was the only hope people of Eclipsa had from starving to death.
Orion's father died young, one more perpetrator of that greatest suffering the Great Fragmentation inflicted. The conflict sundering the world had left open a very limited space for his father among the brave ones who wielded swords to protect what was left. He never returned from that last battle. Under much goodwill as she could muster, his mother had raised him, meeting most of the predetermined ideological duties to turn him into a man, but he had remained less than appreciative of all her support. Through it all, she was optimistic that he would awaken his Aura one day, that he would become someone grand. Years passed, but little ever changed.
The small one-room house was saturated in the smell of cooked grain and dried meat. In the corner, a fire crackled and hummed, giving off pleasant warmth and lighting the whole room. Sylvia Ardyn stood at the stove, stirring a pot slowly, deliberately. She turned to smile at Orion as he came in, but there was an anxious shadow in her eyes.
"Quick. Eat," she said softly. "There's a storm coming. You'd better finish your work before it gets here."
Orion nodded and plopped down at the small wooden table situated at the center of the room. He reached for the bowl she placed before him, rubbing his fingers across the rough wood of the table. Boiled grain, a bit of water, and dried jerky: a simple meal but enough. It always had been. No point in lamenting over the luxuries. In Eclipsa, food was scarce and life was tough. Survivors conferred this quality upon the people living there.
Orion was eating slowly, letting his thoughts drift. He glanced outside through the little pane of the room's only window. The sky was beginning to cover itself with an overcast: thick, gray clouds had hidden the half-baked sun. The storm was coming: a very common occurrence upon the wastelands. When it rained, the earth soaked up any moisture like a sponge, but for just a little while. The land was too dry and too damaged to hold back the water for long.
"Mom," Orion started, just above a whisper, "do you think I'll ever be like the others? With an Aura that actually works, I mean?"
A pause; Sylvia lifted her hand, hovering over the pot. Slowly, she turned. Her face was softened by many years of love and concern. "Orion, you'll find your path. You see, take your time, your Aura. Sometimes, being strong doesn't count."
"It's not about how strong you are; it's about what you do with what you've got. You've got more than you think."
Orion didn't answer. This was a speech he had heard over and again. He knew what she meant, but who could still remember the anticipation of dawn never to come? The other kids in Eclipsa-Caden, Elara, Jin-had manifested their Auras. Still weak, but their secrets were out. Caden was able to manufacture tiny fire constructs; Elara could use wind to conduct her bidding, and Jin could command telekinesis with the tiniest flick of his fingers.
Orion remained quite unaffected by this. His Aura remained dormant; an unwanted shadow in an assured world of sunlight.
"It's nothing too big, Mom," he said quietly, pushing the bowl away from him. "I'll go finish the fence repairs."
Sylvia nodded, still unconvinced. "Be careful, Orion. The storm will make things messy out there."
He gave her a slight smile, finally standing. Rain was coming; no big deal. Another day in Eclipsa; one day of quiet simplicity.
He stepped out of the house again into the chill of the morning. The storm was ever near, with dark, almost oppressive-looking clouds. A weight on the world around him was the awareness of how fragile life became down here. But he could not escape any of it; not today. Not ever.
He sighed and grabbed the tools from the shed. Tired but resigned, he walked away to finish the fence. Work was waiting, and maybe somehow or other-that was all that mattered.