There’s nothing but silence after the candidates have all boarded, meaning they were keeping their distance from each other. Chancellor Prime would’ve suspected this of happening. Given all the neytives’ history, they don’t exactly trust one another.

Dharunma decided it was best to be alone before the Knyghts Voyage started.

Before they reach their final destination, he uses this opportunity to sneak out of his room and go down to the hold. The rooms and corridors are much more spacious than he could’ve hoped for. The exterior is coated with metal plates, tied with long fluttering sails and four sets of propellers pulsing underneath the stern, port and starboard. The interior has more mechanical features, consisting of pulleys and gears at every entry and corner.

Once he finds a secluded spot near the stern, he prepares himself for meditation.

Dharunma squats down and opens his pack. He pulls out a multitude of items, a large cloth, a white candle, a black candle, a spherical box with several holes and inscriptions around the circumference, a bundle of herbs, a small dish, and two vials with foreign ingredients inside.

He unfolds the cloth on the floor and gets into a comfortable position. The box sits perfectly in front of him with the white candle on the left and the black candle on the right.

Dharunma reaches for the first vial and pours liquid fire onto both candles. There are times when he wishes he was born as an Inphernos or Soline neytive, so he can wield the type of trigger they have. Instead, he was born as a Vitares neytive. He has performed this ritual for 300 revolutions, and it’s starting to irritate him.

The top of the candles are alight and the color of the flame changes to match the wax.

Next, he unravels the herbs and places two stems inside the box. Some of the liquid fire he has left is poured beneath the herbs and begins to emit fumes. He closes the box to keep the fire from spreading. Wisps of smoke seep through the holes of the box.

Lastly, Dharunma loosens the strap on his robe and lets it fall behind him. He takes a moment to focus on his trigger. The blood flowing throughout his body comes to a halt. He looks down at his chest, to the hollow crevice surrounding his heart. With a deep breath and careful precision, he slips his fingers into his chest and pulls out the still beating organ.

Dharunma places his heart on the dish. He waves his other hand and the blood smearing his fingers crawls back into the heart. He also examines the colors that shine against the muscle. The vital organ is pulsing with black tendrils, but shimmers white in the center. His heart has too much history written on the surface and it left a huge burden on him. He can only look at his heart with admiration and disgust.

Without warning, a nasally voice echoes around the vessel, “Attention crew and passengers, we are arriving at our destination. Please prepare for departure soon.”

Dharunma needs to stop wasting time and finish the ritual. He snatches the second vile and dumps it over his heart. It contains purified blood, extracted from a pure Vitares neytive. One who hasn’t succumbed to the effects of war.

The blood seeps into the gaping holes in his heart and slows its rhythm down to a calm serenity.

He then focuses on the black candle’s flame stretching toward his heart. It wraps around the organ like claws. The white candle’s flame mimics the other, but buries itself inside. All the while, his heart starts to beat faster.

Dharunma can only follow the beat of his own heart, matching his breathing and breaking out in a sweat. Little does he realize he forgot to get  the slip of cloth in his robe. It provides the right chant for the ritual.

He fumbles around to reach his pocket and pulls the cloth out, unrolling it between his fingers. He reads the chant over three times, his tongue speaking a long forgotten language.

Once he finishes, his heart changes into a silver coated mass of muscle. This change is exactly what he was hoping to achieve, but luck chose to abandon him. The black tendrils resurface while the core shimmers white again.

“Dammit!” Dharunma blurts out over the failed ritual.

The vessel starts to slow down and the voice echoes again, “Passengers, please follow your Preeminent off the vessel.”

With no time left, Dharunma gathers everything he laid out and throws it back into his pack in frustration. He grabs his heart and slips it back into his body, wincing at the sharp pain once it reattaches to the veins and arteries.

Several other neytives, candidates, and their Preeminents have made their way off the vessel. His Preeminent still waits for him on the main deck with an annoyed look on his face, “Took you long enough. What have you been doing?”

“I was performing the ritual again,” Dharunma shifts his shoulders to adjust his robe. “I was focused, I had the right chant, and I felt that it would have worked this time, but I…”

“Now is not the time to waste our resources on a whim.”

“But gran…”

“Stop it, Dharunma,” his Preeminent pulls him by his arm and drags him off the vessel. “We are not wasting time before the Knyghts Voyage begins. Being late is already giving a bad impression of our trybe. Do you understand?”

Dharunma watches his step and lowers his head in understanding, “Yes, gran Serkan.”

Once they reach land, Dharunma and Serkan are escorted through a large field along with the other candidates and their Preeminents. He wonders if any of the candidates are related to their Preeminent, like he is to Serkan.

Serkan looks to be the oldest Preeminent in the group. He has dark matted hair styled like Dharunma’s and the same crimson red eyes as his, but his age has taken its toll at 5’975 revolutions. The Preeminents keep their position until they reach 4’000 revolutions, but Serkan has managed to pull some strings with the Chancellor. His skin has lost its color to where it’s rough and ashy. There are multiple scars layered over his neck, that he said was from a fight with a Soline neytive. Serkan told him that the Soline neytive is the Preeminent now.

They both spot a hangar at the end of the field, but Dharunma doesn’t pay any attention to it. He puts his focus on the candidates.

He spots a neytive with dark skin, dressed in magenta stitched clothes and a half shaven head on her right side. He tries to look at something else until she turns around and he catches a glimpse of her eyes. All three of them. Each eye is a different color, the left is green, the right is red and the one on her forehead is yellow.

She turns back to the front, letting Dharunma move on to another.

The next neytive he spots is covered with fur, colored black as phase. He swings his lengthy tuft tail in a circular motion that almost puts Dharunma into a trance. The only clothes he has on is covering the lower part of his body. Most trybes have adapted to the new innovations on Myalón, while some have decided to stick to their ancient style of living. Dharunma fits the neytive in with the later.

He observes all the neytives in a matter of time. It’s best to know what he’s getting himself into.

A neytive he finds himself drawn to has blue anemone strands on her head.

The Hydradon neytive.

She walks ahead of him with grace and confidence, letting the others know she accepts the Knyghts Voyage.

Dharunma starts to feel a source of heat fill his chest, having to gaze his sight at her. He knows the history that is shared between the Vitares and Hydradon trybes. How their conflict is one of the greatest during the Trybal War. He shouldn’t focus on his trybe’s rivalry with her trybe, but knowing how they view Hydradon neytives compels him to confront her with no mercy.

His thoughts are cut short when Serkan pulls him back, “It is not the time for that either. You will get your chance when the time comes.”

“Fine.” Dharunma shrugs Serkan’s hand off and continues walking.

What feels like walking forever changes when heavy vibrations travel through the ground. The field behind them opens up and a large vessel rises from underneath the land. It’s five times the size of the tidal vessel they were sailing in, but it didn’t have any sails on it. It’s just a huge bulking mass of metal, layered with compartments, glass panes and countless thrusters glowing white and blue, several near the bow and a ton around the stern. Along the side is a word Dharunma translates, Auroris, named after Myalón’s largest moon.

The bay doors open up on the side of Auroris, revealing Chancellor Prime. She walks out with several neytives from her trybe. The group following her is an assembly of twelve, all wearing matching clothing and goggles to cover their eyes. They take a while to reach them at the hangar.

Chancellor Prime looks at her progress for the Knyghts Voyage and greets everyone with delight, “Welcome, all.”

Dharunma feels a gust of wind pick up. The thrusters glow bright blue.

“I am afraid that I will not be accompanying you on the Knyghts Voyage. Given I still have responsibilities here on Myalón,” the Chancellor nods to her trybe. “My trybe will give you some additional items that you can look through after you take off.”

A neytive steps in front of Dharunma, carrying a heavy case in his six-fingered hand. He takes the case and tries to shake the other’s hand. The neytive takes his hand as a sign of hospitality, not sympathy.

The thrusters grow louder.

“Once you leave our system, my trybe’s Preeminent will give you a full debriefing of the Knyghts Voyage. I wish you all the best of luck. Please come back as quickly as you can!”

Chancellor Prime tells them to make their way aboard. The candidates leave their Preeminents and walk across the field toward the vessel. 

When all the candidates board Auroris, there are five standing near the bay doors. The neytives from Inphernos, Aurist, Ra-Dimar, Hydradon and Dharunma himself. The others venture further into the vessel.

Dharunma looks at the Hydradon neytive, who is staring back at him. Something passes between them and they both know it. Severe tension.

Chancellor Prime waves goodbye, screaming inaudible words over the thrusters.

The bay doors rise up to close. The last thing Dharunma sees is the Chancellor's warm  smile.

Auroris seals shut and prepares to launch into Myalón’s first atmosphere.