The astral vessel passes by Hexue, the sixth ice planet in their system. It’s pleasing to the eye with its swirls of lavender and turquoise ice caps, glaciers and spires. In reality, it’s uninhabitable and hostile for any neytive to live on. The moon, Vross, revolves around the planet at a vertical angle. The temperatures on the surface are cold enough to reach Auroris.

Branton despises the cold.

He prefers the scorching environment that his isle offers him. He misses the volcanic heat searing his skin and the blazing sun with triple digit temperatures.

For now, he’ll tolerate the cool compartment that is personally his.

The unit somewhat resembles the room Branton was placed in on the tidal vessel, but there are more things to appreciate on Auroris. The bed is three times the size of his own back on Inphernos, with silk woven sheets, pillows and two thick blankets made from ommyx fur. The room was also specifically designed to appeal to his isle, which sort of eased his troubled mind. The only thing missing from this wonderful space is his brothers.

This is the first time Branton has been away from Heath and Flint, since the end of the Trybal War. The hollowness in his chest keeps growing and pressing against his ribs, but he’ll never show it on his face.

Branton turns his attention to the case laying on his bed. He received it from the neytive who greeted him before he boarded the vessel. There wasn’t much in the case, just a new outfit.

A black jacket, outlined with silver and the color of his trybe, scarlet red. Splashed across the jacket is a design mapping out the stars seen from Myalón. Branton takes the jacket and drapes it over his body, soon realizing it’s twice his size. It’s too ridiculous that he might trip himself just for standing in place.

He finds a small mechanism stitched into the wrist on the right sleeve. It’s a small button shaped into a pentagon.

One push punches the air out of his lungs. He looks to see the jacket has compressed itself to outline his chest, torso and arms.

Branton catches his breath and messes with the hood. He decides to leave it alone. There are several holes along his spine in various shapes. It takes him a moment to protrude his spikes and push them through the holes of the jacket. He also notes how the fabric isn’t irritating his scales. The jacket is molding with his body like a second skin.

Chancellor Prime isn’t wasting any time or resources to make sure the Knyghts Voyage is a success. He’s starting to warm up to her, on the inside.

The rest of the items inside the case include a pair of pants and gloves, styled and designed like the jacket. There are shoes that are easy to slip into and a pair of goggles that resemble Chancellor Prime’s and her neytives. The goggles look slimmer around the frame and less dense on the lenses, where the goggles the Chancellor wears are bulkier and scratched.

Branton pulls the new pants on, replacing his own and finds another button at the center of the waistline. He holds his breath and pushes the button, letting the rough fabric tighten around his legs. He purposely summons his fracture ability and exhales fire.

He’s about to finish the outfit with the shoes until a gravelly voice fills the room. “Attention, candidates. Please make your way to the Celestial Chamber for the debriefing. All candidates are advised to report to the Celestial Chamber, nowhere else.”

Branton slips into his new shoes and heads into the labyrinth of Auroris.

The corridors stretch on forever with the lights giving off a beige glow along the edges. His sense of direction isn’t one of his finer qualities, but he’s sticking to the arrows and words etched on the walls. The elevators should be located three corridors across the rooms.

When Branton reaches a five part intersection, he hears someone running and shouting out of nowhere. “Watch out!”

He is pushed against the wall, but doesn’t falter. “You watch it.”

Standing back up from the collision is a neytive Branton hasn’t noticed since boarding Auroris. They’re scrawny, almost like he was nearing malnourishment. He has uneven muddy brown hair that’s grown past his eyes. His hair also has three streaks of green across the left side of his head.

He pulls his hair away from his piercing black eyes and looks up to see Branton. His face is replaced with disbelief. “No way!”

Branton is met with two hands reaching out to him.

The neytive retracts one hand, showing his embarrassment over his reaction. “I can not believe I ran into an Inphernos neytive… I mean candidate… on the first dial...”

“Ummm…” Branton doesn’t have the words to respond.

“I am sorry,” the neytive is mumbling now. “I have read about your trybe, but it does not compare to meeting you in the flesh. I admire how your trybe functions and the way you use your trigger for militia purposes. Do the neytives on Inphernos live inside the volcano? And is it true your trigger corresponds to your personality? I have read about some Inphernos neytives that use different colors…”

Branton stands in place and maintains his silence.

The neytive stops muttering. “Again, I am sorry. I am just fascinated with neytives who are not from my isle. Everything on my isle gets boring after several revolutions. My name is Trevet. I am from the Sub Terric trybe.”

Trevet is still holding his hand out and Branton looks over his body again. His arms are scrawny and layered with stones. He thinks of how handy Trevet can be with two more arms and hands than him. He decides to be courteous yet wary, and takes Trevet’s hand.

After recovering from the impact, both neytives continue their way to the elevator. Trevet keeps bringing up the fact that Branton is an Inphernos neytive. The barrage of questions are making him feel uncomfortable.

Once they manage to find the elevator, Trevet decides to pester him further. “I hope you do not mind me asking something personal, but… can I feel the spikes on your back?”

The elevator doors chime as they slide apart. Branton steps inside to avoid Trevet’s request. He doesn’t show embarrassment, but it’s showing on the inside. He hasn’t met any neytive who is as enthusiastic as Trevet.

As the elevator ascends to the upper levels, he looks over to see Trevet waiting for his response. It’s the pleading eyes and genuine smile that feels elusive to Branton. There’s no sign of malicious intent, so what’s the harm?

He turns his back to Trevet, who shyly places his fingertips along the edges of his spikes. No one on his isle touched their spikes, unless they were seriously injured. The way that Trevet is ‘studying’ his spikes is beyond awkward.

“Wow. Are they a part of your skeletal structure? How do they form into a curve? Do they retract?” Trevet presses further with the questions.

Branton retracts his spikes into his body, figuring that was enough of being on display. The holes on the jacket seal shut. Trevet snickers at the sight.

“You are a weird neytive,” Branton says abruptly. “I have not met any neytive with so much energy.”

Trevet smiles at the remark. “Again, I am sorry. It gets really dull on my isle and I am very excited to meet the others. I hope I did not make you feel uncomfortable with what I asked.”

A little too late for that. Branton knows Trevet is just excited about being a candidate. He wishes he had that kind of excitement for himself, but that’s not an option. “It is fine. I am sure there are other candidates who are excited like you are.”

The elevator reaches the upper levels and Branton steps out. Trevet continues talking. “Seriously. I think I was the only neytive who had a smile on their face before boarding. Watch. Once we enter the Celestial Chamber, there will be nothing but frowns and sneers.”

Branton can’t help but agree with Trevet on the topic. There is too much history written between the sixteen trybes. If they continue to reconnect their history, it could end in disaster.

They both find the doors to the Celestial Chamber around the corner, and push them open to find all the candidates sitting around a round sleek table. Some of the candidates have changed into their new clothes, while some kept their old attire. There are two vacant seats right next to each other that Branton and Trevet take for themselves.

When the room goes silent, he looks at the other candidates around the table. These are the neytives who were hand picked by the Chancellor herself. Nine males and seven females, ranging in age and surveying one another. This doesn’t feel like a well-adjusted group of like-minded neytives. It feels like they were chosen for a one winner death battle.

Trevet leans over to him and whispers. “Like I said.”

The doors swing open again and one of Chancellor Prime’s neytives enters the room. He holds a holocard in his hand and places it directly at the center of the table without even touching it. The neytive isn’t wasting any time with them as he starts the meeting.

His voice is hoarse and serious like the one Branton heard earlier. “Welcome. My name is Zaccur. I will be in charge for the duration of the Knyghts Voyage, as recommended by the Chancellor.”

After introducing himself, the room goes dark and the holocard shines in front of their eyes. “I assume you all have read over what the Knyghts Voyage will accomplish for Myalón. The Chancellor is seeking to unify and expand our very existence beyond our planet.”

The holocard projects an holographic image that takes several breaths away and earns several glances from the candidates. Branton watches the vibrant image of a planet assemble itself.

“This is your goal for the Knyghts Voyage,” Zaccur points at the new planet. “Novennéa.”