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                      chapter 7-13                                                                                                         

                                                         

                                                                               CHAPTER 7
                                                             THE CONFEDERATION OF PLANETS
 
                                                                         The overseers of planet Earth 
 
The Confederation of Planets was the supreme authority overseeing Earth, the Virgo Supercluster and the neighboring galaxies of the Milky Way. Raseka left the visit with Julion and her mother when she was called for an emergency meeting. 
 
The briefing was short and devastating. News reached the Confederation president regarding the planet Romnia. It was a world divided, locked in conflict with its opposing side—practically begging to be conquered by an outside force. The Empire answered that call. Romnia’s demise was inevitable. But what Noric orchestrated, wasn’t. 
Noric asked the Empire for permission to use every able-bodied fighter on Romnia in his war against Earth. The Supreme High Lord said yes, and what had once been a brutal but limited force became a machine of war. The Sentinels of the Veil were formidable—but numbers like these devoured even the best.
 
The tension inside the meeting brought Raseka to the edge. No one needed to be telepathic to read the room. The Confederation was going to take a vote on withdrawing the sentinels and ending the war. Without the sentinels, the Orion Empire’s regime would spread across Earth in as little time as it took for the world leaders, many of whom were already the Empire’s puppets, to usher in the new world order.   
  
Raseka spoke up before the vote and asked that it be postponed. She had her reasons and they were valid. The President of the Confederation agreed to a postponement, but with a contingency. He’d give Raseka a week to tell them all how the sentinels would survive an assault from Noric’s new army.
 
Das had arrived moments after Raseka left. She’d sent telepathic calls her way, but all she got was silence. Every day that Julion didn’t believe in magic, her world would grow harder and colder. Finding Raseka was crucial--she was a lot of things, but as a goddess, she could manipulate the history. Das hoped she could swipe what Monica had done into the annals of time. 
 
It took three days to reach the furthest edge of known space—even when riding a light beam. The maneuver demanded precision. The G-force punished her body as the orb twisted and corrected, its Attitude Control System constantly recalibrating to stay aligned. One misadjustment would have shredded her across vacuum and time. But Raseka held steady.
 
She arrived intact, suspended before the Pillars of Creation. Vast curtains of gas stretched billions of miles into nothingness, luminous and ancient. The gravity there was old—so old it pulled at the soul, thinning it, stretching it until ones identity felt pliable, like taffy stretched to infinity. 
 
She needed the stillness and the silence, too. Her mind kept refusing to let go of the moment Earth teetered on the brink of becoming just another jewel hammered into the Orion Empire’s crown.
Raseka’s focus fractured as the memory of one of the delegates repeated the ancient refrain—that ego-driven civilizations required seventy-five thousand years to evolve into something viable. Even delivered telepathically, the thought carried the flat cadence of obsolete code. Besides, it was nonsense.
 
Humanity was already on the edge of change. People were exhausted by the iron sky that kept the powerful above and everyone else buried beneath it. They were ready—hungry—for upheaval.
 
“I will not agree to the vote to withdraw the Sentinels,” Raseka said, her words sharp with deliberate cold. The chill sliced through the shared mental space, severing thought-streams mid-formation. For eons she had contained her divinity, folded it inward. Now she released it.
 
Her aura detonated. Power flared like a newborn sun. Telepathic connections stuttered and snapped and the delegates recoiled as coherence shattered into dust. 
 
“We have become so consumed by numbers and logic that we’ve forgotten prophecy,” Raseka continued, her presence warping the mental plane. “The Master Star Seed has returned. She lives. She is on Earth now. Contact is imminent.”
 
She emptied her thoughts, carefully concealing the half-truths braided into her certainty. “Who among us has become so faithless that they cannot see victory is within reach?”
 
Thought-filaments burst and tangled like cosmic lightning. A virtual gavel struck.
“Order. Order.”
 
When the mental air finally cleared, the President turned to her. “We do not dismiss prophecy,” he said evenly. “But neither can we ignore free will—and its capacity to fracture destiny.”
 
The words struck like a mallet. Raseka faltered. Her deified gravitas had failed.
 
“If your claim holds,” the President continued, “return in one week. Tell us how the Sentinels of the Veil will survive what is coming.”
 
It was a delay--but not a refusal and the meeting adjourned. An Ascended Master seconded it. One by one, the delegates phased back to their home realms.
 
Now Raseka hovered in her translucent orb, staring into the void, tasked with doing exactly that: Explaining how warriors could withstand mercenaries drawn from two worlds.
 
Her console lights glimmered against the darkness, dwarfed by the distant brilliance of the Creator’s first design. Saving humanity within a week felt impossible—but hope had never survived on probability alone.
 
The silence pressed against her thoughts, tugging at truths she didn’t want to face.
Withdrawing the Sentinels wasn’t the only danger. If Earth fell, the Milky Way would follow. Then the Virgo Supercluster. The Empire’s appetite wouldn’t stop at one galaxy.
 
The High Supreme Lord had always coveted Confederation space. Evolution bored him, but domination didn’t. Cooperation and peace were, to the Empire, just weakness given a prettier name.
 
The Confederation discussed Earth’s potential collapse with statistical detachment. Projections scrolled endlessly: if Noric remained unchecked, the Virgo Sector would fall within a century. The numbers were precise, cold and merciless.
 
Raseka’s aura darkened, flushing maroon with restrained fury.
 
Noric was the Orion Empire’s sword. And no one was willing to say what happened to empires when the sword was removed.
 
 
                                                                      THREE DAYS LATER
 
 
A pinprick of unease roused Raseka from meditation and angst-filled reveries. 
 
A sigh escaped her lips as inspiration continued to elude her. She had other obligations. They were too many to count, and they pulled on her like needy children. 
 
It would take three days to reach the Milky Way if she light surfed again—longer if she didn’t. It was better to leave now and arrive early enough to still have time to satisfy the president’s demand. 
 
Yawning softly, Raseka stood from the bucket seat. Stretching languidly, she watched the first created sun, Alpha Omega, set like a ship slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean. 
 
But something in Raseka’s view made her lurch forward. A soft gasp, amplified by the silence sounded loud. Her eyes narrowed in disbelief and the image of Das drifting toward the clouds of the pillars like a helpless butterfly. The pillars were massive. They’d swallow her for years before she was found. Grinning with pride that Das had traveled alone and this deep into space, Raseka engaged the thrusters.
 
“Well, well, what have we here?” She asked, telepathically, and leaned her elbows on the dashboard. 
 
Das heard her name, but it was just another illusion of the expanse. She’d taken wormholes to shorten her journey, and saw strange things, like glimpses of her own parallel existences. That’s how she found herself here. But instead of finding Raseka, she’d found what looked like the gates of heaven.
 
Das heard her name again and ignored it resolved not to fall for any more of the universe's shenanigans. 
 
The edges of the gases pulled on her hard. The closer she got, the more it tickled the tip of her nose like cool dew. She was moments from the infinite unknown, and the only thing that stopped her was the panicked scream calling out her name so loud, Das couldn’t help turning.  
 
Sitting behind the dashboard of a round space orb, its thrusters shooting out long tails of white and blue fire, was Raseka. 
 
Das had never been so happy to see someone in all her life!
 
Once inside the ship and after the distraction of knobs and blinking lights, Das croaked out the news. 
“Julion doesn’t believe in magic anymore!” She said, travel fatigue dropping her hard onto bucket seats that immediately adjusted their contour around her. 
 
“No, no, no!” Raseka bemoaned, slapping a radiant hand to her forehead. “No!” she growled through gritted teeth. 
She and Das had only visited Julion and her mother a few days ago and things were going so well between the two of them. 
 
“All those years we spent fashioning Julion’s dreams and arranging synchronicities so those magical moments would pay off are gone? All of them-- gone?”
 
“All of them.” 
 
No wonder Das risked the journey through space, Raseka thought, remembering Das’s nickname for Julion’s mother--Queen of Glitch. “Sometimes I think the Divine Creator gave humans way too much power.” Raseka grumbled, swiping the air with numerical sequences that resembled calendrical formulas. She’d reversed time with a flick of her wrist, and the numbers in the air raced left-ward until the day in question appeared. 
 
Images came into view and passed over the windshield like a movie. Raseka’s eyes narrowed when Monica dismissed her and Das’s collaborations as “child’s play.” Unleashing an earth-shattering show of magic raged through her veins and her teeth ground hard as she fought back the temptation to release it. 
 
“That’s the last thing I needed.” Raseka muttered, debating whether she should tell Das the news about the meeting with the Confederation. “This impacts more than Julion’s fate.” Raseka said, passing through the icy tail of a large comet with the ease of a skilled pilot.
 
“Queen of Glitch.” Das grumbled, shaking her head as Raseka’s mood thrummed like an earthquake. “The law of free will ties our hands, right?” Das added eyeing Raseka. She’d never seen her ruffled before. 
 
“Yes—but disappointments of this scale rewrite the rules.” Raseka responded, her comment sending a chill through  Das. 
 
 
 
 
                                                                                    CHAPTER 8
                           
                                      THE BOMBSHELL THAT STUNNED THE CONFEDERATION
 
 
Raseka slid out of the orb, her tall form gliding through the shifting mist.
 
Unbeknownst to Das, she was about to become the first non-member to enter the embassy and face the powerhouses feared even by the Orion Empire. 
 
Das eyed the Confederation guard at attention—giant, armored, one hand resting near his sword. 
He stared toward the red horizon, seemingly unaware—until his hand shifted to the sword’s hilt.
The embassy rose like a coliseum of astral marble, its translucent walls revealing ancient mosaics and towering columns.
 
Raseka’s gaze swept the guard; his eyes lowered in silent recognition. The doors opened, their hinges echoing through the clouds.
 
Inspiration struck—clean, elegant, and so obvious she wondered how she’d missed it. Raseka murmured a thank you to the universe just as Das interrupted.
 
“Why are we here? What is this place?” 
 
“This is where the Confederation decides how to protect its territories—strategies, proposals, and the force fields guarding the Virgo Supercluster.”
 
“Why doesn’t Earth have a force field?” Das’s eyes trailed a blur of something that had just zipped through the air. She whirled around, noticing other blurs of light. They dashed swiftly by like the tails of comets made of filament. 
 
“It does.”
 
“How do the Orion’s telepathy get through it then?”
 
“They monitor for fluctuations in the astral plane and slip through the gaps.”
 
“Oh, so that’s why the sentinels call it the ‘slip plane.” 
 
Raseka crossed a weathered stone floor toward the rows of thrones circling the vast space. Das trailed behind, not noticing much of anything except the filaments flying past her. Sometimes they penetrated the translucent marble and tangled inside it like veins.
 
“Do all the members believe in the principles of unity and the evolution of consciousness?”
 
“Yes, we all believe in the Law of One.”
 
“All of you?”
 
Raseka sighed. Das’s gift for gab was particularly distracting at the moment. “Yes, in all the universe, only 5% of the civilizations polarize negatively and believe greed and self-interest lead to enlightenment.”
 
“Don’t tell me. They’re all under the province of the Orion Empire?”
 
“I won’t tell you then.” Raseka muttered, pondering the inspiration she received and whether she would lead with that or traditional pleasantries. 
 
                                                                                  ~
 
Das hung back, taking in the thrones circling them like a court of gods. Filaments flared from the centers of their foreheads as Raseka stepped onto the thymele.
 
Over a thousand Confederation members—extraterrestrials and higher beings of light—communicated telepathically. Golden strands sparked and faded, joining and separating as conversations formed and dissolved.
Raseka’s aura crystallized into a vibrating lattice, its intensity unmistakable. It was easy to forget Raseka was a goddess—until moments like this. The air quaked, as if the Great God and her Mother were reminding the Confederation whose blood ran in Raseka’s veins.
 
Raseka’s third eyes opened, a beam of light flashed from its center. Luminous strands surged toward the beam, crisscrossing the air in a flickering storm. The members were responding to Raseka's communication and Das watched the fibers respond, twisting and tangling apart before assembling a geometric form. 
 
When it settled, it resembled a strange luminous chandelier. Das understood. The structure signaled order and consensus.
 
Golden rays pierced the coliseum’s walls. The beam retracted and the Confederation vanished.
                                                  ~
 
Raseka returned to the Orb, Das following with pestering questions that buzzed like a hive of bees. Raseka gave the guard a brisk nod. He returned it with imperceptible reserve. 
 
The orb doors sealed behind them with a soft hiss. Raseka didn’t speak at first. She was still humming—residual light rippling through her aura like the last remnants of a storm. 
 
Das was the first to break the silence. “What did you tell them?”
 
Raseka exhaled slowly. “That Noric has made a mistake.”
 
Das frowned. “That’s not an answer.”
 
“It is,” Raseka said. “Just not the one they asked for.”
 
Das folded her arms, her impatience building like steam about to blow. “Help me here.”
 
Raseka finally turned. “The Orion Empire has authorized Noric to conscript every able body from Romnia.”
Das’s breath caught. “That doubles his forces.”
 
“No,” Raseka corrected. “It gives him two armies that hate each other.”
 
Understanding flickered—then ignited. “They’ll turn on themselves.”
 
“It’s inevitable..”
 
Das shook her head, half in awe. “So that’s what you showed the Confederation.”
 
“No.” The word landed heavy.
 
“Then what?”
 
Raseka’s voice lowered. “They asked how the Sentinels survive what comes next.”
 
Das went still. “And?”
 
“I told them the truth.”
 
Das’s pulse spiked. “Which is?”
 
Raseka met her gaze. “That I’m releasing Julion’s magic.”
 
“You weren’t supposed to do that,” Das whispered after the sting subsided. “Not for a year.”
 
“We don’t have a year,” Raseka said. “We barely have a month.”
 
Das swallowed. “So, the Confederation approved altering the timeline?”
 
“No,” Raseka replied calmly. “They approved watching it happen.”
 
Das’s brows pinched hard. “But you never gave them an answer.”
 
Raseka’s eyes darkened. “I gave them inevitability.”
 
 
 
                                                                                CHAPTER 9
 
                                            MOVING UP THE TIMELINE HAS REPERCUSSIONS
 
 
The orb ship had passed mars, but instead of hovering above Earth, they headed toward a silver cord connected to Earth’s magnetic field. It flashed at the entrance into inter-dimensional space. They were headed to the dream realm. 
 
“A lot was supposed to happen before Julion’s magic was released.” Das muttered, her mind still reeling. 
“I know.” 
 
“A lot.” Das repeated. 
 
“I’m hoping what we’re about to do will result in Julion finding the amulet by the fall solstice.”
 
Das almost fell out of the chair. The fall solstice was a few weeks away! “What? And then what?”
 
Raseka looked at Das and shrugged. “Future timelines will reveal themselves as Julion makes new choices. But right now, the only thing that matters is that Julion believes in magic again.”
 
 
The horizon of the dream world was a perpetual twilight. Filled with billions of orbs, they looked like the stars in a night sky. 
 
Each hummed with the memories and dreams of an individual and drifted through a realm whose mysteries even confounded gods. Here anything was possible. 
 
It was also the realm where Noric did his greatest damage. Other warlords wielded telepathy like a blunt weapon. Noric understood seduction. The larger the ego, the easier the breach. He controlled them with commands that required no force—only a breath, and they unfolded with the cold logic of code.
 
Raseka and Das saw the orbs bound to him. They no longer resembled spherical crystals, but dark, wavering shapes that hovered like corrupted stars.
 
Das gripped the armrests and ignored her bruised lips as her teeth sank into the soft flesh. There was a problem Raseka didn’t seem to notice, and that problem had a name-- Asgaya. The goddess was the ruler over time and destiny, and she allowed no timelines to be bent without her blessing.
 
Das raised the concern gently. Their burdens were already heavy enough. Raseka dismissed it. If Julion didn’t believe in magic, she said, then Earth’s timelines were already unraveling.
 
Beyond them, Julion’s dream orb floated, its surface unsettled—something inside had shifted without resetting. Raseka understood what that meant: Julion had to go to Coriston. She had to stand in Noric’s war room and see, with her own eyes, what he planned to do to her world.
 
 
 
                                                                                     CHAPTER 10
 
                                         TRIBAL LAND- THE HOME OF THE CHEVEYAN WARRIORS
 
                                                                                  The Great Hall
 
Julion's future home was nestled beside a forest where foot soldiers used telepathy to listen in on the tribe’s intel. 
Within the forest, magic concealed a Great Hall. The other worldly construction was an exact replica of Kyron, the royal palace on the planet Cheveyo. It was just as handsome and consisted of the typical Orcan towers that circled the major and minor glass domes encased in gold valisium. When dusk fell, the Great Hall became a sparkling spectacle of art, thanks to the combined efforts of those who used their knowledge of magic and astronomy to harness the energy of the moon's light.
 
The territory of the Cheveyan tribe was a self-governed world unto itself. And the Hall was its own bustling city. 
Its corridors were busy with the activity of council members chatting about their next meeting, healers in long linen gowns hurrying to tend to the wounded and sentinels’ rowdy banter after sparring matches. 
 
The High Priestess, the ruler of Earth’s Cheveyan dynasty, began her morning by gazing out of the window where a misty field of first-level warriors trained to be sentinels under their instructor’s guidance. The sound of arrows striking targets was as consistent as a metronome, and the rhythmic clang of swords were accompanied by grunts and rough laughter. Their courageous, good-natured spirits always evoked a proud yet melancholic smile. She knew that some of them would never return from campaigns meant to defend a world oblivious of their sacrifices. 
Once she was done with her prayers and breakfast, her day would comprise of meetings and lessons where she taught young healers about magic and ancient Cheveyan lore. The healers needed to understand the risks inside the Realm of Healing where the god Azeban tested their humility by exploiting their desire to heal. It was also imperative that they learned about their ancestor’s extensive history with magic.  
 
She looked upon them all as daughters and when she had a spare moment in the late afternoon, would enjoy watching the healers race across the fields on horseback beside the warriors. Their riding abilities rivaled those of the fighters, and watching their competitive drive frequently brought a soft chuckle and a private wish for them to be the first to reach the ancient forest's border. 
 
Although the Great Hall was exquisite and diverting, the High Priestess was often overwhelmed by profound sadness. Her people loved her deeply, but she was separated from them. Foot soldiers roamed the forests, and venturing beyond the wall of protection was perilous for a Nakola. Her husband's death proved it. Yet the Cheveyan landowners who tilled the soil and the shopkeepers, who supplied the necessities for a good life, lived there in danger. 
 
As the sun began to set, the sound of guards pounding the marble as they patrolled the Hall, quieted. For the High Priestess, this was the best part of the day, and she found solace in sharing meals with two of the three people she trusted implicitly. Between the richly scented candles, the vibrant sky and the perfectly set table, this was the only time when the three of them could be themselves.
 
Blu-izi (Blu-eh-Zy) and Navi, both of whom shared Nakola blood had served in the war. They were young men, but since the death of her husband, Vizal, their expertise on the battlefield and their loyalty made them vital to the High Priestess. 
 
“Seneca wants to introduce a law banning youths from roughing up foot soldiers.” Navi said, his twinkling eyes at odds with his gruff tone. Premature gray strands mixed with his long ebony hair and shimmered in the candlelight. He shook his head at the thought, and the quiet mirth of several sentinels returning from their evening ride drifted up through the windows. “He asked if he could count on my support.” 
 
Navi’s last comment made the High Priestess smile. A relief from a long day, her bronze skin bright from a rush of blood . Blu chuckled. A rare sound from the warrior who retired young. 
 
“What did you say?” The High Priestess asked, unfolding a crips nakin and placing it on her lap. 
“I told him with a straight face that he had my support if he’d agree to the scribe’s interpretation of the Emissary Prophecy.” 
 
The High Priestess and Blu let out a brief burst of loud laughter. Seneca and his brother Montana staunchly defended the shape-shifter version and regarded the opposing view as heretical, practically deserving of death. 
The moment lost its beat as Alaquine flickered through Blu’s mind. It was without invitation. He didn’t see her face. He never did, only the moment she first drew her bow and sent it singing with fearless eyes. 
 
She was the only person who’d ever matched him blow for blow. The only one who’d made him believe there was more than war. That belief had died with her. 
 
“I wish I’d been there.” Blu said, the words carrying a double meaning.
 
“Do you think he has enough support for his ridiculous proposal?” Oheo asked. Though the youths weren’t encouraged to fight the foot soldiers, most of them wanted to serve in the war, and defending the land and the people was in their blood. The foot soldiers were Cheveyan Patrol’s responsibility, however, and when they came upon the youths, their harsh words were always laced with pride. And when the “hunters” as the youths were called, left a heap of badly beaten soldiers, patrol could barely contain their praise. 
 
Navi shook his head. "The council generally dislikes the foot soldiers more than the youths breaking the rules.” 
 
After the servant had poured the wine, they raised their glasses in a wordless toast. 
 
“And your day?” The High Priestess said, turning to Blu who was always in his head and too quiet. “How did it go?”
 
Blu glanced at Navi, his eyes shining darkly. “What is this, the third time I won every fencing bout?” His low tone roughened his voice, making it sound gravelly. 
 
“You train warriors. You have more practice at it than I do.” 
 
“It’s a poor loser who excuses his defeats.” 
 
“That’s my line.” Navi cracked his knuckles; they sounded like marbles colliding. 
 
“Mine now.” Blu said before he stuffed his mouth with buttered bread. 
 
The servant headed toward the door when a rushed knock preceded the guard entering the room with a look that screamed urgent news. 
 
"High Priestess... Alo," The guard bowed, pausing. He’d seen the scribe/master warlock, he was about to announce three times in all his life. Shrouded in mystery, scribes rarely left their quarters on the lower level of the Hall. They preferred the quiet, where they could spend their time divining astrological charts, receiving prophecies, and meditating. “Alo is here to see you.”  
 
The High Priestess’s chest lifted as a sharp breath filled her lungs, and her wine teetered to the edge of the glass.
“Send him in,” she said, her composure belying a pattering heart. The three nakolas exchanged a fleeting glance as the servant pattered behind the steady thud of the guard’s boots. 
 
Alo entered a moment later. His soundless slippers and trailing red robe gave the impression of gliding on air. The atmosphere thrummed with anticipation.
 
“Oheo,” he said, calling the High Priestess by her given name. He inclined his head, as if he hadn’t held her in his arms when she was a babe, or scolded her lovingly when he found the seven-year old wandering around the Scribe’s gardens. He had been close to both her father and mother before they returned to the home world and left the reign in Oheo’s hands. 
 
Long white hair contrasted sharply against his brown, ageless face. But today, his relaxed jaw was set on edge, and an unnerving silence replaced his customary candidness.
 
“What is it?” Oheo asked, her mind melding with his automatically. She knew his thoughts instantly, and her fingers gripped the delicate stem of the wineglass. When Navi penetrated the scribe’s mind, his heart pounded once before slamming against his chest. Blu attempted to meld with the scribe, but it was in vain. All he found was the wall of his own war-scarred mind imprisoning him in darkness.
 
“Great God of the skies,” Navi whispered, drawing a silent, pleading glance from Blu.
 
Alo’s head shook apologetically. “It was my mistake.” He began pacing toward the window while his mind envisioned the astrological chart he’d misinterpreted. Only now did the houses and the lines connecting them to celestial bodies tell a completely different story. He realized his error lay in assuming life would stay the same. Rarely had it changed as dramatically as the charts now suggested. 
 
“What mistake?” Blu grunted, frustrated. He’d been telepathically deaf since the battle that ended his career.
“It never dawned on me that a prophecy of a millennium past was now unfolding. My interpretation was in error.” Alo quietly explained. “The analysis of the Mars retrograde alignment was that it foreshadowed an uptick in the war.” His lips pressed into a hard line, his mind still unable to believe the words about to come out of his mouth.
 
“What did it refer to?” Blu asked. 
 
“The symbols referred to the ‘Master Star Seed’… the woman who would become our Emissary Orenda.” He took a deep breath and gestured widely. “The EO is soon to arrive in our territory. And the uptick in energy refers to the sentient Zapira tree awaiting her return.”
 
“Great God of the Skies,” Oheo whispered with a faraway look in her eyes. "Even Zapira feels her… The prophecy is within our reach."
 
Navi frowned. “But how could the chart refer to such different things?” Confusion danced inside his dark eyes. “The enemy mercenaries and the master star seed are inherently contradictory terms.”
 
Regret and amusement mingled on Alo’s face, softening his features into a wistful smile. “I think the master star seed will be… let me find the right words—” He looked up, thinking of the right phrase. “Quite a handful.” He finished with a soft mirth.   
 
Navi looked over at Blu. Brevity had always been his way, but age had sharpened it into something harder. His cousin’s chiseled features and muscled frame attracted attention, but none of it mattered until Alaquine- the archer who understood him like no one else. 
 
A marriage between them would have been impossible. But it didn’t matter in the end. She was killed in battle. And the mercenary that took her life took a piece of Blu with her.
 
“Well?” He asked Blu. 
 
“Well, what?”
 
“When we were kids, you dreamed about her all the time. You said she was a holy terror. Sounds like you were right.”
 
Blu winced as his eyes fell to the floor.  He regretted how unkind he had been as a boy. She hadn’t been as bad as that. 
 
He brushed his dark hair away from his face, a braid adorned with a feather was irritating the side of his neck. The action triggered a dream when the young emissary snatched a feather from his braid. It hurt- and he chased her across the field. To make matters worse, she turned the corner of the Hall, her long pigtails flying as she scrambled toward the scribe’s sacred garden. 
 
No one was allowed there, even in a dream. It was the place where Zapira stood as high as the Hall itself. Her black bark, striped in lines of lime, glowed with a powerful, ethereal presence. Zapira had always captivated the young emissary. She was sentient and ancient, the origin of all trees and plants. Her roots circled the planet, deciphering every moment of its history. 
 
“She wasn’t a holy terror- just headstrong.” Blu finally answered. 
 
 
Every generation hoped the Emissary would return during their lifetime and Blu’s hopes were no different. But he’d forgotten about her, and his warrior training banished those kinds of sentiments and replaced them with the brutal reality of combat. The thought of seeing her now felt surreal. 
 
“What do you know about her?” Navi asked, the touch of silver in his hair matching his iron-cool nerves. Being the oldest son of a former general, Navi had to learn early on how to endure injuries and obey strict orders. The only emotions he showed were anger or grit, and if anything softer seeped through, it meant something had cut to the core. 
 
Only a few years older than his cousin, Blu, at 36, Navi had rose to become the Minister of War. He alone oversaw the military and reported only to Oheo and High Command, a sector within the Confederation of planets.
“I need her exact date and time of birth, which I requested of Asgaya. But if the aspects that applied to the enemy, instead apply to her—"
 
“Correct me if I’m mistaken, but you thought the astrological alignments related to Coriston scientists upgrading mercenaries that would’ve been unstoppable.” Navi’s eyes narrowed, scanning his memory for all the details inside it. He shook his head. “What would an upgrade in mercenaries have in common with the master star seed?”  
 
Blu was in his own world, leaning forward, his chin resting on clasped hands, he was watching his dream-self chasing the child emissary. She was climbing the Zapira tree when he grabbed her leg. Her head whipped back to stare at him with a determination he’d never forget. She gritted her teeth and thrashed her foot against his hand until it bled. The memory brought a smile to his face, though at the time, he yelled that she was nothing but trouble.
 
“You are precisely correct,” Alo nodded, his gaze switching from Navi to Oheo who was eager to hear his response. “It wasn’t an upgrade in mercenaries. It was an upgrade in the Emissary.” 
 
 
 
                                                                                         CHAPTER 11
                                                                                   
                                                                                           MORE NEWS
 
 
The air inside the chambers crackled with supernatural energy while the dust motes floating through shafts of light flashed dangerously. Tension thinned the way it did before a god or goddess made an appearance. They served their purpose, but a visit from one never boded well. 
 
“According to the prophecy,” Alo began, hesitant, he hadn’t told them the rest of what he’d interpreted. “The master star seed doesn’t just shift the war.”
 
Navi’s throat tightened. “Then what does she shift?”
 
Alo lifted his eyes. There was caution in them, caution mixed with certainty. “She shifts the order.”
 
The words settled but didn’t compute. 
 
“She has deified blood,” Alo continued, his voice low. “But what’s written here… it isn’t a conflict between Earth and Coriston.” He looked toward the window, as though she’d suddenly called out to him. “It’s a conflict between the Emissary and the gods.”
 
Oheo’s fingers curled against the arm of her chair. “Say it plainly.”
 
Alo swallowed once. “She’ll have the ability to resurrect.”
 
The stillness that followed felt like an explosion of worlds. 
 
“Deities don’t tolerate mortals interfering with life and death,” he said, almost flinching. “Not even mortals with the blood of a goddess.”
 
Oheo forced herself to steal a glance at Blu. He was as unreadable as a marble statue. 
 
“Have you had dinner?” Oheo asked Alo. She didn’t want him to leave too soon. Not after what he’d just said. A silver tray sat nearby: the last of the bread, a dark bottle of wine, enough for two more glasses. Ordinary comforts, but she offered them for something more than comfort. 
 
Alo’s eyes flicked to the bread—tempted. He bowed, polite enough to hide how badly he wanted to return to his sanctuary. “There’s more deciphering to do,” he added, already stepping back. “We’ve had emissaries before, but none with aspects as dense as hers. I won’t assume anything this time.”
 
“And what do you need?” Navi asked.
 
Alo paused at the threshold. “Her time and date of birth.”
 
Oheo’s stomach sank.
 
“Asgaya,” he replied quietly. “Only she can give it.” He left the candles burning and the air thinning like a silent warning.
 
Oheo stared. Navi calculated its consequences. Blu felt only dread—for the goddess who punished anyone reckless enough to tamper with time.
 
 
                                                                            CHAPTER 12
                                             
                                                       TROUBLE BREWS BENEATH OLD WOUNDS
 
 
Muffled voices seeped through the heavy oak doors of the meeting chambers. A broad-shouldered guard posted there to prevent interruptions bowed before Oheo and the two Nakolas at her side. A pale splash of morning sun spilled through the dome above, glinting off his armor.
 
When he pulled the doors apart, the unexpected presence of the High Priestess silenced the room. Seconds later, screeching chairs replaced the stillness as council members rose to bow. Like fingers tracing braille, Oheo felt every eye searching her face, weighing whether her arrival carried good news or ill.
 
Her gaze swept the chamber as though she didn’t feel the intrusion, her expression a carefully crafted mask concealing her deep resistance to council business.
 
Vizal had reveled in intricate power plays, though he knew his wife’s feelings well. More than once he’d reminded her of the council’s role in maintaining the rule of law. Tradition mattered even more when you lived on a foreign planet. It was effortless for him to dismiss politics as a necessary game, but Oheo’s mother had cautioned her otherwise—on Earth, games were perilous, and deceit often hid behind friendly facades.
 
Updating them on Alo’s news was her duty, and she intended to fulfill it. That much was bearable. What wasn’t was answering endless questions that, at this stage, held little significance.
 
“It is a pleasure to see new members among the council,” she said, noticing two fresh faces.
 
The women had bright eyes. Perhaps their ideas were bright too. The council needed new blood—new perspectives to shake rigid thinking. They’d clearly met Blu and Navi before. As Nakolas, the men maintained seats on the council, and Blu had become their leader after retiring from the war.
 
The women received only a brief nod. Blu and Navi stood alert, ready to quell anything that teetered toward disorder. Oheo’s announcement would reopen old conflicts over the prophecy’s interpretation. And once Pandora’s box was opened, anything short of murder was possible.
 
She’d rehearsed her speech countless times, but now the words felt clumsy. She’d have to wing it. By nightfall, the entire tribe would know the prophecy was unfolding in their lifetime.
 
“I look forward to your future contributions,” Oheo said, stalling as the newcomers watched her expectantly.
The room grew eerily still, like the ocean before a storm. Oheo flicked her gaze to Blu and Navi, searching for cracks in their battle-hardened calm. Navi showed none. Blu’s hand was locked against the table, fingers drawn inward, knuckles drained of color. Oheo inhaled slowly, hoping his thoughts hadn’t slipped back to a battlefield. They had before.
 
“While I seldom attend these meetings,” she began, her voice steady, “I’m aware of your dedication to our traditions, and I thank you. I know you have business to attend to, so I won’t waste your time. Alo, our lead scribe, has relayed news concerning the prophecy of the master star seed.”
 
Her mind went briefly blank before she continued. “As you know, she will become our Emissary. It is unfolding—now, as I speak.”
 
Tension rumbled, then simmered, as unblinking eyes fixed on her.
 
“She arrives not only in our lifetime,” Oheo said quietly. “We anticipate her arrival any day now.”
 
Gasps rippled through the chamber, swelling into whispers as heads leaned together.
 
“What are we to do?” someone called out. “The prophecy says she won’t know her identity—or her destiny.”
 
“How will she find us?” another voice asked. “The Great Hall is cloaked.”
 
“Scout for newcomers,” Aurelia suggested calmly. Married to a descendant of British royalty once befriended by their founding Chief, she spoke as though she alone was thinking clearly. “Make inquiries about who has recently moved into our territory.”
 
Oheo took another breath. She’d expected debate over whether to share the prophecy—not panic over logistics. The miscalculation unsettled her.
 
Her gaze caught Montana and his brother Seneca exchanging a look. She could imagine the dark conclusions forming between them.
 
Yes, there was another prophecy. And no, she wouldn’t raise it. Why remind them that the master star seed would divide the tribe? They were already divided by a single line in the scroll:
 
She is first discovered in the form of a jeweled lion.
 
To Montana, Seneca, and a few others, it meant a shapeshifting envoy. But Alo—who had met gods and goddesses—knew it was metaphor. The argument was old, but its wounds cut deep.
 
Oheo glanced at Navi and Blu. They’d seen the exchange and stood ready to silence it.
 
“May I ask a question?” a melodic voice rose.
 
Oheo nodded.
 
“Won’t she be drawn to the forest where the foot soldiers are?”
 
Oheo was about to answer when she felt Montana’s gaze drinking her in. It skirted on violation. Her mind melded with his—silent, undetected.
 
She’s too elegant, he thought. Hair like black ice—hours of preparation. Draped like a mantle. Vizal’s wife should be a mother to us all, not a siren who carries courage like a weapon.
 
“Her presence will be felt by our head scribe and the others,” Oheo said evenly. “Cheveyan patrol will protect her.
 
No evil will touch her. Trust the prophecies—they come from the purest realms.”
 
She forced a smile, checking Navi and Blu. Her heart stalled.
 
Blu’s eyes were unfocused.
 
Magic rippled from Navi. His hands were hidden beneath the table, forming a tranquility spell. It slammed uselessly against Blu’s mind.
 
Oheo melded with him—and the battlefield swallowed her. Dark magic and light clashed as sentinels pushed against mercenaries guarding Noric’s thoughts streaming across the astral skies.
 
Blu’s breathing was heavy, sweat slick on his brow. The last time this happened, someone had been badly hurt.
Navi stiffened. Blu’s emotions spiked—then broke. A long, shaky sigh escaped him. His fists unclenched. Fingers unfurled, the spell held.
 
 
                                                                                CHAPTER 13
 
                                                                     THE HEALERS CHAMBERS
                                                                  
 
“We need to leave,” Navi murmured. “If we’re to keep our meeting with Alo.”
 
Oheo agreed instantly. Navi met Blu’s gaze; Blu nodded once. His chair scraped against the marble as the doors opened.
 
The guard reentered, a young healer following several steps behind him. Annoyance flickered into curiosity as the room’s attention fixed on the nervous girl in a pale linen gown pooling around her slippers.
 
“High Priestess,” the guard said carefully, “the junior healer insists on an audience.”
 
The young girl stepped forward, eyes wide, fingers twisting together. She faltered, uncertain where to begin.
 
“What is it, child?” Oheo asked, her awareness rippling toward the girl.
 
Encouraged, she took three more steps—then froze as Montana’s gaze locked onto her. A hand rose instinctively to her throat before an invisible cloak snapped into place.
 
Spines stiffened. A charge surged through the room. Cloaking in the High Priestess’s presence was an offense—one that carried consequences.
 
But Oheo saw the girl’s trembling lips. The young healer wasn’t defying her.
Oheo briskly concluded the meeting. Motioning to Blu and Navi, she summoned the girl and turned toward the doors.
 
Montana’s booming voice cut through the tangled chatter behind them. “Fetch her!” He barked, snapping the guard to attention. “Fetch her!” he repeated, a vein as thick as a finger pulsing at his neck. “She must answer for her violation!”
 
Oheo’s mind split between two concerns—the healer at her side and Blu, who had already spun around, heading back toward the chamber.
 
The young healer let out a soft whimper. She would have heard the stories and known about Blu’s weekly treatments after brutal sparring matches when he was pushed too far.
 
Oheo and Navi exchanged a look relief as the chamber doors closed before Blu could reach them. The guard had already quelled Montana’s impertinence, swift and without incident.
 
A torrent of apologies spilled from the young healer as her cloak dissolved. Oheo merged into her mind—Navi would have too. In seconds, Oheo understood everything. Blu alone was left to rely on his five senses for deduction.
She considered telling him what she’d seen. But she hoped it wasn’t all true. She hoped it was truth tangled with the raw, immature emotions of a frightened girl.
 
“I didn’t want the other members to know,” the healer said, fingers worrying the gem at her throat. “Will they reprimand me?”
 
“Don’t trouble yourself, child,” Oheo replied, masking the unease stirred by the images still drifting through her thoughts.
 
Navi walked on the healer’s other side, his tension plain—jaw flexing, gaze unfocused. Blu stayed close to Oheo, the heat of his body bleeding through the dark blue sleeves of her gown.
 
His eyes were fixed ahead, toward the corridor on the left—the one he’d frequented as a boy. Beyond its windows lay the scribes’ gardens. At twilight, enchantments stirred there, portals blooming across the corridor like living things, some wide enough to step through. They had once captivated him and the other children.
 
A healer darted from that corridor into another hall. They were headed the same way, and Oheo saw Blu turn his face aside—perhaps sensing the same dread the rest of them felt. For them, there was a reason, but for Blu, only the pull of intuition.
 
They passed the room where families prayed for their loved ones and the wounded. Beyond it, the hall held only healing chambers—two. One for warriors who could be saved and one for those who couldn’t. They were headed to one of them. 
 

 

CHAPTER 14-20 Julion befriends Max and Vixbi and begins to suspect they are "wind chasers".  She later suspects that the tribe is fighting in some kind of battle hidden from the rest of the world and that the war is taking its toll on the tribe.  Chapters 14-19

 

CHAPTER 20-26 Juion admits the truth to Max, and tells him she knows he's a wind chaser.  And after Julion seems to heal Max from an attack that has his body blazing hot, Max admits he has an affliction that may take his life.  Shortly after Max's confession, Vixbi is forced to bring Julion into their secret lives to save Max who's dying from his affliction. Unfortunately, Julion's unsanctioned entry into the tribe's world is to the council, a violation worthy of banishment.  and Julion is exiled in the middle of an arctic winter, to the 'outlands.'Chapter 20-26