“We few bare witness for the whole of our Stj?rnrike today,” spoke an imposing man from where he stood upon the dais.

  He was taller than any Jara had seen, draped in furs and embroidered finery. His scalp was bare, his usual crown removed for the sake of reverence. His presence, booming; his voice, tinged with sorrow; his power evident, Jara knew him to be ruler of all Odeen, Teikun Isan-uke no-Stj?rnrike Pael Gunma.

  “Prayers are given for the fallen as they start their journey to the pure-land shores of Jōdō-val,” he continued, “Though their bodies were lost, their souls remain with us. Today we give them leave to venture to the halls of the fallen.”

  They stood in a small gathering of imperial officials, warrior clan leaders, and various other dignitaries from throughout the worlds of the Odeen, each more varied than the next. Despite their differences, their unifying factor remained the same. It was here, on Drassil, that the first of the Odeen became Odeen. Here that the Stj?rnrike sprang forth, that they became something separate from the rest of humanity. The whole of Odeen space sat entirely outside what was known by the rest of the Rift Quarter as the Human Hold World, save for one world that straddled both regions – Drassil itself.

  Bewildered at the thought of it, Jara found herself among the fabled, living heroes and idols among their people. These men and women that surrounded her were the greats, in both status and stature; some standing nearly three metres tall, imposing figures that dwarfed the typical human. They were the pinnacle of human evolution and genetic engineering, and they were here in a wake to honour the dead; her dead.

  The hall they were in was even more ornately decorated than her hospital quarters for the past weeks, with runic carvings worming their way up black glass columns to the massive vaulted ceiling some thirty metres overhead. Depictions of both battles and peacetime festivals were hand painted on silk tapestries, the most prominent one showing the pure-land Jōdō-val, its crystal clear waters and cherry blossom wilds dotted with twilight lanterns.

  Three hooded figures stepped out from the walls that surrounded them. They began to hum with every step as their voices reverberated throughout the hall. As the sound reached a crescendo, they began to sing and Jara immediately recognized the words.

  “Trust your brothers,

  trust your sisters!

  Here comes glory, glory,

  oh bloody and hardfought glory!

  “You’ve won glory,

  You’ve won glory!

  Brothers, sisters,

  Sons, and daughters.

  Trust your brothers,

  trust your sisters!

  Here comes glory, glory,

  oh bloody and hardfought glory!

  Give rest to those, Brave,

  that give us hard-won peace.”

  Bael stood next to her and held her hand tightly. His soft eyes and smile betrayed his own sadness at the loss of Valrakee, a blow to all of their people. Even Teikun Gunma appeared sincere in his sorrow. His words were not practised, nor rehearsed, but shaky, crackling, and prideful in reverence.

  On her other side stood a steely Jarl Gand, his usual demure cracked and muddled with malaise.

  Pael Gunma scanned the group and found her, locking his eyes with Jara’s. It was unnerving to have such a prominent figure, the Teikun himself, reduced to something so human. And to be looking back at him through shared sorrow was almost too much to bear.

  Jara tried her best to focus, to listen and soak up the words that would echo forever in these halls, almost as if these might be the last words ever spoken of her home, of the valiant warriors that defended it, and of her poor, sweet father. She could remember Jonothen in those last moments two years ago, only a handful of weeks for her in relativistic time; his fear masked, his love and hope for her to survive pushed her to tears.

  Bael wrapped her under his arm with his layered furs and squeezed. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know what future she even had after today, and frankly it didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter as she wept into Bael’s chest all while the singing continued around her.

  …

  It wasn’t until the next day that Jara heard from anyone outside her hospital quarters. Dr. Logantr hadn’t been by since her final checkup and she hadn’t seen Jarl Gand since the wake. She had almost resigned herself to another day nestled in her pillow until a man entered in a naval cloak bearing the insignia of a wolf.

  “Forgive me, Jara,” said the man, his voice a clean cut and dry as his posture, “Jarl Kagawa sent me to collect you.”

  “Collect me?” Jara asked, wiping sleep from her eye.

  “Well, you can’t spend forever in a hospital bed,” said the man with a smirk, “even if it is as nice as the Teikun’s’”

  Jara sighed and sat up. She felt this day coming, knew that now her use as a witness was now diminished, that she’d be kicked out to fend for herself into whatever slum existed on Drassil. She had no hope, no prospects, no skills. Surely they knew that too.

  “I’ll get my things and see myself out,” she said, not knowing what things even she was referring to. “Can I at least ask the name of my evictor?”

  “See yourself out? No– I think you might’ve have confused yourself there,” he said with a cocked head, “I’m Lieutenant Commander Wulm Baden, personal sanbō to the Jarl. I’m here to bring you to his estate ahead of tonight’s celebrations.”

  “Why would I be needed at the Jarl’s estate? He’s been nice to me, but I don’t know anything more about the attack than what I’ve told him. I’m not even sure why I’m still here… alive…”

  “Your usefulness is not what’s in question, Jara,” said Wulm. “Come with me. Trust me, it will be well worth your time.”

  Jara picked herself out of bed, apprehensive to how ominous Wulm was being. She made a show of packing her things – a nearly empty luggage case with the few tunics that she’d been offered the use of while in hospital. The fabrics were expensive feeling, some sort of blend of silk and linen, and she wasn’t even sure if she should be taking them. But she figured someone would say something as she headed for the palace’s exit.

  But no– following Wulm out of the hospital wing and out of the Teikun’s palace for the first time since her arrival on Drassil, no one tried to stop them. In fact, Jara was surprised to see how many doors opened for them as they walked, and just how many guards looked her over and let her leave, even bowing as they did – a level of acknowledgement that Jara found unnerving.

  Drassil’s red giant sun, Muspel, hung high above the city like a roiling beacon. The palace grounds were on a high hill overlooking the colourful structures below. Due to the planet’s larger size – about forty-five percent the diameter of humanity’s origin – a higher than average gravity restricted the height of everything on the world. The skyline was squat and spread out far past the horizon to the west and east, with a rounded and almost deflated-looking mountain south and immediately ahead of her with the rest of the land in most directions looking near-perfectly flat in comparison.

  It wasn’t just the environment or the structures that were affected by the higher gravity; the people – all Odeen in fact – were a consequence of their founding on Drassil. Their mastery of genetics and the initial settlers’ will to adapt to their new home transformed them, manifesting in the opposite direction of the stunted environment. They slowly grew taller, more robust, and hardened in the face of gravitational adversity. And over the hundreds of years of their isolation before they retook to the stars, they further drifted from the humans that came before. They were Odeen now, figures of might and valour, heroes in their athletic prowess matched only by the myths of their long forgotten past.

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  The courtyards outside the palace were filled with people dressed in finery going about their business. Aside from Wulm and the many passing guards who honoured her with discreet nods, no one seemed to pay them any mind.

  “How far is Jarl Kagawa’s estate?” Jara asked the back of Wulm’s head. She was growing tired and realised after making their way through the tightly trimmed hedges and expertly-tended, winding rows of flower and cactus gardens, that this was the farthest she’d walked in one go since her recovery– since her surgery– since the attack that took everything from her…

  “Not far now,” assured Wulm, “most of the Jarls and higher servants of the Teikun have their estates connected to the Imperial Courtyard. He likes to keep his advisers close.”

  “All of the Jarls on Drassil live here?” Jara asked.

  “Most of them have token residences here, with their true homes closer to their own domain. Jarl Gand’s for instance is on the eastern edge of the capital, out near the Hjalmaborg – our main military academy.”

  “Is Jarl Kagawa’s home out by the Hjalmaborg too?”

  Wulm stopped and turned to face Jara.

  “Do you know who Jarl Kagawa is– I mean who he truly is?” Wulm pressed.

  Jara shook her head. “I’ve lived on Valrakee Station my whole life. We didn’t learn much about the Stj?rnrike apart from Pael Gunma’s house and the history of Drassil. Current events aren't much use to us out there.”

  “I’d have thought you’d surely know the name of Black Dog, the warrior that led the fleet against the Last Free Fleet of The Lopaul Gren over the planet Akinwa – a vicious and hard-won victory.”

  Jara shrugged.

  “No? Really…” he said, surprised, “_what _do they teach in the outer colonies? Well I’m sure the Jarl can bring you up to speed. Just know that for the glory displayed above Akinwa, The Teikun uplifted Black Dog into Jarldom, giving him second seat – equal now only to Jarl Gand. Since Jarl Gand overseas the armies planetside, that means–”

  “Bael is in charge of the whole of the Stj?rnrike’s fleet?!” Jara blurted out in astonishment.

  “Bingo.”

  “And he wants to see me?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Why?”

  “My girl,” Wulm said, his own patience waning, “he means to adopt you.”

  Jara stood there, stunned, as her world began to spin. It still only felt like weeks since she last saw her father alive, his worried smile still burned into the back of her mind. How could she turn her back on him so swiftly?

  Not sure what to do with that information, she remained still, her eyes moving across the near endless rows of beauty that lined the opulent courtyard. She turned to look back at the palace she just came from, not looming over her from atop the highest hill for kilometres. Was she to live here, she thought, was she to be just like the fancy-dressed officials that moved around her – to become this place?

  “I can feel your death spiral from here,” Wulm said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Look, just follow me. You don’t need to decide anything at this moment. I wasn’t even supposed to say anything. So, act surprised when he asks you, yes?”

  “We’re going to see him?” she asked, panic creeping its way in, “now?”

  “Now,” he nodded.

  Jarl Bael “Black Dog” Kagawa, victor over Akinwa, Second Seat of the Teikun, Commander of the entire navy, waited for her to arrive from just outside the door to his estate. He stood there smiling, his hand tucked into his dress robes, his normally unkempt beard and hair tightly braided and tied with ribbon; the most regal yet unassuming man she’d ever met. And here he stood, his warmth inviting her in, to stay, to call his home hers.

  The estate’s facade echoed someone else’s personality entirely, with an unsettling level of gaudiness that reminded Jara of Jarl Gand – if she had to pick someone, and was most certainly not a reflection of the modest man that stood ahead of her.

  Jara hesitated, her heart jumping into her throat as her face flushed. Bael turned to Wulm and cocked his head.

  “You couldn’t help yourself,” he said to Wulm.

  The Lieutenant Commander shrugged. “Time’s ticking. Had to get her to move or we’d be late for the party.”

  …

  Two hours later, Jara was seated at a table with Bael to her left and Jarl Gand to her right with an empty seat separating the two of them. Wulm was seated on Bael’s other side with other dignitaries and officials flanking them on the longtable that faced the rest of the Palace’s courtyard.

  Seated in a modest woven throne directly across the longtable from Bael and her was the Teikun himself, a figure of such untouchable clout to a lowborn station dweller like her. And yet, there he was, Odeen and in the flesh, happily pulling breast meat off the roast chicken in front of him with his fingers. Jara found it simultaneously uncanny and oddly calming. To be sat amongst heroes – starstruck with awe – but to welcomed so warmly by Bael and his invitation, Jara’s feet started to itch.

  Bael, noticing her discomfort, leaned over to her.

  “You’re alright?” he asked.

  “I’m– yes,” Jara said, stifling her anxiety.

  “Good, good,” he said with a smile, “I only ask because you’re gripping your fork rather tightly.”

  Jara looked down. Without noticing, she’d started to bend the golden fork in on itself.

  “Oh, shoot,” she said, dropping the fork.

  “You sure you’re not a touch tense?” Bael said, laughing softly.

  “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “I just feel like–”

  “Like you don’t belong here?” Bael finished her words, his face suddenly serious.

  Jara gulped.

  “Well, don’t,” Bael said, his smile returning, “You’re my guest here. Look where you are, who’s company you’re in. Take it all in and try to enjoy yourself. You, of anyone here, is most deserving.”

  Bael handed her his fork.

  “Try the chicken.”

  Jara sighed, “I’m nothing special, and I just can’t shake the feeling that I stand out. Even the food is so different.”

  She prodded the chicken leg on her plate with her fork. Growing up she’d only had fresh meat on very special occasions, and never ripe off the bone before. She peeled some of the meat off and took a nibble.

  “Why did Wulm say you wanted to adopt me?” Jara said pointedly.

  It was Bael’s turn to look uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to discuss it before now, truly,” he said, shifting his weight in his seat, “And to be honest this isn’t a topic easily broached.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Jara said, “You don’t need to feel like you or anyone needs to take responsibility for me. Besides, it still feels like I only lost my father a few days ago.”

  “You’re still very young, Jara. You still have a lot of growing up to do, despite what you’ve been through,” he said, his eyes soft, “I’m not trying to replace your father. I only want to give you the freedom and space to heal.”

  “I’m not good at much, and I can’t really help track down missing Valrakee.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Tragedy can strike us all, it’s a matter solely for the gods.”

  “I don’t remember anything more, I wish I did.”

  “Though I don't doubt how helpful that would be, no one does.”

  “Then why would you care to help me so much?”

  “Simply because you need it, nothing more,” Bael said, “focus on living Jara. You’ve been given a chance that no others from Valrakee have been given. Do your father proud and make something of yourself.”

  Jara sighed again, her itchiness diminishing. She leaned back in her seat. She ran her fingers down the back of her neck, barely able to feel her scar.

  An aerie feeling began to creep up her spine. The rush of footsteps, of rifle-fire, of the warriors’ battle-hymns, it all felt so fresh – still so real. That’s when she realised, someone was staring at her.

  She looked up to see Teikun Gunma himself lock eyes with hers. He had long since finished his plate and was now gripping a tall frosted mug of ale.

  Unsure of what to do or say, she blurted out; “Thank you for letting me stay with you– at the hospital bed in your palace, I mean.”

  The Teikun grinned, “It was my pleasure. Anything for Bael, here. It was at his request that you get the best treatment. There is no better in all of the Quarter than my private doctors.”

  Jara nodded, not sure what else to say.

  “I’m no beast,” the Teikun said, “I don’t bite.”

  “I am sorry, your greatness. I have never met royalty before, I am afraid I don’t know how to act.”

  “You’re doing fine, girl. Daughter of Jonothen, Child of Valrakee, you do your people proud,” he assured her between kingly sips of his beer, “Truly fortunate that you can be here with us today.”

  He raised his mug and in a booming voice called to those seated at the longtable, and to those seated throughout the courtyard.

  “To Jara Pell, and to those lost on Valrakee. May each of you find peace in this life and the next.”

  The crowd returned his words with a cheer, a stark contrast to the solemnity of today’s wake.

  “Now let us not dwell too much on things we cannot change. Let us celebrate the gifts we are given, whether they be health, friends, or even newfound family.”

  And with that, fireworks flared and sparkled at the other end of the courtyard heralding the arrival of the main event. A troupe of fire dancers piled in as the beats of the drums started, each wielding a unique assortment of flaming weapons and other implements.

  One twirled a pair of batons with fist sized flames on the ends of each. Next, two twirled larger staffs with larger flames still. Next, a woman spun then tossed a flame-laden hoop into the air ahead of her only to run and leap through it, catching it as she landed. Behind her came a dancer swinging a lit ball on the end of a long chain that sailed over Jara’s head as she approached, which sent the audience into an uproar. Finally, two twin dancers raced onto the stage, each clutching a pair of javelins which they tossed at each other through the fray, effortlessly missing the other dancers, dodging and catching each javelin before they could sail past.

  Jara found herself enthralled. The flames glided around the dancers’ bodies with ease, the weapons tossed and moved as if they were wielded by veteran warriors, and their footsteps kept the rhythm of the drum beats. In the dim lights of the courtyard, beneath the faded sky of dusk, the firelights moved as if they were alive.

  Finally feeling a semblance of belonging, of peace, Jara leaned back to Bael.

  “I dreamed while I was in the cryo pod.”

  “Oh?” he asked, both of their eyes still locked on the movements of the fire dancers.

  “I dreamt I was flying over a lush valley of wilderness and at the end of my flight there was this man.”

  “Your father?”

  “No, not my father. No one from Valrakee, or anyone I think I’ve met before, or at least… It felt like I knew him.”

  Bael took a moment before answering, “Our minds have ways of protecting us when our bodies need time to heal.”

  “Maybe,” she said, letting her mind drift back to the troupe of fire dancers.

  The drums continued to beat, the fire dancer continued to move, the stars overhead glimmering along with the lights of the dancers’ flames.

  Jara sat next to her new adopted guardian, at a table with the most important people in all of Odeen space, watching a fabulous display of raw athleticism and artistry. From her seat, she was still uncomfortable, despite the assurances of Bael and the Teikun himself. Yet across the courtyard from them, twirling batons and other fiery weapons, were a group of people Jara suddenly found herself fantasising about being in their place, doing what they did– a calling that pulled her to want to learn to do what they did so effortlessly.

  A year after she had awoken after the attack that took her life from her, Jara stepped onto the stage flanked by the rest of her fire dancer troupe in her first ever performance.