by Shay Zana
Here, I am cradled in the glades of bioluminescence, a city of light hiding within the planet. Nefnala sings to me, calling me to its depths of life.
Deo fills his eyes with the sight of the woman draped over his chest, her head subtly rising and falling with each breath he takes. She sleeps so peacefully, barely stirring, her breathing balanced and soft. His fingers continue to stroke through her thick, luscious hair, travelling down its length to where it curtains over her shoulder, allowing his finger to travel her soft skin.
He could not sleep, instead just watching her. How could he? His hours are numbered, and he had just made the most stupid decision in his entire life. To fraternize with his Cipher. Does he regret it? No. But that does not make it any less stupid. He does not care so much about his own honour, just his fathers. And what about her? What will her people do to her if this scandal gets out? He will be leaving her alone to face the consequences while he goes kamikaze inside a star.
Taking a long, wistful look at her, Deo carefully moves her aside and slips away, sitting on the edge of the bed to gather his thoughts. Blank. He swipes a hand down his face and heads for the en-suite, splashing cold water at his face and attempting to gather his thoughts there. No luck, just a frown staring at him through the mirror. What has he done?
Dipping his head, he leans into the vanity and releases a heated sigh, holding dormant until a rustle of silk carries to his eardrums. He must have woken her. He rounds the wall to see her sitting up in the middle of the bed, the sheets wrapped across her nudity, hair tousled, skin dewy. Her face is a blend of sleepiness and disappointment until she spots him.
“I thought you had gone,” she admits somewhat shyly.
Deo gawks for a moment before comprehending, but now has to usher a light chuckle. “Yeah, I know I’m an asshole, but I’m not that much of an asshole.” He leans against the wall separating off the en-suite and crosses his arms, returning the smile that curves her features.
Kitera takes the moment to engulf her senses in his presence. Memories of their love are still warm with the thought of him, his powerful passion and tender affection. In some moments, his power was too much for her, strength not adapted for a woman such as herself, the soft bruises beginning to form. He had probably only ever been with Paragon women, and she did not care about a little pain when the pleasure was so much more apparent. But now that the bruises are beginning to evolve into their displays, he will soon notice.
Sure enough, she sees an acute concentration in his eyes, and his brow creases as he unfolds his arms and approaches. “Are you bruised?” He kneels before her and reaches for the sheet covering her torso, peeling it away to reveal the bruising along her body, subtle, but enough to bring on a thumping in his temples. “Did I do that to you?”
Shattered by the intense disgrace and guilt written across his face, Kitera shakes her head and reaches for his stubbled jaw. “Do not feel guilt. It was worth it.” She pulls him in closer and gently buries a kiss in his furrowed brow, breaking away to peer down at his face again. The furrowing is still occupying his features, but a look of admiration has taken its place beneath.
“Shit. Kiya, I’m so sorry,” he whispers almost absently, moving up to sit on the edge of the bed, back to her, reluctant to even touch her, shame overriding him.
Kitera sits back for a moment, unsure how to approach such a rigid man in a moment of weakness. She crawls closer and embraces him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder and running her fingertip lightly across his prominent scar. She feels him stiffen for a moment before relaxing.
They remain like this for a while, dreading the mission, wishing for an escape. The candles are still burning, adding a warming effect to the cool radiance of the ship. Soft aromas slide on rifts of smoke, hazing the small expanse in a lulling atmosphere. Often, rivers of entity drift through the foundations or throb at pulse points, inducing shifts in the internal structure like a metal womb. The two are faintly aware of the subtle disturbances in their environment, more aware of each other.
After intimately mapping out Deo’s scar with her finger, Kitera asks, “how did this happen?”
“Training exercise,” Deo provides openly. “I was sparring with Lucien... my father. Blades only. Things got a bit out of hand.”
She frowns, still sweeping his skin slowly. “You fought?”
It takes a moment for him to elaborate. “Lucien and I never saw eye to eye. Too alike, I guess. Good banter always had a way of going south.” Suddenly, he snorts and shakes his head. “Was always a hard-arse. Heart of gold, but skin of nikita.”
“He sounds like his son,” she teases, pleased with the response of an amused huff. Is now a good time for her to tell him about his father? Should she tell him? Does he even need to know? What if he does not take it well? Of course he will not. It will affect his focus on the mission, make him liable to fail, overwhelm him with hatred and rage. Options rattle at her harrowingly, torturing her in an orbiting trial. She just sighs and nuzzles into his shoulder.
“You?” he swaps the focus. “Family?”
“Dead.”
He angles himself back at her silently, waiting for an elaboration but sensing nothing incoming. “You wanna...” he begins to ask if she wishes to talk about it.
“No,” she whispers quickly to cut him off. “It is a story that will only make you despise death more.” After a length of silence, she perks up again and shuffles herself even closer to his back, draping her legs around him intimately. “Tell me more about your family.”
He rumbles with amusement at her tact. “Well, there’s my mother. She was there at the departure if you remember. Warned me about you, actually. Told me not to let you push me around.” He laughs again as nostalgia floods in with his memories. “I think I did a good job, there.”
Kitera hums, her fingers drawing little circles around small scars on his back before snaking them under his arms and to his chest, sighing in the pleasure of his body against hers.
Without warning, Deo twists and takes her within his arms, plucking her from the bed and dragging the sheets along with her. She finds herself propped on his lap, staring deeply into those thoughtful eyes as they gaze back, golden bands hugging the pupils. A hidden curiosity ignites a smile on his face.
“My turn,” he grins, “what’s this thing?” His fingers slide down the leather cord from her neck and brush the delicate silver pendent at the end.
He has obviously been craving the answer for some time, Kitera concludes by the intensity in his eyes as he gently holds it in his fingers. “It is my mark. All Nefnala have a unique marking, given at birth. Sealed within the amulet is a meld of shii and my blood, symbolizing my connection with the ecology of Nefnala itself. It was once believed that when the blood was captured within the amulet, it would represent our spirits to the Zodiacs, enabling a smoother link to the spirit world. Since this tradition took place, we have gained more wisdom to the complexities of our connection with the Zodiacs, but the tradition holds.”
Deo examines the pendent more closely. “What would happen if it broke?”
“It is considered a bad omen. But breakage is rare. The mark is carved from dead tikal leaves, crystallized if expired in a translucent state.”
Deo rests the pendent back to her chest, allowing his fingers to drift along her collarbone. “Nefnala sounds beautiful. Shame I’ll never see it.”
Her slender hands rise to stroke his face, tracing his features lightly as if to etch his face forever in her memories. The soft frown lines ingrained in his forehead, his full, hard brows, his shadowed, expressive eyes, usually hard but now tender, the slight darkness beneath them that colour the minor engravings of laugh lines. Her fingers fall down his straight-bridged nose, sweep along his cheeks out to his cheekbones, and curl down his sideburns, exploring the rough texture of his facial hair as it travels over his strong jaw toward his neck. Ending their journey, her fingertips sail to his firm lips as they reach to kiss hers briefly.
Both of their smiles fade as they retract, foreheads pressing together.
Clad in his vitasuit, Boone stares out of the portside observatory at Brutus in the distance, its intrepid golden light filtered by Altair’s screen. Their course is set for Brutus Superior, the first planet in orbit, and Mazayus estimated for their ETA to be less than two seconds once they set off from Brutus. But there is something that must be done before any of them depart, their Cipher had insisted upon it.
With a swipe of his hand, Boone enlarges the view of Brutus and watches peacefully as its boiling surface undulates like rivers of lava. Brutus reminds him so much of the Sun as its rich light pours on him, and he wishes he can see Earth one last time.
“You better be worth it, buddy,” he warns the dying star.
Mazayus’ approach can be heard from behind, heavy footsteps dulled with balanced movements. He places a sturdy hand on Boone’s shoulder. “That’s up to our Cipher, now.”
Soon, Natheus and Deo join the alluring heat and hue of Brutus as its emanation curls around the sentient vessel, feeding it willingly. The Paragons can also feel the slight refreshing tingle sweep through them as their entities absorb the star energy cast out, energizing their hosts. As the soldiers dwell on the heavenly light spearing through them, its brightness burning away the fear they were trained not to feel, their Cipher enters the room, barefoot and step nimble.
Their artificial senses prick at the soft sound of her approach, turning to regard her, her face obscured by a sheer golden veil that falls over her nose and mouth. The veil is adorned with many glistening white jewels. Upon the closer inspection that their enhanced senses make compulsory, they notice her eyes are thickly framed with false lashes made of white feathers that extend far beyond her natural lashes. Her face is painted in tribal patterns with glowing silver markings, three finger-dots beneath her eyes, a thick line above each brow, down the centre of her nose bridge, and an intricate pattern on her forehead that slightly resembles a fountain of water. Deo knows that this paint is the shii, and that the pattern on her forehead is her Nefnala marking.
On her body she wears a sparse golden and white garb flowing with falling robes and hanging material. Painted on her are more patterns of shii, almost setting to a white as they dry to her skin, visible down her arms, legs, stomach, chest and shoulders. For once, she is not wearing any jewellery aside from a white feather in her long black hair. To Deo, she looks like a goddess gracing them with her untainted beauty.
“Alira mokana,” she says soothingly. “Our time has come. Are you ready?”
The four Paragons simultaneously bow with trained formality, and in response to their respect, Kitera lifts her chin higher in an attempt to hide the teary pressure filling behind her eyes. She must remain strong for them. Her face veil conceals her clenched jaw.
They follow her through the ship and down into the cybergrid arena, their silence drawing on and creating an unworldly atmosphere. Coldness settles in their stomachs as their minds are able to wander and play over the mission to come, the unknown pecking at them.
At last, Kitera comes to a halt in the centre of the simulation room and opens her datakey above her palm, interacting with the cybergrid. A moment later, holographic hexagons swim in every direction before a white light blinds them. When the ashen light fades, a view of an illuminated cave fills their eyes. The cave is more like an underground city of bioluminescent ferns, roots, and silver pools, streams, and waterfalls. Glowing silver markings ingrain the cave walls, just like the markings on Kitera’s body, and the air owns a soft scent mixed with that of fresh and dewy nature. The cave stretches on for as far as the augmented eye can see.
“This is Nefnala,” Kitera announces proudly, watching all of their faces as they gape at the bioluminescent beauty surrounding them. “The Planet of the People of the Zodiacs. I will perform the Sacrificial Ritual, Verilai’Sina, but one has never been performed with Paragons.”
The soldiers all skim their eyes over the representation of the beautiful caves surrounding them, watching the silver fluid leak from the cave walls and trickle down into streams where they eventually gather in pools, only to be drained off again in a narrow creek and led elsewhere within the depths of the planet. Highlighted shrubs drape to curtain over paths, an interconnected system of flourishing plants weaving all throughout the underground environment, some translucent, others fully transparent.
The Nefnala woman smiles at their obvious awe. “No one but my people have ever seen Nefnala, it has only ever been witnessed from orbit. You are the first.” She lowers her head shyly to hide a crimson flush. “You deserve the honour... To break the rules.” Passing a glance to Deo, she sees his eyes glint back mischievously. “Come,” she directs them on.
They follow, and as she leads them through the weaving tunnels and vast rocky chasms, she explains to them of Nefnala and its people. “The underground caves of Nefnala, Umit’Nef, travel deeply within the planet, spanning far across all continents and beneath every ocean. The Nefnala people are adept at the art of swimming, at home in the water, and we are accustomed to travelling within underwater caves to reach sacred sites or hunt sea animals for nutrition. We do not hunt for meat often, as the shii fluid from the tikal ferns sustain all of our dietary needs, but for special occasions, meat is hunted and greatly honoured. We survive on various fruits, vegetables, seeds, and grains, and because of the lack of sustaining meat, food gathering is crucial to our survival. Knowledge of our environment is taught young. We are natural omnivorous predators as human beings, and so it is natural for us to hunt and prey on flesh. Though just because the circle of life and the way of predator and prey is natural to us, we try to make our kills as quick and painless as possible, and will honour the spirit after it has departed from the body, sending it to the Zodiacs.”
Kitera gestures toward several Cipher glyphs on the cave walls, all written in glowing shii, and all alien to the Paragons. “The Ancient Codex. These writings tell of our past, our history. They are duplicates of the writings that the Ancient Ciphers left within caves on Earth, engraved into the stone to guide their later generations. It was by these ancient writings that we learnt of our danger to non-Ciphers, the Tovako.” She smiles as she reads them all, gliding her hands over them but never touching them. “All of them telling of unique stories and memories that inspire us to heal and respect.”
For a long time, they travel through the caves in silence, the silver shii lighting their way like moonlight to a dark crevice. Sometimes, the small fountains and streams of shii slink off into hidden parts of the cave, and the only light provided to them are the markings on Kitera. The sounds of dripping and rushing fluid can be heard from all around them, like the blood of the planet streaming through the rocky veins beneath the skin of soil.
At last, the sound of the night winds drift toward them, and they can see genuine moonlight pouring into the caves from overhead, slanting in through cracks and hollows in the cave ceiling. Before long, they seek a steep, climbable entrance to the planet surface and the fresh air, natural steps provided as rock formations. Once they emerge, the sight outside is no less beautiful than inside.
“Idney’Nef, Nefnala’s surface,” Kitera announces as they lay their eyes upon a blue, luscious forest filled with translucent ferns. Most foliage is dark, but arrayed throughout are the bioluminescent tikal ferns, towering, veins flowing with the lucent properties of shii. They vary from translucent to transparent, like glass that sways fluidly in the breeze. A chain of mountains lie to the far north, glowing from afar with a silver sheen. The crater at the peak of the largest mountain speaks of an ancient volcanic eruption, now home to a basin of tikal that secrete enough fluid to carve a narrow ravine and overflow from the crater. The waterfall glides down the mountain face, mixing with the trapped water from rainfall. The water and shii congregate into an immense lake surrounding the mountains, setting the night sky aglow.
“Nidahl’Deydamo,” she explains, notic
ing the direction of their attention. “The mountain of power. This is Lemaya’Nema territory. My clan.”
“This is even more beautiful than Olympus,” Boone exclaims dazily, going down into his customary squat of thought-gathering.
Kitera dips her head in remembrance. “Yes. Olympus shared many similarities with Nefnala. Had they been in the same galaxy, they would have been called sisters.” They reach a small bonfire already lit and contained by stones. By her indication, they gather around the fire to one side while she sits to the other, facing them, her silver eyes glowing in the light of the blazing fire just like her markings.
“Sit,” she tells them softly.
They all attempt sitting in her manner, crossing their legs beneath themselves awkwardly, hard muscles not accustomed to such flexibility. Mazayus has the most trouble, but Natheus is able to succeed with ease, drawing envious stares from the others.
“Close your eyes,” Kitera tells them next.
They do as they are told, and without their visual sense, the sounds, smells, and feels of nature embrace them vividly. The heat of the fire on their faces is soothing, the coolness of the breeze washing through them is relieving, the smell of the shii and nature is refreshing, the sounds of the crackling bonfire and the swishing foliage assembles meditatively, all invoking a feeling of relaxation they have not felt in so long. Soon, the encompassing presence of Nefnala enables them to slip away from their physical consciousness and guides them to peaceful meditations. They forget this is all just a simulation derived from Kitera’s imagination and memories.
Without knowing when she started or how long she has been doing it, they hear Kitera’s voice in a low whispering chant in her native tongue, pulling them even deeper into a hypnotic state of subconsciousness. They feel themselves swirling inwardly, yet their mental reach exceeds freely like the embers of the fire caught in the wind. Her eerie chant echoes through them, rippling over their senses like water, and soon her pace picks up, her tone deepening, thick vocals riding on dark falling notes. The chant turns fierce, drumming strength into the soldiers, their minds absorbing the determination, power, and edgy fire that pulses from her voice to their souls.