Force of Gravity: The Hyperion Chronicles

By J.J. Fox

Having taken the first step toward the Truth with us, how far are you now willing to go? You have tasted the latent potential that exists in your core. To have only scratched the surface of that potential simply cannot be the end of our journey together.

Hyperions struggle endures. We stewards of the last free city know too well that we cannot hope to win a battle of attrition. Something must be done to alter our fate before we are utterly consumed by it. If we fall, humanity will require men and women like you to bear our standards onward.

Force of Gravity is the second installment in the saga of Benjamin Meaks. We have seen the fires of hope and belief kindled within him. Now, we must see the steel of his resolve tempered by far greater trials than any youthful spirit ought to suffer. To continue his tale, you must also be prepared to confront the inconvenient truths of your present existence.

If you have come this far with us, we are already victorious. It may not be possible to divine which seed will flourish and rise to the mightiest height, but it would be foolish not to recognize that more seeds are superior to few. Hyperion will never turn away an inquisitive mind. We can ill afford to be so wasteful.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781477285169

J.J. Fox

J.J. Fox began life in rural Michigan January 11th, 1984. After enjoying a youth rich in the benefits of small town America he relocated with his family to the sun-bathed coast of Southern Florida beneath whose infinite skies The Hyperion Chronicles were born. His forays into the world of creative writing began at an early age and his unshakable captivation by the written word followed him to an English Literature degree at University. He remains an avid reader of the fantasy genre and firmly believes in the power of the human imagination to innovate and invigorate. His passion for writing is second only to love for his family. Through his work, he hopes to one day inspire the generation of his children to rise and meet the wildest of their dreams and to always challenge the assumptions of the world around them.

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© 2013 by J.J. Fox. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/22/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8518-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8517-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8516-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012920372

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

DEDICATION:

EPILOGUE

DEDICATION:

For S.N.R,

To pursue one’s dreams is to embrace hope.

To do so in concert with love is to know perfection.

Thank you.

I am constantly reminded of the garish polarity between our perspectives. As you read these words, were you to gaze upon the heavens, it is likely you would still see the comforting tranquility that you are so accustomed to. What a surreal paradox that my world, the living, breathing embodiment of your picturesque skyline, could be mired in conflict that is millennia in the making. For my people, it is not a matter of if the struggle will touch them each personally, but when. And yet, had you not begun this journey with me, it might never have reached you in your lifetime. Where you see infinite serenity, I sit on the precipice of an unending war. That seems a cruel trick of fate.

Before my own darkness inspires a similar vein in you, allow me, please, to shift course. I simply wished to set the proper context for my next avenue of thought. I have done what I could in our previous correspondence to demonstrate to you the circumstances by which an adolescent from your reality became a man in mine. Furthermore, I imparted that the history of his place in our common destiny was far from its conclusion. What follows, should you see fit to continue, is an accounting of the events that give purpose and depth to that man; events that would shake the core in any of us for that matter.

To borrow a phrase from your vernacular, born of a tragically universal experience to all the nations of Earth’s surface, I speak now of civil war. Only the mind of our now common enemy could craft a phrase so ludicrous, so utterly oxymoronic. The kind of conflict that strikes a chord so deep within us that we would bring violence against our neighbor does not even approach the fringes of civility. Of course, the name is meant only to signify that a single collective of men, formally unified under the banners of one nation, are involved in the combat. Yet, in keeping with their sinister logic, the enemy coins a phrase that would imply such a conflict is devoid of war’s horrors. I would submit to you that any struggle featuring brothers and sisters, or fathers and sons, taking to arms against one another is the epitome of such horrors. Civility, by its very nature, lacks the extreme passion required to strike down those you hold most dear.

So, I must ask you. Under what circumstances would you choose to rise against, intent on taking life, from those you hold most dear? If you are as noble and kindhearted as I imagine you to be, the answer must resolutely be that no such circumstances exist. So too did I answer for myself. Alas, what we of sound mind and loving heart so often fail to realize is that such choices are not always ours for the making. Our childhood fascination with the dichotomy of good and evil rarely maintains its perfect juxtaposition when the logic of the mind gives way to the power of the heart. Steel yourself, as our man was made to, as the next verse of his saga unfolds.

F.R.

Ben had come to cherish the stillness of the pre-dawn morning at Plasmos. Despite the winter’s chilling bite, he rose each day, before necessary, to enjoy a few, brief moments of peace. Goran, ever-vigilant, joined him in the waning moonlight and long shadows at the edge of his platform. Below them, the moon’s pale luster shone upon the fresh blankets of snow. The mountain lay dormant, utterly content to savor the warmth of its hearths rather than brave the bitterness of winter. The sun would soon rise behind them and stir the tranquility back to life. Today was a day of great importance, but Ben could not help wishing that time would grant him an extension to his reprieve; that it would freeze like the banks of the river below. Regrettably, like most of nature’s divinity, no such alterations were possible.

Being Champion of the Elemental Tournament had certainly come with perks. Each morning, despite his lowly rank, the senior most members of his Elemental kin stationed at Plasmos would escort him to the head of the line in the Mess Hall. Ben could not help but marvel at the smiles of his brethren as he passed through the throng each day. The Lightning Elementals embraced him as a brother, as one of their own. The Quartermaster and Knowledge Ming both considered him advanced enough, as compared to his fellow rank mates, that he had been excused from any formal training until such time as his broken clavicle was sufficiently healed. It was as though Lord Furion Roth himself had ordered that Ben be left to his own devices and undisturbed by the general comings and goings of the mountain stronghold.

Ben had made the most of the fortuitous situation. He rested in his quarters during the day to make up for the long flights each night from Haven to Plasmos. Brielle Connor was worth it. The touch of her hand, the scent of her skin, and the taste of her lips were worth any bodily or mental fatigue. He would forgo sleep for the rest of his life if it meant he could spend the time with her. As Ben stood in the frozen silence, his mind returned to the shores of Haven once more. He could feel the warmth of her embrace and see the desperate, passionate love radiating from her penetrating, blue eyes. The cadence of her heart beating powerfully enough that he could feel it through her military tunic echoed like a cascading soundtrack to his memories. Together, they had lived out the fantasy of Ben’s letter for the better part of two perfect weeks. Today, everything would change and Ben desperately wished the continuation of his destiny could just wait a few more nights. As they clung to one another beneath the setting sun of the previous day, they had both known it would wait no longer.

Ben sighed audibly as he slipped back into the present. The wisps of his breath curled away into the lingering darkness. The cold sting upon his cheek bones would soon force him to retreat to the waiting fireside. He patted the chest feathers of his stalwart companion apologetically before, at last, turning toward his quarters to obey the steady aching from his left shoulder. Today, he would officially be welcomed into the fighting ranks of the storied Elemental tradition of Hyperion, and still, he could wish for nothing else than the postponement of such a welcome. His heart was consumed elsewhere.

Once at his fireside table, basking in the glow of the ember coals and purple-hued blood of the mountain alike, Ben took up his symbol guide. This symbol was complex by its very design. As he scanned it again, for the tenth time, searching out any remaining details previously unnoticed, he was finally satisfied with his ability to master it within his mind’s eye. The all too familiar itch at the fringes of his consciousness alerted him of the impending telepathic communication. Ben could scarcely recall the time when others could break freely into his mind with their thoughts. Since coming to Hyperion, his defenses had strengthened, like the rest of his classmates from the surface realm, such that now, none were permitted into his mind without his direct consent. The pleasant voice of a broadcaster entered his thoughts as he permitted it.

Sir Meaks, Furion Roth summons you to the Parade Grounds immediately.

The communication cut off as abruptly as it began, and Ben focused the symbol, despite its complexity, with ease to his mind’s eye. He let it dance about there while slowly unraveling the linen sling from around his neck and left forearm, before letting the symbol slip again from his consciousness. Though far from healed, he had decided that his first marshalling with the Elemental Battalions called for a show of strength. He would manage the pain to preserve his honor. As the sling slipped gently to the floor, Ben exited his quarters once more. Goran was waiting for him. Ben mounted, Goran thrust them aloft, and a brief moment held in the clutches of space and time later, he dismounted his mighty companion upon the grassy hill of Haven.

Enjoy yourself, but don’t stray too far. I’ll return for you when I’m allowed to.

Ben ruffled the slate-grey feathers above Goran’s golden left eye before he locked the Parade Ground’s symbol firmly in the center of his mental vision. The rushing wind filled his ears as the corresponding, brilliant lights overran his vision. His destiny would indeed wait no longer.

The crisp air of the morning stuck briefly in his nostrils upon arrival. Automatically, Ben levitated away from the teleportation symbol before taking stock of his new surroundings so as not to disrupt the arrival of his brethren. When he reached the white, stone railing of the arrival platform, the slow smile of pride spread across his face. Arrayed before him, below the arrival platform, were the gathering Elemental Battalions in all their glory. Thousands of warriors, moving with grace and purpose amid the seemingly chaotic mass of humanity, were slowly bringing formation and discipline to the scene. Ben marveled at the display of his new kin. Heads of brilliantly-shaded hair rested upon shoulders adorned with the crisp military tunics of their Academies. Each subtle shift of the crowd produced a new painting of breathtaking color and form. Ben savored the moment.

A hundred yards to his right, the Council’s platform rose up from the massive stone base of the Parade Grounds. A single, imposing, carved-stone seat stood before the immaculately crafted sculptures of Avan heads from each mighty lineage. Ben felt a tinge of regret that Goran was not with him to experience these hallowed grounds. His mighty companion was as deserving of these sights as Ben.

Ben forced himself away from the impressive landscape view and joined the procession of his fellow Elementals to the grounds below. Once he navigated the spiraling ramp to its base, the daunting spectacle that had appeared graceful from above took on a new light. Everywhere he looked, men and women levitated with what appeared to be random, listless directionality. Ben was helpless but to follow the ebb and flow of the human tide. He managed to locate a white head of hair, his kinsman from Plasmos, and latched onto the man visually, navigating the crowd in his wake. With painstaking precision, the man waded through the masses and, at last, settled shoulder-to-shoulder beside a young woman with sandy-blonde, white-streaked hair. Ben took up a position in silence on the man’s other shoulder.

The minutes drifted by them upon the bobbing heads of the multitudes until, finally, the morning was still and the Battalions, arranged in long columns ten wide by one hundred long, were at rest. A single horn blast rent the air and Ben watched in awe as the columns stiffened and came to attention. The front ranks of each column ceased levitation and stood upon the cold, stone basin. The ranks behind them levitated only enough to see beyond the heads of their brethren in front. Each column followed suit until all one thousand members of each column had an unfettered view of the Council’s platform.

Ben could see the tension in Furion Roth’s facial features before the great man ever rose from his carved seat at the head of the mighty Falcon. A dull whisper was quickly inundating the gathered ranks. Ben could see no cause for alarm until his vision came to rest upon the empty fifth seat of the Council’s platform. There was no mistaking the carved Raven’s head that stood menacingly behind it. It was then that Ben understood the growing tension. Arrayed upon the Parade Grounds, before the empty seat of Viktor Tavares, was nothing but silent air. Ben scanned the crowd and realized there was not a single head of flame-red hair in attendance. The missing piece from the spectacle had eluded him until now.

Furion and his fellow Councilors had reached the edge of their platform. Before he could utter a word, the soft buzzing of the morning erupted into the raucous caws of a dozen, inky-black Ravens above the arrival platform. Ben’s eyes naturally rose to meet the perceived threat and he could feel the waves of tension sweeping through the Battalions like wind through tall grass. The new arrivals dismounted and hastily made their way to the empty space allotted to the Elementals of Inverness. They formed a single rank and two. Furion addressed them with such anger in his voice that the formations returned instantly to silence.

What is the meaning of this!?

The Fire Elemental in the front rank’s first position levitated a single pace forward and made his reply.

My Lord Roth, with your permission, I am ordered to deliver this decree to you.

The man withdrew a sealed parchment from within his military tunic. Furion wordlessly motioned for the man to proceed and join the Council upon their platform. The entire assembly followed his progress with unblinking intensity until, kneeling before the Council, the red haired man surrendered the document. Furion tore open the seal and read its contents quickly before passing it to Lady Seidon of Fontana. He did not wait for the other Councilors to read its contents before addressing the kneeling Fire Elemental.

Has Viktor gone mad? He will leave us defenseless at our most vulnerable time! Our unity is the only hope we have for survival.

Even from his vantage point in the midst of the Lightning Elemental column, Ben could see the kneeling man’s body shaking beneath Furion’s ire. Ben could not help but pity the messenger. When it became clear the stricken man would make no response, a new voice rose from the meager column of Fire Elementals. The voice sent a shiver of ice down Ben’s spine.

My father is far from without his mental faculties; I assure you. He believes that the time for deliberate action is upon us. He would fight our enemy upon their own ground rather than cower on the defensive for a single pass more. He, as you have read, extends the hospitality of Inverness to any that share his beliefs.

Furion’s expression betrayed his utter frustration. The wry smile of a man at his wit’s end replaced his scowl as he made his reply.

To what pleasure do we owe your presence, Dominic? From the sound of things, a man such as you would like nothing more than to stand by your father’s side as he wages this pointless crusade.

And so I would, Sir, were it not for an oath sworn in a moment of foolhardy gratitude. Where Meaks goes, I must also go until such time as my debt is mercifully repaid. Those with me today have refused to turn their backs upon similar oaths that service to my father, at present, would require.

The Battalions erupted into chaos at Dominic’s pronouncement. Such was the discord that Furion was forced to abandon the intended purpose of the gathering and issue emergency orders. He bellowed with a ferocity that Ben had not previously witnessed from his commander.

All Sentinels and the contingent from Inverness will remain. The rest of you will return to your duty stations immediately. Dismissed!

Ben followed the order mechanically. His mind was so bombarded by the events of the morning that he had been at Haven for some time before even realizing he had teleported. Goran was preening himself in the sunshine of the hill’s crest. They had a long flight ahead of them and Ben was eager to get back to Plasmos should Furion need him. He had certainly wished his destiny might be delayed, but present circumstances were far from what he had meant. Ben could not help but shake his head in disbelief as he made for Goran’s position. So much for wishing.

Ben had scarcely covered half the distance to Goran when the sky over Haven erupted with new arrivals. Tion, Hela, and Layla cast long shadows over the grassy slope as they descended. Ben felt his apprehension cracking before the prospect of seeing his dearest friends. When Hawk, Osprey, and Eagle, each in their turn, circled close enough to the hilltop, Robert, Kat, and Bree combat dismounted. Goran took to the sky excitedly in pursuit of the now rider-less Avans he had seldom seen since they were chicks. Such youthful exuberance, despite the new threats to their very existence, was enough to entice a much needed smile to Ben’s face. They were truly magnificent beings; bred for combat and yet, utterly content at play.

The man of the hour once again. Don’t even think about trying to handle this one on your own, Ben. Your secret is out. Dominic Tavares is your soul mate.

The ridiculousness of Robert’s statement was lost on no one as they came together for the first time in what seemed like months. Amid his own laughter, Ben shook Robert’s hand enthusiastically.

Good to see you too, Robert.

He embraced Kat gingerly given his mending bone and turned his attentions to Bree. As they stood facing one another, each trying to determine the appropriate greeting in present company, too long and far too awkward a moment passed. They settled on a brief embrace, the flush rising on both their faces. Kat and Robert regarded them both with suspicion before Kat, her hair delicately tinted with strands of navy, brought forth the matter at hand.

So much for being assigned to our combat teams today. What are we supposed to do with twelve Fire Elementals for four thousand of the rest of us?

Their collective good mood drifted away into the late morning sky upon her words. Without an entire branch of their military might, the Elementals of Hyperion were effectively crippled. The postponement, potentially indefinitely, of their personal assignments was the least of their problems now. The City of Hyperion was defenseless. The consequences of such a reality drove each of them to silence within the depths of their own, dark thoughts. Worse still, the brief reunion with his friends could only provide a temporary delay to the orders they had received. Ben was not likely to be missed from Plasmos, but his companions were expected to follow Furion’s order promptly. They were forced to part before camaraderie could overcome the doubt inspired by the morning.

As Ben lay awake in his bedding that evening, the same darkness still lingered over him that had marred the gathering at Haven. He could not begin to unravel the knots of turmoil in his core. The presence of his friends had, for the first time, failed to ease his worry. If anything, the peril they all faced and the uncertainty of what lay ahead of them had magnified his discomfort. Then, of course, there was Bree. They had reached the understanding and intimacy he had longed for since the day they met. Ben simply could not see a way to prolong that happiness now. With resources inevitably stretched to the verge of breaking, what hope did he have of seeing her with any regularity? Haven was hours of flight from Plasmos, at best, and he and Bree were both duty bound to Hyperion now. They could not afford to be so far from the Academies without direct authority. Above all, the worst of it was that they were unlikely to get any closure on the subject. They could not share the pain of separation to help ease one another’s burden. It was a new level of cruelty in a world where distance was a near irrelevancy that emotional isolation could be so profound. Ben could hardly find sleep for what remained of the cold, winter night upon Plasmos and his heart.

The summons came before first light broke the horizon. Master Braddock’s voice had been customarily terse, but Ben felt more apprehensive than usual after a telepathic communication. Nevertheless, Ben had memorized the new symbol, one that was not in any guide he had thus far seen, and made the transition through time and space with Goran.

Their arrival into the still darkness was met with a considerable amount of activity below. Ben could only make out the silhouettes against the dim glow of dozens of burning torches, but the light was enough to know that hundreds of Avans were roosting upon the cloud surface below. Braddock’s voice again entreated for entry into his thoughts.

Ben, welcome to the stables of Plasmos. Land within the compound and I will meet you there.

Goran brought them to rest in the relative center of the torch lit area and Ben got the first, real chance to examine his surroundings in any detail. All around their current position, rows of thatch-roofed stalls stretched into the dark, pre-dawn terrain. From the myriad pairs of curious, golden orbs watching them keenly, Ben estimated that each stall housed a fully grown Avan. Braddock approached them from the south, carrying a torch before him. When he reached them, Ben dismounted, unable to hide his confusion about their present destination.

You are an Elemental now, Ben. On occasion, as you are fulfilling your orders, Goran will be unable to join you. To make certain you can return to Plasmos efficiently, should the need arise; you should always leave Goran stabled here in your absence. At anytime during a pass, this cloud is never more than an hour’s flight from Plasmos. Considering you can teleport here directly, you will never again be more than an hour from the Academy.

Ben instantly thought of the countless flights from Haven to Plasmos he had taken. Hours of time and energy spent needlessly that now, he would never again endure. At last, some welcome news from his first days being an Elemental.

Now, I am afraid my summoning you here was only the beginning of your journey this morning. Furion asked that I give you this. Don’t worry about Goran. I assure you; he will be well looked after.

Ben took the folded, sealed parchment from Braddock as the kind man began scratching the shoulder plumage of his mighty companion. Ben took a few steps into the morning to distance himself politely before opening the message.

Ben,

My apologies for not delivering this message in person, but given the circumstances, my duty overrules my desire to reassure a friend. I wish that I could say this moment was entirely unexpected, but unfortunately, none in Hyperion knows better than you how inevitable this rift truly was. Rest assured that I and the remaining Councilors are still with you. In that spirit, I must make a rather unorthodox request of you. Please make your way to the place where your Trial was held as soon as you receive this message.

Furion Roth

The symbol came easily to him from pure recollection. As it settled into his mind’s eye, he forced himself to exhale the apprehension building in his chest. A moment later, he stood within the domed room that had housed so many young men and women, desperately seeking acceptance into the now-shattered Elemental Battalions. This time, there was no commotion, and with the exception of the flickering flames from the wall braziers, no movement other than Ben gliding toward the solid, oaken doors to the inner chamber. He clutched his useless, left arm tightly about his chest as he strained against the weight of the imposing portal, before slipping inside gingerly.

Just as before, he was greeted by the solemn faces of the Elemental and Craft Councilors of Hyperion. There was, of course, one notable absence this time. Ben moved to the center of the room and stood at attention before them. Furion rose amid the utter silence and Ben could not help relive the memory of his Trial.

Sir Benjamin Meaks, you have been called before those gathered here as Tournament Champion of your class. Considering you have proven yourself to be the most advanced of your rank, we have decided to dispense with tradition in favor of practicality. As you are aware, typically this coming pass would be spent by your rank assisting your superiors where necessary, but generally, focusing on your training. Given the troubling circumstances of yesterday’s marshalling, we are forced to advance your timetable significantly.

Ben could feel his adrenaline seeping into his bloodstream. The Councilors looked less than confident in their decision. Each seemed to be only half attentive as Furion delivered the edict, lost within their own doubts.

As such, we have decided that you will lead a combat squad of your own, and by necessity, your new unit will receive advanced training to prepare you for active duty as soon as you are deemed ready. I am confident you will rise to this new challenge with the same tenacity you have consistently shown since your arrival.

The pride swelling in his chest was only matched by the excitement racing electrically through his mind as he digested the words. Ben had thought his placement into a combat team had been indefinitely postponed by the defection of the bulk of the Fire Elementals. Not only was he mistaken, but he was given leadership of a newly formed unit designed specifically to escalate the typical timeframe until active duty. It was as if the moment he had been waiting for since learning of the Elementals had arrived all at once. Furion’s continuation pulled Ben back from his reverie.

Clearly, you will be the representative of Plasmos in this new unit. I will allow my fellow Councilors to make their selections to your unit as they see fit.

Lord Wallace Lurac of Wildwood rose to his feet and nodded politely to Furion. His thick frame seemed to writhe beneath the taught sinews of his musculature as he spoke. The deep, forest green hair, cropped closely to his head, bristled like the nape of an angry dog.

Wildwood gives you the best performer of our entrants into the Elemental Tournament’s first year class. Considering his quest for supremacy was ended only by the eventual Tournament Champion, I believe he will serve you well and is the best suited to the advanced role you are all being asked to play. I give you Sir Robert Meade.

Ben’s mind was racing so quickly with his own thoughts that he hardly noticed when Lord Lurac’s expression glazed over in telepathy. A short moment later, the solid, oaken doors behind Ben parted. Robert glided easily through the opening to stand beside Ben before the Councils. He took Ben’s hand in his own and shook it enthusiastically. Despite their present company, Ben quickly accepted Robert’s request for telepathic communication.

With you until the end, brother.

Lady Valeria Seidon was next to rise as Lord Lurac gave way to his colleague from Fontana. Ben and Robert quickly returned to attention before the leader of the Water Elemental’s addressed them.

Fontana has also deemed our most accomplished finisher at the Tournament to be the most appropriate addition to this unprecedented endeavor. From my brief interaction with her this morning, it pleased me greatly that I believe you already have a certain rapport with my selection. I give you Katarina Satitrova.

Ben could not suppress the smile that spread across his features as Kat entered the chamber. Regardless of formality, she embraced both he and Robert enthusiastically. By the time they had returned to military attention, Lady Camilla Torrent of Galemont had already risen and Ben’s excited breathing stuck in his chest all at once. He knew what was about to happen, or at the very least, desperately wished it to be so.

Galemont was blessed with the highest finishing female entrant into the Tournament this pass. She is destined to be a gifted Elemental in her own right, but considering our current, desperate need for functioning combat units, Brielle Connor is the ideal selection to represent the Air Elementals in this undertaking.

Like the swirling mist at the fringes of a dream, the door to the chamber opened once more and Bree swept into the room. Robert and Kat showed no reservation in demonstrating their excitement for Bree’s selection, but Ben had to struggle to merely match their enthusiasm for fear of exposing the true depths of his exaltation. For Ben, her bright, smiling face joining the squad was like placing the final piece to a puzzle firmly into place. The questions that had been deeply troubling him of late had been answered with such perfect grace that fate itself could not have crafted a more ideal scenario. The longing and isolation that had plagued his previous Elemental training would be replaced with the forging of deeper connections with each of his friends. It seemed that their time spent at Haven had strengthened more than their friendships. The friendly sparring and rejuvenating qualities of their lake had helped them rise to the pinnacle of their Squire class. Each of them had entered into the grueling contest with a stamina and poise that were only made possible by the resplendent sunlight and cool breezes that mended physical and mental wounds alike. In the heat of the moment, Ben had never truly considered how far each of his companions had progressed individually. Ben was still reveling in the joyous outcome and fantasizing about the adventure to come when Furion spoke again.

In keeping with the wisdom of my fellow Councilors, I have taken it upon myself to select the final member of this new combat unit from the highest ranks of the Tournament. Inverness will be represented by Dominic Tavares.

Inside the moment of the brief phrase, the magnificence of the morning was all but drained. Ben could scarcely believe the words that hung like the scent of mildew in the dank air of a long forgotten cellar. The door to the chamber parted once more, and the unmistakable visage of Dominic Tavares sauntered confidently through the opening. His eyes locked immediately upon Ben’s. Gone was the customary, smoldering hatred, but so too was the unexpected gratitude of the Tournament grounds absent. The crimson-tipped, sandy-blonde hair instead framed the facial features of a youthful lion, savoring the discomfort of his prospective prey.

Ben broke his gaze and swiveled his attentions to Furion Roth. He did not even bother trying to mask the pleading, discontented expression upon his face. The mighty leader’s steely exterior did not allow even a single glimmer of his internal conflict and trepidation about the situation to escape. His position, and that of Hyperion as a whole, was desperate. Necessity demanded the kind of sacrifice that could not be encumbered by events of the past. If any citizen dwelled for another moment on the past, they might as well forget any notion of a future. Such was the frailty of their circumstances that forced him to unite the son of Hyperion’s ancient enemy with that of her newest foe. He wasted no time in delivering the finality of his decision.

Sir Benjamin Meaks, this concludes the selection of your combat unit. Each of you is bound by your sworn oaths to protect and defend one another and the City of Hyperion from any threat. You are the single functioning combat unit that we are able to form from your Squire class and one of only a dozen such units currently undisturbed by the rebellion of Inverness. Those standing before you cannot stress enough the vital importance of the tasks on your collective horizon. Leave any remaining childish notions you harbor of what you believe to be fair or justified in this room before you go. There simply is not room for such notions and your duty now.

Ben, and his comrades he imagined, felt chastised. It was the harshest he had ever been spoken to by Furion since joining Hyperion’s cause. Ben could see the tension in the man’s jaw line as though it pained him to even utter the words. He understood then that Dominic Tavares was not chosen out of some twisted political ploy or some attempt at lesson teaching from his mentor. He was the best Fire Elemental of his class. He was the only option.

Preparations are being made for your accelerated training regimen as we speak. You will return to your Academies and await your next orders. Dominic Tavares, stable your Raven. You will accompany me to Plasmos for the time being. We have made arrangements for you there.

Ben was sickened by the very notion of Dominic seeing Plasmos. Nevertheless, he watched in silence as Dominic nodded tersely in agreement and teleported from the chamber. Ben only comprehended Furion’s final words mechanically, his mind overcome with disarray.

You are dismissed.

The flight back to Plasmos from the stables had taken less than an hour. Goran was well rested and seemed no worse for wear from the change in routine. His powerful wing beats eroded the distance to the Academy so rapidly that Ben did not break his own train of thought until the sound of talons upon his stone platform broke his concentration. It was not yet midday and the sun’s glory was powerless against winter’s hold over Plasmos. The short flight had done little to ease Ben’s discomfort. In the span of one morning, he had managed to secure assignment into the ranks of the Elementals along with his closest friends. Yet the man who had brought more direct harm to him than any other was now likely to be within striking distance on a daily basis. Joy and dread certainly made for unsavory bedfellows.

Ben could do nothing but pace before the fireplace as he awaited what was now a long overdue summons from Furion Roth. Morning’s glory had given way to the long shadows of twilight beneath the treads of Ben’s feet. When, at last, he was forced to admit that the clarity he desperately sought from Furion was unlikely to be imminent, Ben did the only thing he could think of to preserve his rapidly fraying nerves. As though he had anticipated the need, Goran was readily awaiting him at the edge of his now crimson-bathed platform. Ben mounted swiftly and Goran thrust them aloft in concert with Haven’s symbol settling into his mind’s eye.

Ben savored the cool evening air for a long moment with eyes closed. The climatic conditions were a dramatic improvement over the biting chill of Plasmos. Goran descended without haste, as though he too wished to enjoy a lavish moment of calm. Ben did not bother with levitation as he dismounted to the grassy, gently-sloping hilltop. The texture of the soft blades beneath his toes was enough to distract his thoughts. By the time he reached the sandy shores of his lake, the confines of his torso could no longer contain the fury that had been building within him all day. His tunic felt oppressively restrictive and Ben tore it from his frame wildly, despite the pain it caused him, casting it into the waiting boughs of the nearest oak tree. The silky, undisturbed surface of the lake barely noticed his intrusion, but the effect of the chilled water upon his burning skin