Two months later…
"RÖT! (UP!)"
The mass of stone lifted a few inches up.
"CERT! (DOWN!)"
It fell a few inches.
"RÖT!"
A pained cry echoed throughout the massive chamber, and the stone fell to the side, a loud crash resounding off the walls. Draco panted hoarsely, collapsing onto his hands and knees as his muscles felt as though they were on fire. It was a familiar pain… but multiplied by the thousands. Jerosh and Derekosh walked over to their youngest, the former lifting the stone weight with one hand while the latter helped his brother up. He took out a vial of thermite and loaded it into the injection. He stuck it into his brother's chest and emptied the orange fluid. The small pinch of pain subsided, along with the throbbing in his arms as the thermite aged him rapidly.
"You'll be regenerating within a few more days," Jerosh informed his brother. "Your rites are nearly within reach."
Draco panted still, but he was able to nod his head. "When… when will… when will I start… training with my rites?"
Jerosh sighed softly, lobbing the enormous boulder off to the side. "When you learn to understand your bond in Ina," he said. "Learning to use your rights is one thing. But focusing them, and controlling them, is the first step to being ready to use it."
"Even I had to learn how to channel my rites," Derekosh chuckled softly. "Using your rites without fully understanding them can be very… reckless."
Draco finally caught his breath and looked to his brothers. "How can I learn what Ina is?" He questioned.
The two elder brothers laughed softly, shaking their heads. "Ina is different to all of us," Jerosh explained. "It is the bond between Loki'irian and Nera'ak, yes… but it's meaning is different to all of us. And it's that diversity that determines how well the partners will perform."
"It determines how close they will be. How comfortable they are with one another. Their trust." He showed his left hand to Draco, showing their clan mark. "Their being."
Draco looked down to his own, staring at it from a different perspective. His mark was the same as his family, but they all had their own view of what it meant. He wasn't as wise as either of them, and he surely had no idea what it could mean to him, since all he knew was that it was a mental link between him and Nyla.
"You don't have to think about it right now, Reku'un," Derekosh told him. "Go on. The others are waiting for you."
With a small sigh, Draco grabbed his blade from the rack near the door and slung it over his back. Once he was gone, Jaqeluu, Fermot and Agner dropped from the ceiling. The three of them moved up to their brothers, and the two turned to them.
"He's progressing well… in my opinion," Fermot commented.
"His strength needs a bit more… work," Jaqeluu pointed out. "And his thoughts were jumbled all over the place."
Agner shrugged softly. "He'll get there. But his reactions were a bit delayed," he admitted.
"He'll need to focus a bit more if he wants to learn," Jerosh sighed. "His mind isn't focused on task. He keeps… thinking about his past. His family… the Nera'akas."
"Ember, brother," Jaqeluu corrected. "She may be a Nera'ak, but Reku'un loves her. We must respect that."
"I meant no disrespect," he said softly. "But if he truly wants to train as a Signa, he must forget all of his Equestrian past. Including Ember. Only for a short time."
The five sighed, sensing their uncle coming towards the training room. "You'd better go, Derekosh," Agner said.
His brother nodded before leaping towards the ceiling and entering an air vent. The rest of them made their way out, Jaqeluu going to prepare his brother's meditation process for tomorrow.
Reku'un?
Yes, Nyla?
What troubles you?
…
…
I miss them… all of them.
Nyla shifted in her den, which rested at the far east end of the massive forest. Draco was slowly making his way over to her, so they could meet up with the rest of the Signa.
I understand it must be hard, Reku'un, but you have to trust our kind with them. They're training to fight for their survival. To help us defeat the Arthanians.
What Arthanians, Nyla? They attacked once, and now they're gone. They'd be insane if they want to attack us!
They don't have an option. They're meant to fight us. They were born to shed blood and to devour anything in their path. How advanced we are, how powerful we are means nothing to their numbers. They number past the trillions. There are barely two billion of us left.
…
They're not staying away. They're preparing their armies. Their massing armies for a final battle with us. Your brothers and the League are powerful… but even they will get overpowered with time. The one thing that has kept us all alive, was the Makti and his son fighting alongside us. Leaders direct armies from a safe distance, and heroes fight with their men. But legends lead these attacks. Your ancestors are all men of legend. Men of the gods. Minira's own right hand. And now it is your turn. You may not believe in our cause, but you must believe in what will transpire should you fail.
…
Do you understand, Reku'un? The only way, the only way you'll ever amount to your father and his father before, is to forsake your past. Keep it in your heart… but for now, dispel it from your mind.
…
Reku'un?
…
…
I'll try, Nyla… I'll try.
It was Nyla who cut the connection, knowing how difficult this was for him. She didn't have to remind him what was at stake… but if it kept him on task…
…she had to.
Meanwhile, Draco made his way through the vast forest within the dreadnaught, scaling the enormous tree he called home. Once inside, he discarded his blade and the disc that created a skin tight fabric over most of his body. It was what most Loki'irians used in their early years of training, which he was apparently a part of. His brothers explained that within a few months, it would be used to keep the armor from chaffing his body.
He made his way into the shower, which was meant to accommodate a Loki'irian adult. The shower head was a good three feet above him, and the knob was at stomach level to him. He turned the knob cautiously… but all that came out was steaming water. He turned it back and forth, but it was the same temperature at all times. It relieved him that he wouldn't have to constantly search for the right warmth every time he took a shower.
But then again, his brothers hated the cold as much as he did. All of Loki'ir hated the cold.
Instead of bottles of shampoo or conditioner, or bars of soap for that matter, the water was combined with cleaning agents that worked like common soaps, but were made from flowers that were native to Loki'ir. The cleaning agents were much stronger, as Jaqeluu had explained to him, since they usually showered to clean away their blood, dirt, and Arthanian blood.
After finishing and drying off, Draco looked at his reflection for a while. The mirror wasn't a true mirror. It was a large piece of crystal that was so bloated with energy it actually reflected an image of his own energy. What he saw was… strange.
His signature was a bright blue color… but in his chest was a gleaming color of white and black… and hundreds of other specks of different colors. It was the colors of all past Makti.
He looked closer at his reflection… and the closer he looked… the less of his own energy he was seeing.
They really are all in me… so… you're with me, aren't you, Herod?
He glanced down to his insignia, then to the crystal. His mark glowed black… but switched to white every so often. But why? The spot around his heart did the same thing… but he couldn't understand why.
You carry the power of your ancestors, Reku'un. Even without the Ashla, you still have their blood. Even the blood of the previous royal family.
…
…
…and they're all watching me…
From the gardens of Eden. Your Heraj… your Herod… and all those who have come and died before you.
Draco stared at the marking for one last minute, before leaving the bathroom and heading out to the entrance. He placed the disc on his chest and leaped from the tree, going as far as he could and heading towards a friend's home.
Then I hope I can make them proud.