The horizon flickered and burned under the violet stained clouds. The cacophonous roar of the orbital bombardment echoed off the collapsing buildings onto the plane beyond the paved streets of Irkalla. The pitch black night broke intermittently as the bombs flashed, casting an eerie strobe light on the combatants whose every move seemed frozen in time between explosions.

Atop the Bisu Financial Tower, Ara’lu Nergal surveyed the carnage below. His squad was stationed around the bomb shelter to keep the civilians safe. His skin scintillated under the soot and grime of battle. Spreading out his large, leathery wings, Ara’lu leapt from the tower. He flapped his wings occasionally, but the heat of the battle provided a strong enough updraft to keep him airborne.

Tucking his wings tightly against his back, he plummeted toward the six leonine Uridimmu below. Before impact, he threw his wings open, and spun around, kicking each of the beasts in the throat. His feet hit the ground. He drew two daggers from his belt as he stood up straight. Slashing and stabbing each in turn, Ara’lu dispatched the invaders. Ahead, he could make out the flickering skin on a numerous other Shin’an.

There were few Uridimmu left on the plane. Sighting one close to him, Ara’lu leapt into the air. A flap of his wings and he was atop him. He thrust both daggers into the invader.  Slipping them from their victim, Ara’lu turned to find more.

The morning sun filled the sky. The orbital bombardment ended hours ago, as did the invader’s reinforcements.

Ara’lu stood, eyes closed, letting the warmth of the sun wash the battle from his mind.  After years of fighting, the Uridimmu were gone. He took a deep breath. They are really gone.  He exhaled.

His shoulders fell limp. The tension melted from him in a wave down to his feet. This is our world again. That very thought was so foreign, it felt dangerous. The Shin’an had been oppressed for so long; freedom had nearly lost all meaning.

I must give thanks, Ara’lu unfurled his wings, and opened his eyes to the blinding light of the sun. Running toward the remnants of the city, he caught enough air to fly.

Little of the city remained: gutted buildings and rubble, but a few lucky survivors stood amongst their fallen brethren. Ghostly white concrete dust covered everything and everyone below. On the edge of the city park now, the lush greenery belied the carnage Irkalla had endured. Nature did not even notice our temporal war. Life goes on. It always finds a way.

Ara’lu fell from the air. Broken timbers, shattered glass and stone, nothing of the temple’s majesty remained. Nothing of the grandeur that had so often invited him into reflection and prayer.

“Why didn’t the fates spare their temple?” Ara’lu asked aloud, not realizing the words had escaped through his mouth. “Have they abandoned us? Why?”

He looked about frantically for a priest. Even they had abandoned the temple. In the shadow of this once great beacon of hope, Ara’u had learned the martial arts, both the physical and spiritual disciplines for the health of his body and his spirit.

*Did I profane them in combat?* He wondered. *Everything happens for a reason. Nothing is beyond the hand of fate. How could all this happen?*

Ara’lu fell to his knees and sobbed into his hands, So many dead. Looking at his hands, So many killed. Why would fate bring such death and destruction upon us? He cradled his head in his palms. Nothing made sense anymore.

Quickly, he hopped to his feet and headed for the barracks. Bleary eyed, he choked his tears down into his throat, then swallowed them. Cold chills reverberated through his chest, like something within him were made of glass, and suddenly shattered.

He could hear people talking to him as he walked through the barrack’s gates, but their words meant nothing to him. They were hollow and weightless, like they were meant for someone other than him.

Grabbing some clothes out of the footlocker at the end of his bed, he rushed to shower.  After ridding himself of the grime of combat, he dressed in simple black pants and vest. He snatched his passport and wallet from his locker and left.

Turning for the airfield, Ara’lu wondered if he should inform his superiors of his plans to go to A-ment, but figured that they had more important things to do in the aftermath of the invasion. Besides, they might say no, and he needed answers. He had to go to A-ment and visit the Well of Urd. The pilgrimage would be starting soon, and the fates would surely answer the prayers of a pious pilgrim. How could they refuse? He planned offerings for his people’s victory, and to beg for answers, guidance, and any reassurance that the fates had not forsaken them.

As he punched his access code into the panel on the fighter’s cockpit hatch, Ara’lu thought about the troops under his command. He owed them an explanation; else they think he died in the battle. With so much devastation, neither he nor the fighter would be missed. The hatch opened.

Taking off, he fired the rockets until he exited the atmosphere. Ara’lu set a course for the hyperspace jump gate. Signaling the gate, he locked on to the beacon for Hermopolis Parva on A-ment.

The ship entered the gate and turned into the surreal, kaleidoscopic night scape of hyperspace. With a sigh, he activated the autopilot, and laid his head back on the neck rest of the pilot’s seat. He drifted off to sleep.

The fighter shook as it exited the gate over A-ment, rousing Ara’lu. Groggily, he looked up at the blue green planet before him. The console flashed with the coordinates of the landing pad. The ship followed its flight path toward Hermopolis Parva. The pilgrimage always began there and continued on to the Well of Urd.

After the ship landed, he paid the automated concierge. The receipt was simple.

“Berth 18, Logan Caravansary.  Duration: Pilgrimage 100,545 A.U.C.”

*18 is a lucky number,* he smiled. *This is a good sign.*

Outside the caravansary, Ara’lu was greeted by hundreds of signs in numerous languages, each pointing the way to Katha. The streets were filled with noisy pilgrims in their white robes making their way to the road.

The people looked strange to Ara’lu. Not only were they from many worlds, but none of them had wings.

*I must be the only Shin’an,* he thought.

The smell of the sweat and dust from the pilgrims was noxious. The dirty gray buildings were not inspirational either. They echoed the cold shadow within him.

Flapping his wings, Ara’lu took flight. He knew the direction to fly. His salvation could wait no longer.

Few pilgrims had left the city. Many guides stood at the gate barking out prices for their services and regaling the crowds with tales of the countless miracles they have witnessed at all of the unmarked holy sites on the way to Katha.

Once Ara’lu passed the walls, the road cleared. Trees covered the land, at times obscuring the road.

Someone screamed. It was a man, with a deep, but frail voice.

Ara’lu dove through the trees. Landing, he saw an old man lying in a heap on the ground.  His assailant was no where to be seen.

A panther-like shadow leapt from the trees, a long blond pony tail trailing from her tight black mask. Lithe and nimble, she struck quickly.

Ara’lu slid to the side. “You are clumsy,” he sneered, “If you are going to rob people, you should at least be able to fight.”

Rushing towards her, he beat his wings hard. She struggled to stand in the wind. He abruptly stopped and lunged forward. Relieved of the resistance, the thief sprang up. She collided with his arm. As she fell, Ara'lu buffeted her with his right wing, slamming her into the ground.

“Peri!” a strange male voice called out from the shadows.

The thief quickly scuttled away.

Ara’lu snorted. Watching the trees for any sign of the thief, he relaxed his breathing and freed the energy from his muscles. Someone moaned behind him.

He turned to the old man who was trying to stand up. He was a squat, old man dressed in a pilgrim's white robe. His white hair and beard framed his wrinkled, olive skin.

Helping him to his feet, Ara’lu was taken aback by the smile on the old man’s face, “Are you alright, sir?” After he introduced himself, he looked around again for the thief.

“I am fine,” the old man dusted himself off, “Call me Naaman. Thank the heavens you came along. I thought she was going to kill me.”

“What did she take?” Ara’lu turned to face Naaman.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “She just attacked me. She never asked for money or anything.” Naaman walked down the road.

“It was just your fate,” Ara’lu said, following behind him.

“It was my mistake,” he shook his head, “I didn’t want to wait for my group to pick a guide, so I set out on my own. I should have waited. Safety in numbers and all that, you know?”

“But you didn’t wait. Fate destined you for this.”

Naaman laughed, “Fate is what we call our decisions when we have to live with the consequences.”

“Then why are you on the pilgrimage?”

“I have had a good life, and I wanted to give thanks. Fate gave me life, and has supported me well.”

Ara’lu nodded. The old man was at peace with his beliefs, there was no use arguing with him.

They spent the rest of the walk to Katha in silence, apart from Naaman’s humming and singing birds in the trees. When they reached the gate, Naaman thanked Ara’lu for saving him, and wandered off into the crowd.

*The pilgrims wound around clockwise. The Well of Urd must be in them middle,* Ara’lu thought.

Something flashed, and attracted his attention. A ghostly blue skinned man whose eyes were solid black swimming in a sea of pearly white stood there. His skin gave off a soft azure glow. He kicked off the ground, and somersaulted in the air. Light flashed, and a blade appeared in his hand.

Ara’lu locked eyes with him.

The man motioned for him to come over.

After introducing himself, Ara’lu watched the blade melt back into a small stone set in the glove on the stranger’s right hand.

“It is a periapt,” the stranger opened his hand, “I stole a couple from the Enmadra during their invasion of my homeworld. O, my name is Hlachar Cythraul, but my friends call me Cythraul.”

“We just fought off an invasion of my world too,” Ara’lu couldn’t take his eye off of the periapt. “That is why I came here.”

“Me too, my faith was shaken. I swore I would come here until I found a way to keep my people safe.”

Ara’lu looked into Cythraul’s eyes and saw himself.

“We survivors need to stay together,” Cythraul smiled. “It is no accident that we met.  Powerful forces have conspired to bring us together.” He pointed to a mirrored glass tower overlooking the city. “I bought that building to train people in the martial arts and in the use of the periapts. I also have a chantry of technomages trying to learn how to make more of these little marvels.”

Ara’lu nodded, waiting for the question.

“Would you be interested in taking a tour? I can show you what we’re doing, and you can decide whether you want to sign up or not. We needed to keep as many worlds safe as we can.”

Ara’lu agreed quickly. Fate had led him to Cythraul, and he was not going to allow this opportunity to pass him by.

Following Cythraul to his towering retreat, Ara’lu paused at the door. Carved into the stone over the door were the words: “Ápo mēchanēs theós.” He didn’t know what it meant, and was afraid to ask. He didn’t want to do anything that might keep Cythraul from teaching him.

Chilly air greeted them past the sliding doors. An exotic perfume lingered in the air. It was too strong to have wafted off of an individual. It must be mixed in through the ventilation system. The floral scent calmed him, nearly mesmerizing him. All his cares melted away.

Soft music filled the pleasant air, relaxing him even more. The silver veined white marble floors were polished to a fine glimmer. The walls were the same colors, but in reverse.

Cythraul led him into the elevator, and waited for the doors to close. “Technomancy is a fine art, and if you are familiar with martial arts, it will be a breeze.”

“On my world,” Ara’lu said softly, “I was considered a master. I even trained others.”

“Then this will be very easy for you,” Cythraul pulled a small silver coin out of his pocket. “May I see your right hand?”

Ara’lu presented it.

“Now this might hurt a little,” he placed the coin in the palm of Ara’lu’s hand. “Are you sure you want to learn how to use the periapt?”

Ara’lu nodded.

Light flashed from the coin. Smoke billowed. The sensation of heat followed by searing pain cut through Ara’lu’s palm as the coin burned its way through his skin.

“It is connecting itself to your central nervous system,” Cythraul explained, “The pain will only last for a moment. Once it stops, put this on.”

He handed Ara’lu a brown leather glove with a sapphire stone embedded in it.

The elevator door opened. The pain stopped. Slipping on the periapt, he followed Cythraul onto the roof of the tower.

“Hold out your hand, and think of a sword,” Cythraul did as he said and a sword appeared in his hand.

Ara’lu stretched out his hand, thought of a sword, and a sharp pain cut through him. A sword materialized in his hand.

“Wow,” Cythraul cocked his head, “I have never seen anyone do it on the first try before.  Since you have wings, this will not be so important, but it will also help you fly.”

He raised his arms and lifted off the ground.

Ara’lu turned his sword into an axe, then into a knife, then a staff. The pain lessened with each use.

Cythraul smiled, “I will leave you here to practice. If you are interested in staying on to learn, most of the rooms on the 8th floor are unused. Just take one.”

“Thank you,” Ara’lu said, continuing to change the weapon in his hand from one form to another. He barely noticed Cythraul leave.

Ara’lu practiced his martial arts forms. The periapt made the movements easier and quicker. His body felt so light.

Strange thoughts swam through his head. He was elated. Every movement came so easily.

The sun set, but he didn’t notice. He continued the war dance through till dawn. Never once noticing a strain on his muscles.

As the morning sun crept toward midday, Ara’lu longed for bed.

He continued the same routine for the next three weeks. With each practice, he felt more and more in control of even the most subtle energies of his body.

After a month at the tower, Ara'lu returned to the rooftop for his nightly practice. As he formed the first weapon, a wave of euphoria washed over him. He was numb from head to toe.  Teetering for a moment in the bliss, he surrendered to the flow of mechanical pulses uniting him to the machine in the periapt.

He rushed forward splitting the weapon in his hands into twin swords. He trusted forward and spun around to strike the imagined foe behind him.

Silvery mist rolled off his body. The fog curled and whipped around his arms and wings as he continued the form.

Slamming the two swords together, he melted them into a large double-bladed axe. He slashed to the right.

Something struck the axe. Ara’lu reeled back. The fog congealed into a mirror image of him.

The doppelganger’s face twisted with fear.

“What are you?” Ara’lu raised the axe in anticipation of a strike. “Why do you look like me?”

The specter answered with a horrid squelch that Ara'lu cannot understand.  Strange howls and screeches escaped its mouth.  Golden lines illuminated in angular patterns all over its body.

Panicked, a tear rolled from the double’s eyes.  Sparks flickered.  Rage filled its eyes.

The specter formed a sword out of the air, and slashed Ara’lu.  It moved too fast to block.

The pain of the hit stole Ara’lu’s breath.  He fell to his knees.  The specter faded.  Ara’lu felt a cold hand embracing him.  Oblivion called: the annihilation of all that he was.  His vision faded to black.

Someone nudged Ara’lu.  Opening his eyes, the high noon sun hurt his eyes.  His stomach felt sour.

“Are you alright?” Cythraul said, standing over him.

The memory of the doppelganger murdering him, weighed heavy on his mind.  “I don’t know.  I think I am having difficulties adapting to the periapt.  It is making me sick.”

“I doubt that,” Cythraul waved him off, “Maybe you are resisting the mechanism itself.  You have to allow the program to take control, and then operate within its rules.  If you would only be more cooperative, then you would not be having these problems.”

Ara’lu took off the periapt.  “I can’t risk it.”

“But we are destined to work together!”  Cythraul’s voice cracked.

“Fate brought us together, but last night I...” Ara’lu felt the icy fear of annihilation again.  “I have to contemplate this omen.  I can’t just ignore it.”

Cythraul turned for the elevator, “Then go your way.  I hope to see you again someday.”  He boarded the elevator.  The doors closed.

Ara’lu gulped.  His gaze lingered on the periapt, and then he ran for the edge of the building.  Leaping into the air, he threw open his wings and drifted lazily to the ground.

He landed.  Part of him wanted to cry.  He had lost a part of himself, but he was unsure which part.  He already missed the periapt.  Had part of him died last night or was it just a dream?

Someone was coming.  Two women were arguing.

They stopped and introduced themselves.  Nortia was a beautiful ebony skinned woman with lush black hair, wearing white pilgrim robes and a silver nail from a chain around her neck.

The other woman was called Thesan.  She was a Shin’an with scintillating golden skin and hair in the same white pilgrim robes.

“Are you a pilgrim?”  Thesan asked.  “I mean you are not wearing the robes.”

“I am a...” Ara’lu paused, “I came here as a pilgrim.”

“Then maybe you can settle an argument for us,” Nortia said, “I have a friend whose house burned down, taking all of his possessions with it.  I keep trying to tell her that his house was destined to burn down.”

“I disagree,” Thesan jumped in, “The fire just happened.  There was no rhyme or reason to it.  It was an accident?” 

Ara’lu shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I just don’t know anymore.”  He looked down the road.  Life used to be so easy. 

“We are sorry to bother you,” Thesan tapped Nortia on the shoulder.  “We will just be moving on.”

Nortia nodded in agreement.  “Here, take this,” she gave Ara'lu the nail from around her neck.  "Wear it to remind you that we each make our own destiny."  She winked at him.

Nortia and Thesan started arguing again and walked off.

Ara’lu shook his head.  Bells tolled throughout the city.  He could feel the reverberation in his body, but his spirit was indifferent.  This was no place for him.  This city belonged to the holy, and the faithful.  He knew he was neither.

Walking away, he felt something tug on him.  He wanted to fall on the ground and howl at the Fates to share their vision with him.

He rubbed the cold metal of the nail Nortia gave him.  How was a nail supposed to remind him that we make our own destiny?  It didn’t make sense.  They didn’t make sense, but what did anymore.  Maybe this new found meaninglessness was a byproduct of maturity.  Maybe this is the way he was supposed to feel.

He threw his hands up at the heavens, “Why won’t you just tell me?”  He said, “I have done everything you asked of me, and all you could do is send me a nail.  What is this for?  My coffin?  I don’t understand.  Everything used to be so clear... so easy.  Why can’t it be that way again?  Like it was before the war, before those cold nights took you away from me.”

Katha was far behind him.  The noise of the crowds had surrendered to the twittering and clicking of various birds and insects.  Shafts of light dappled the tree-cast shadows.

A panther like shadow leapt from the trees, a long blond pony tail trailing from her tight black mask, kicking Ara’lu in the chin knocking him to the ground.

“You again!” Ara’lu said, recognizing the thief.

“We have unfinished business, you and I,” She said coldly, “You took something from me, so I will just have to take it back.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“I don’t want your money.”

She pulled two knives from her belt and threw them at him.

Ara’lu dodged to the left, barely getting out of the way.  His muscles were lethargic, responding slower than usual.

The thief pulled a sword from the sheath on her back.

Fear flashed in his chest.  He was unarmed... he had to call a weapon.  Leaping into the air, he flapped his wings.  He felt like he was carrying three other people.

Far enough away, he called a blade... the implant in his palm sparked.

“No!”  Ara’lu yelled.

He focused, but could not move the subtle energy around him.

The thief grabbed his feet and threw him to the ground, knocking the air out of him.

Ara’lu scurried for the trees.  Springing off one of the strong trunks, he lunged for her arms.

She slashed towards him.

He opened his left wing and rolled to the right.

The pummel of her blade struck him in the chest.

Flipping to his feet, Ara’lu realized he was already out of breath.  Weak, and unable to focus, he shook his head.  What was wrong?

Hoping into the air, he glided away from her.

“Send me help,” he prayed, “I have always served you well, now save me!”

Feet crashed into the middle of his back.  The thief reached around his neck, and fell backwards, tossing Ara’lu to the ground.

The impact forced the air from his lungs.

Blades clanged inches above his neck.

Ara’lu looked up and saw Cythraul standing over him.  He had deflected a strike that would have surely cut Ara'lu’s head off.

With alacrity and skill, Cythraul slashed at the thief driving her away.  Each blow shoving her further away.

“He is so powerful,” Ara’lu muttered, “I have to learn these arts so I can save my people.”  He stood up and noticed a spare periapt hanging from Cythraul’s belt.  “Throw me a periapt!” he shouted.

“Are you sure?” Cythraul asked beating the thief back with the sword in his right hand as he reached for the periapt with his left.

“Give it to me!”  Ara'lu yelled.

Cythraul threw him the periapt.

Ara'lu slipped the brown leather glove onto his right hand, and rubbed the sapphire stone embedded in the palm.

The stone connected with the implant in his palm. Euphoria consumed him.  He staggered for a moment until he eased into the high.

Rushing the thief, Ara’lu formed a single edged sword.  He knocked Cythraul out of his way and struck her blade hard.

She thrust a knife into his side.

Ara’lu didn’t even feel it.  He pulled the knife out and waved his hand over the wound.  Light flashed, a metal patch wove itself into his flesh mending the wound.

The thief screeched, and slashed wildly at him.  Her blade cut deep.

Ara’lu laughed.  The periapt in his hand lit up.  Not a momentary flash this time, a sustained light.  Metal threads erupted from his body to heal the wounds.

Striking her blade, he knocked her back.  Like a fierce beast loosed from its cage, Ara’lu lashed out at the thief.  All of his anger and frustration channeled itself though his body and into the blade.

The thief screamed.

His eyes had turned metallic, flickering with a red electric light.

“Pull back, Peri!” Cythraul yelled out, “It is finished.”

“What?” Ara’lu screeched a bionic whistle like metal scraping across metal. 

One swift cut. Peri, the thief, fell lifeless to the ground.

“You set me up!” Ara’lu turned on Cythraul, “You had her attack me so I would come back!”

“I told you,” Cythraul grinned, “I was looking for something to save my people.  You turned out better than the others.”

“I’ll kill you!” Ara’lu leapt toward Cythraul.

Flames shot from Cythraul's hands. 

Ara'lu wrapped his wings around himself for protection.  Pain tore through him.  The flesh blistered and ripped away from his wings and body.

Focusing on the periapt, he replaced the flesh with metal as fast and it tore away. 

Throwing his wings open, he knocked Cythraul to the ground with the force of the wind.

He screeched his voice rang out like metal scraping on metal.

No flesh remained on his body.  The blackened metal and shimmering gold lights was all that remained.  The black periapt stone fell from his hand. 

Ara'lu seethed over Cythraul for a moment.  He shook his head and blinked his eyes.  Turning, he flew away. 

Cythraul stood up, and picked up the black stone.

“Ara’lu!” he called out.

Ara’lu stopped in midair.

“Ara’lu!” Cythraul yelled, “Get back here!”

Ara'lu landed, and walked over.  Grimacing, he scowled at Cythraul.  His muscles quivered.  He fell to his knees, and kneeled before Cythraul.

Sighing, he said, "Yes, master,” looking up into Cythraul’s smiling face, “What would you have me do?"