The First Sin: Prologue

“Apocalypse will come to the årdrakin upon fulfillment of the signs. The first sign, and many signs thereafter, shall be sins of our own making.”

So spoke Älår in the Ancient Age, year 30915.

The first sign is coming:

They will take the flesh of another and become beholden to it.

SË’SHÅZAL ROHËWA STRODE down the curving corridor, heading toward Command and Control. It was close to zero-three hundred hours, and at the top of the hour she was due to receive a status report from the night watch personnel stationed within.

She passed a handful of other armada officers as she walked, each one concentrating on whatever errand or task was required of them. None stopped to raise their wings in salute to her. Rohëwa nodded with satisfaction. Even at this time of night, their duties remained paramount. There was a proper time and place for such gestures, and she already knew she commanded their respect.

The door to C&C irised open and then closed as she stepped through. The room itself was round and open like an atrium, revealing three floors of stations, all with personnel quietly attending them. Across from her, one stretch of the curved wall was clear glass from floor to ceiling, providing a spectacular view of the city and a night sky lit by aurora. Rohëwa paused to take in the view before launching off the door’s balcony to fly to the comm hub.

The hub, manned by six officers, sat at the convergence of three arching bridges in the heart of C&C. Three sea green tapestries hung from the platform, each one emblazoned with Clan Tsinna’s logo. The platform itself glittered with colorful hardlight holodisplays and floating screens relaying comm traffic. The screens’ displays seemed clear at first glance, but as Rohëwa landed and swept her gaze over them, she noted how the pictures intermittently blurred and skipped with static and other visual interference. All but two of the personnel leaned forward in their seats, attentively monitoring the channels to which they were assigned. One of those remaining manipulated his holodisplay with a frown on his face and frill folded against his head. The screen above his station was dark, almost invisible against the backdrop of the window. Another officer stood beside him, leaning over the console and frowning just as deeply.

“Cëdal, report,” Rohëwa said.

Cëdal, the standing officer, looked up just as the screen burst to life for a second, then went dark again. His tail thrashed behind him.

“Interference from the solar storm intensified in the last hour,” he said. “We’re having difficulty keeping channels clear and connected.” He gestured at the dark screen. “It’s so bad, the starbase missed their scheduled check-in, and we haven’t been able to raise them.”

Rohëwa mirrored his frown as she stepped up to the comm station and poked at the holodisplay herself. Nothing happened.

“It’s as if the signal just isn’t there,” the sitting officer said, “which is impossible. The starbase sends us a constant stream of data and activates a live feed every six hours for check-in. We should always have comm traffic from them. Even the worst interference from the storm shouldn’t disrupt it completely.”

“How long has the disruption lasted?”

Cëdal answered. “Reception has been bad all night, but the signal seemed to cut off about thirty minutes ago when storm interference started to peak.”

Rohëwa’s frown turned into a thin slice of worry. She activated an intercom while looking up toward the stations she wanted to speak to. “Sensors, this is Së’shåzal Rohëwa. What is the status of that anomalous blip the starbase reported at last check-in?”

The reply was immediate. “Sensors reporting. Blip remains unverified. We have been unable to trace. The storm’s interference is atrocious.”

“Any idea what it might have been?”

“The blip was on sensors for such a small amount of time that there’s almost no data to know for sure. But whatever it was, it was big.”

“Bring the starbase up on short-range sensors and report.”

“It’s on the far side of the planet. With the interference, it’s—”

“Almost impossible to get a reading,” Rohëwa finished. “Damn.”

“What is it?” Cëdal asked.

Rohëwa caped her wings down her back. “Don’t you see? The storm, the blip, the—”

The officer sitting at the dark comm station suddenly sat straight and touched fingers to his ear. “I’m receiving a distress signal!” His frill fell, and his eyes went wide. “It’s from the starbase.” With a flick of his fingers, he activated his screen and gestured. The screen immediately doubled in size.

Static crisscrossed the feed, but the signal was clear enough to show fire engulfing a room, the roar of the flames barely covering the screams of the people within it. Someone, face bloodied, skin blistered, and clothes smoldering, lurched into view.

“We’re under attack! It’s a dreadnought. Help us!”

A blade burst through the chest, and the person slumped out of sight. Behind them, yanking the sword free, stood a soldier. The helmeted head and armored body, dark orange with grey highlights, leaned close to the feed’s camera.

“There’s no help for anyone here,” they sneered and swung their blade. The feed crackled and went dark.

Everyone in the hub stood or sat in stunned silence. Even the murmur of other officers at other stations fell away. Then, Cëdal muttered, “Those were Clan Inalë’s colors.”

“Sound the alarm,” Rohëwa ordered, her mouth dry. Clan Inalë, along with two other clans, rivalled Clan Tsinna, and relations between their nations were tense, to put it mildly.

A second later, klaxons blared, echoing through the building, and red lights flashed. “Wake the së’nåzal and relay the situation to him,” Rohëwa continued. She touched the shoulder of the officer still sitting at the comm station. “Try to contact the colony’s defense ships. Find out what’s going on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll wake Lady Vindelï.” Rohëwa turned away and activated the comm chip embedded below her left ear. Strictly speaking, she shouldn’t contact Chinda T-3’s overseer herself—that was the duty of the së’nåzal—but since it was the middle of the night, and the së’nåzal also needed to be awoken and briefed, Rohëwa wanted to waste no time.

It took a few agonizing moments for the call to be accepted.

“Së’shåzal Rohëwa,” came Lady Vindelï’s groggy voice through the commlink, routed directly to Rohëwa’s inner ear where no one else could hear. “What is the meaning of this?”

My lady, Rohëwa thought, sending her reply just as silently. Please forgive me. I have urgent news. The starbase is under attack by Clan Inalë. There is a dreadnought.

The grogginess in the overseer’s voice vanished. “What?!”

I saw the distress signal myself. Clan Inalë’s warriors are aboard. Their C&C is in flames.

Sounds of alarm from the officers surrounding her wrenched Rohëwa’s attention away from the overseer. Outside, the night sky, already ablaze with green, pink, and purple aurora from the solar storm, had become shot through with streaks of orange and red as if thousands of meteors were burning through the atmosphere.

“The defense satellites!” someone gasped.

The intercom buzzed. “Sensors reporting. We can now read a fleet of ships surrounding the planet. Clans Sakloskeret and Jiretï. They are attacking—”

A bright orange light erupted in the sky, streaking directly toward the window. In the blink of an eye, it slammed into the ground outside, incinerating buildings and landscape alike. The shockwave barreled into C&C. Glass shattered. Rohëwa tumbled backward through the air, landing hard at the bottom of the atrium. Her armor was all that saved her from a slew of broken bones.

“What’s going on?” Lady Vindelï’s voice had gone fuzzy from interference.

“We’re under attack from orbit!” Rohëwa said aloud as she picked herself up off the floor. Another incoming bombardment lit the fiery scene outside with an intense orange glow. It was unlikely the enemy would miss a second time. “Everybody out! Go, go, go!”

People streamed past her. Rohëwa turned in time to see Cëdal still in the comm hub, silhouetted by the blinding light outside. With the glass gone, the whine of the incoming shot was deafening.

“Cëdal!” she screamed, but it was in vain. He bent over a holodisplay, his wings splayed out behind him, oblivious to her. What was he doing?

Someone grabbed her arm and pulled, dragging her through the door. As it irised shut, a blast door clanged down in front of it, but Rohëwa knew it wouldn’t be enough.

Årdra, save us…

The orbital strike hit its target.