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He expected it from Regan, but it was rare that his parents contributed to the chiding. That wasn't really fair though. The reason that his parents hardly ever scolded him was because they were rarely around to do so. Perhaps if they had been home more, they would have had more opportunities to scold him, and this particular admonishment wouldn’t have felt so strange. No matter. Regan had filled that void admirably for many years. But something about the look in his father's eyes that particular evening began to possess Loras' thoughts. It was not like his father to show that much emotion. So why now? He toiled with that question for several hours before eventually drifting off to sleep.

  Chapter Two: The Lost Reytana

  Loras could feel the power of the sun coursing through his body as he stormed across the Battle Plains toward the Gartolian invaders. The Reysene army ran at his heels, led by five hundred of his own Reytana soldiers, their eyes burning like yellow flames. Across from him, the violet capes of the Gartune waved behind them as they charged forward with their staffs raised high.

  The gap between the two charging armies narrowed. Now it was two hundred meters. Now one hundred. Fifty. With military precision, the Gartune stomped their eürocs in unison and an array of fault lines went shooting through the ground towards the Reytana. Right before the ground split in front of him, Loras leapt into the air, his sword flashing in the sun...

  "Loras, wake up!"

  Loras immediately jumped up from the desk that had been serving as his pillow. His classmates stifled a familiar laugh. Loras' daydreaming had become an almost daily occurrence lately. He brushed his long golden hair out of his eyes as the last wisps of his dream dissolved into the back of his mind. To be continued, thought Loras.

  Now that he was awake, Loras had to deal with another relentless foe – his professor. He and professor Lucan had been having their own battles for several years. The professor was tough on everyone, but when it came to Loras, and in particular his daydreaming habit, the professor could be ruthless.

  When he dreamt that he was a Reytana, Loras had unique powers. In addition to the extreme height and strength that all Tormada shared, The Reytana could channel the power of the sun. These solar-fueled abilities were in direct opposition to the powers of the other race of Tormada – the Gartune. Their powers were derived from the ground.

  Unfortunately, here in the classroom, Loras had no special abilities. He could not form objects from light and he could not cause the ground to shake. He was just a normal torman, and Professor Lucan had a special knack of reminding Loras just how un-special he was. It was not that Loras was dumb. He just lacked... motivation. Loras knew that Lucan's own special form of motivation was coming unless he could somehow prove that he had been listening.

  Professor Lucan stood at the front of the classroom waiting for a response from his daydreaming pupil. Loras frantically looked around the room, searching for assistance. Lucan’s classroom, like most of the classrooms in the school, was in dire need of updating. The glass-covered walls were cracked in several places. Little pieces of folded paper propped up the legs of the desks so that they were all even. Most of the textbooks were old, their spines broken and their pages ripped. If not for the meticulous mending of the professor, most of them would have been unusable. Lucan salvaged what he could, for there were no funds to replace the old tomes. Reysene education was not a top priority for the current government.

  Loras continued to look around the room, in search of aid. Half of the students grinned mischievously at him when they met his gaze, the others – the younger ones – looked away nervously. Since there were less teachers now, different grades had been combined into a single class which meant that the ages of the students varied by a few years. Loras was one of the oldest in the class. Due to the combining of the grades, the room should have been overcrowded with students. But it wasn’t. With the majority of the Reysene adults assigned to work on “the project,” many school-aged children had to fill the jobs that had been vacated by their parents. And they weren’t the good jobs. Most of the manual labor, the sanitation and the service jobs in Reysa were now performed by teenagers.

  Of course the Reysene children had a choice. They could choose to go to school instead of work if they wished. They could also choose to eat or not. The decisions were one in the same. So most chose to work. It was the Gartolians’ way of oppressing the youth, without actually forcing them to miss school.

  The Reysene would not let their youth go entirely uneducated, so they insisted that some of the children attend class. They claimed that the selection was random, but everyone knew that only the children who appeared to possess the most potential were “chosen” for education. Those fortunate few were allowed to bring one companion. It could be a young sibling, a friend… a twin brother.

  Loras gave up. Nobody was going to help him out of his jam. In fact, most of the students wanted to see what kind of retribution awaited their classmate. There was nothing left for Loras to do but shout something out and hope that it somehow related to whatever Lucan had been teaching.

  "Yes, uh... eight, sir," stammered Loras.

  "Eight what?" asked professor Lucan.

  "The answer is eight," replied Loras.

  "And what was the question, exactly?"

  The class giggled again. They had seen this routine many times. It was always entertaining to watch Loras squirm and try to guess what he had missed.

  Professor Lucan stood at the chalkboard with his arms crossed, waiting on Loras' answer. He was one of the oldest professors at the school, and both his appearance and disposition reflected his seniority. Though he was short for a torman, he held himself in a way that made him seem taller. His shoulder-length hair had long since faded from golden-blonde to white and he had a matching beard – a rarity among his race – but it fit him and his profession well.

  Loras looked like he was about to answer the professor when Regan hissed at him from across the aisle. "Just be quiet," she said.

  Loras scowled at his sister then slunk back down in his seat. Back to being my mother again, he thought.

  Tinko leaned over the desk behind Loras and whispered something under his breath. Loras turned his head slightly to try to hear what he was saying. Tinko whispered again, louder this time, but it was still unintelligible. Loras gave his friend an irritated look and then returned to face the professor.

  "It seems that my lesson has bored our Loras to sleep once again," continued Lucan. Loras turned red as he stared hard into his desk. The grain of the wood began to swirl as water filled the teen's eyes. He quickly wiped his face, hoping that nobody had seen them glimmer.

  "Since Reysene history, the history of your own people, is apparently not riveting enough for you, let's try something new today. Tell me, Loras, what will hold your attention long enough to keep you out of your afternoon coma?"

  This has to be a trick, thought Loras. He's just looking for another way to punish me for sleeping in his class again. Nothing I pick will be correct.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Loras could see his sister giving him a quick shake of her head. He chose to remain silent.

  "Nothing?" asked professor Lucan. "There's nothing rattling around in that brain of yours that demands answers?"

  Actually, there was one thing that Loras would love to discuss, but he knew it was forbidden. Although... his professor had opened the door. If there was any time when Loras might be allowed to mention this topic, maybe this was it. Still, it was probably best to play it safe. He was already on Lucan's bad side today.

  Lucan slowly walked over to Loras until he was standing directly over him. He bent over and laid his chalk-covered hands on the teen’s desk. The smell of book leather and glue filled Loras’ nose as Lucan leaned closer. Loras continued to avoid his professor’s gaze. His hands began to sweat as he gripped the edge of his desk as tightly as he could. The wood in his desk swirled again but he continued to hold his tongue.

  "I can see your wheels spinning, Loras," whispered p
rofessor Lucan as he hovered over his student. "There's something up there gnawing at you. Spit it out! Maybe there's someone else in this room who shares your thirst for knowledge."

  He knows what I want to say. He's goading me. It's as if he wants me to get myself in trouble, thought Loras. Professor Lucan had always been rough on Loras, but this was a new kind of torture. Maybe I should just do what he says and spit it out. Everyone else in this classroom wants to know as well. Loras looked up from his desk and peered around at his classmates. Everyone was staring at him, waiting to see what he would do next. He peered over at his sister. Loras asked her with his eyes, should I do it? Regan answered him with another subtle but stern shake of her head. She's right, thought Loras. She's always right. This must be a trap. He remained silent.

  A few moments of tense silence hung in the air while the professor waited to see if Loras would give breath to the question that had inched its way to the tip of his tongue. Finally, Loras looked up at Lucan. He searched the professor's face for any clue as to what his next move should be. But Lucan's face showed nothing; only a raised eyebrow. Loras gave up.

  "I think we should talk about whatever you want to talk about, professor," said Loras as he folded his arms onto his desk and slouched back in defeat.

  "Very well..." said Lucan. Loras thought he saw a brief flicker of disappointment in the professor's face as he walked back to the front of the classroom.

  "Why don't we change gears and talk about that number eight which Loras was so kind as to provide us with? Who can tell me the significance about the number eight?"

  "There are eight moons in our solar system," shouted one student.

  "Very good," answered Lucan, "what else?"

  "My curfew is eight o'clock," grumbled a boy.

  "Everyone has the same curfew as you," sneered a girl in the back.

  "Stop whining."

  Tinko's hand shot up in the air.

  "There have been eight Great Wars."

  "Very good, Tinko," exclaimed Lucan. "Let's talk more about those, shall we?"

  As professor Lucan turned his back, Loras kicked his leg behind him and hit Tinko's foot. The pink-faced boy let out a little grunt. Tinko was the teacher's pet. He always had all the right answers and it irritated Loras to no end.

  “What was that for?” whispered Tinko. “I was trying to help you!”

  “Next time try harder!” said Loras.

  Professor Lucan continued with his lecture. "There have been eight Great Wars between the cities of Reysa and Gartol," Lucan announced as he pulled down a map over the chalkboard. The map showed the northern half of the planet Torma, or The Crescent, as it was referred to. The Crescent represented the civilized portion of the planet, or at least all that was known to be civilized. No torman had ever ventured beyond the confines of The Crescent, or if they had, they hadn't returned to tell their tale. And it was easy to see why.

  The eastern half of the map was covered by the great Delucean Sea. Its vastness had never been fully charted; partly because it was so large, and partly because tormans, in general, were wary of the water and only traversed it when it was absolutely necessary. Even the Tormada, with their enhanced strength and powers, avoided the water.

  To the west was Dellwood Forest, a great expanse of green which was outlined on its western edge by a concave line of mountains that stretched from the top of the map to the bottom. It was easy to see where the name "The Crescent" had come from.

  The Crescent Mountains were no mere range of rocky cliffs. Their peaks extended above the clouds so that on most days, one could not see their tops. Some people actually believed that where the mountains stopped, the sky started and that was the reason they could not be crossed.

  Between the sea and the forest was a large, desert-like expanse with the words "Battle Plains" scribbled over it. A thin, black line ran through the center of the area. At the southern terminus of the line, built into a great canyon, was the city of Gartol. At the northern end of the line, atop a large, flat cliff overlooking the Delucean Sea, was the city of Reysa.

  "There have been hundreds of battles and thousands of skirmishes between the two great races," continued professor Lucan as he circled the two cities on the map, "but only eight conflicts have been so great that their outcomes radically changed the course of history.

  "The Eighth Great War ended almost eighteen years ago. Prior to that, Reysa and Gartol had been at relative peace for almost a hundred years – one of the longest armistices in history. It was a time of cooperation and advancement. Gartolian and Reysene engineers were collaborating on enhancements to the light rail." Lucan pointed to the black line on the map that connected Reysa and Gartol. "There was even talk of a summit between our King Atholos and King Hadrian of Gartol. But, of course, we know now that the summit was nothing more than a trap. "

  Lucan paused for a moment. His eyes became tired as he glanced longingly out one of the windows, as if he was searching for a time that had long past. Outside the window, the streets of Reysa were empty except for a handful of Reysene who walked briskly with bowed heads along the sidewalks. Before the occupation, the streets would have been bustling with people talking and doing business. Vendors would have lined the sidewalks, hawking their wares while carefree children ran back and forth playing tag. But not anymore. The lifeless scene that Lucan saw outside jolted him back to reality.

  "None of us saw it coming," Lucan continued. "King Hadrian's overtures of goodwill were meant to lull us into complacency, and more importantly, to buy him time. Time to complete the weapon he knew would cripple our city and its defenses.

  "The war was relatively short," continued Lucan, “only lasting about a week. Though they fought valiantly, King Atholos and our Reytana defenders were no match for King Hadrian and the Gartune once they unleashed the shield."

  Lucan paused and again gazed out the window of his classroom. His eyes were now as dark as his tone.

  "And the instrument of our defeat is now a part of our daily lives."

  He turned back to face the class. They looked bored.

  "I sometimes wonder what it is like for all of you to have been born into such a situation; to have known nothing else. Reysa was a wonderful city and oh, to have seen her light up at night..."

  The corners of Lucan's eyes began to glisten. Slowly, defiance shimmered through the pools in his eyes. Lucan lowered his head slightly and his voice took on a dark tone. His next words were almost a whisper. "There will come a day when you will see her again as she was," said Lucan as he continued to stare out the window, his gaze fixed on something distant and unseen. "They're out there... waiting for the right time... and when they return, we wi—" Lucan stopped himself abruptly as if awoken from a trance. He looked out across the class. The students' faces were fixed on their professor, waiting to see what he would say next. But the defiance had left Lucan's eyes. The speech was over just as quickly as it had started.

  The class was taken aback by the sudden show of emotion from their normally even-keeled professor. A few chuckled under their breath. Regan shook her head disapprovingly. Tinko raised his hand but then thought better of it and lowered it awkwardly. Loras didn't know what to think, but he was definitely awake now.

  Reliving the memories of the war had caused a momentary lapse in Lucan's judgment. He quickly stepped out into the hall to see if anyone had heard him. There was no one there. Steadying himself, Lucan took a deep breath and collected his emotions before stepping back into the classroom.

  It was not often that the old professor lost his cool, but the few times that he did were usually a result of this subject matter. None of the other instructors dared talk about the war. For safety’s sake, they tried to avoid discussing the Gartolians, especially the Gartune, as much as possible. But Lucan thought it was important to talk about these things. The students loved it because, like anything that was taboo, it was exciting to discuss.

  Though tales of the battle were usually told in dark corne
rs and in hushed tones, the students had been hearing about the Eighth Great War throughout their lives. As with most stories of the sort, the tales were ripe with exaggeration and often contradicted each other. It was hard to tell what was true and what was legend, especially since most people who actually fought in the war were now gone.

  Naturally, the students had lots of questions and few people to answer them. They suspected that professor Lucan had the answers. Up until this point, he had chosen not to reveal many.

  Lucan had told the story of the Eighth War a few times before. He usually recounted it the same way – without getting into any specifics and only telling the students what they already knew, or rather what the “approved Gartolian history” would allow them to know. And he always stopped at the same point because if he told the story any longer, he would approach the forbidden subject – the same subject that Loras had almost broached just a few minutes earlier.

  Loras studied his professor carefully. Maybe he really did want me to bring it up.

  Loras was about to press his luck when Tinko's hand shot up in the air. Apparently, his best friend had also been thinking that perhaps today was the day for answers.

  "But, Professor," said Tinko without being called on, "the Reytana should have returned eighteen years ago!"

  Lucan turned his back to the students and began to slowly erase that day's lesson from the chalkboard. He gave a slow sigh as he did so, but he did not rebuke Tinko for his question. Tinko took his professor's silence as a sign to continue.

  "They say that hundreds of Reytana died in the war," continued Tinko, "but when Reytana die, they are reborn shortly after. There should have been newborn Reytana in our pool of life, but they never came!"

  "The deserters probably stole them," whispered a boy in the back of the room.

  "Or killed them, more likely," quipped another.

  The students became excited at this rare opportunity to voice their opinions on the forbidden subject and soon everyone was shouting their theories on the missing Reytana.