One Year Ago…

Even when he had been alive, Tuldrus Rain had seemed a stranger -- but now, in death, Xander's father was truly unrecognizable.

The body he'd spent his whole life cultivating had betrayed him in the end. Muscle had become drooping skin, keen eyes had clouded over, sturdy bones had become as fragile as sand. Even his teeth had abandoned him, leaving nothing but a dark maw. It was as if Tuldrus Rain had been a balloon, and death had taken a pin to him.

For nearly a century now, the Tree of Might had made their home on the planet Hydrargyros, in the Home system. Naturally, the planet was an inhospitable and barren rock, but grand terraforming towers had transformed it over millennia to a verdant flat grassland, as far as the eye could see, with only occasional forests to interrupt the splendor. The towers stretched up to the sky, huge and black and winding, like grasping hands, the names of their makers long since lost to history.

Some said they even predated the Gene Tyrants themselves.

Once, Xander had asked his father about them, and for his trouble had only received a dismissive glare and a scrap of wisdom: “Do not waste your thoughts on a foe long since vanquished.”

It had been true and proper. He'd stuffed the advice, the scripture, into his heart with the rest. Those few words bestowed by his mighty father had always been precious to Xander. Why, then, did they now bring him nothing but pain?

Tuldrus’ body had been laid out in the center of the great hall, natural light flowing down from gaps in the wooden roof. Over the last three days, each of the First Branch's closest confidants had been given the opportunity to see him, to thank him for his service, to say their goodbyes. Now it was Xander's turn.

The body was starting to smell.

Xander banished the thought immediately. To do otherwise would be to disgrace the man his father had been. A man like that did not simply rot in repose. He had won the battle over life, and proceeded to something better.

Life through battle. His father had always said that, and his father had always been correct. Life through battle.

Bitter tears stung at Xander's eyes, and he wiped them away just as bitterly. That wasn't how an adult behaved. That wasn't how a warrior behaved.

Taking a deep breath, Xander slammed his glaive against the floor below -- and the sound boomed throughout the Tree of Might complex, as loud as any bell. It announced the end of the mourning period. It announced that it was time to return this body to the soil.

It announced that the Tree of Might had a new leader.

Xander's ears pricked up as he heard the distant sound of an explosion. An attack? As he swung around to face the doors, the communicator in his ear clicked on.

“First Branch,” Violence said respectfully. “It appears the compound is being assaulted. Our enemies think us weak with the death of your predecessor.”

“I see,” Xander replied stoically, finger to his ear. “I shall educate them otherwise.”

He strode forward, oak-brown Aether coursing around his form. The light streaming down from the ceiling diverted his path so as to not blind him -- and as he spun his glaive ready in his hands, the wind provided no resistance at all. Such was his ability.

Xander's Aether tutor, a strange man known only as the Teacher, had referred to his pupil's Aether ability as ‘current manipulation’, but Xander had always felt it was more profound and amorphous than that. He controlled the flow of all things. The path and speed of the river, the strength of its onslaught, the rage of its crashing waves… all of it was at his discretion.

The doors opened, forced into obedience by twin gusts of wind. He kicked off the ground -- and the air carried him, sending him flying through…

…and out, into the sunlight.

Present Day…

The roar of the crowd was nearly deafening. Ellis planted his hands to his ears as it washed over their group, countless mouths cheering for the beginning of the Dawn Contest. Ruth planted a reassuring hand on his shoulder -- but her face was grim.

Somehow, they'd ended up accompanying Rain's entourage to the opening match of the Dawn Contest. There'd be multiple matches tonight, but the fight between Rain and Dragan would kick things off. Ruth's heart thumped in her chest.

Even if these weren't the circumstances she'd expected, this was another chance to find Dragan, wasn't it? She could understand sending North to replace him in the opening ceremony, but there was no way he'd let the man fight for him. He'd be here. This time, for sure.

Their group -- Xander Rain, Violence, Rae and the bodyguards -- had gathered on a floating platform, slowly hovering down into the arena proper. Ruth looked around nervously, the eyes of the galaxy suddenly and unwelcomely upon her.

Were they hostages? Was that what was going on here? If they tried to leave, what would happen? Surely they wouldn't do anything too drastic in front of all these people… but then again, that woman Violence was standing very close.

In the end, it wasn't Ruth who tested it.

As the platform thumped against the floor of the flat arena, Rae stepped off before anyone else, turning towards the tunnels that led backstage.

“Well,” she said. “This has been a very interesting experience -- I'll be sure to write about it in the supplementaries! If you'll excuse me, though…”

Violence reached a hand out. A big hand, fingers clutched like claws, with white Aether crackling around it. It didn't take a genius to see what would happen next -- and it didn't take a genius to stop it.

Direwolf Set.

The Set manifested around Ruth's arm alone -- the warped lupine visage covering her hand like a gauntlet. Violence’s hand froze in the air -- the fangs of the Direwolf inches from her transparent throat. Ruth could see the carotid artery. Ruth could see her target.

For a moment, neither Ruth nor Violence dared to move. They both knew it could cost a life. For her part, Rae stared unblinkingly at Ruth, her mouth spread into an open smile, weirdly entranced.

Finally, though, the stalemate was broken.

“Let them go, Violence,” Xander declared. “There are greater interests before me.”

His gaze was elsewhere -- and as Ruth followed it, her heart danced anxiously between her ribs. He was staring at the other side of the arena. He was staring at the figure who was steadily but surely approaching.

He was staring at Dragan Hadrien.

Dragan had changed his outfit since his ‘appearance’ at the opening ceremony. A bright white suit with a pale blue tie, like he was some kind of heavenly salaryman. If nothing else, his fashion sense had gotten weirder since he'd left the crew.

His bright blue eyes were fixed on Xander alone. Had he even noticed Ruth and Bruno standing there?

Dragan!

Ruth went to step forward, went to open her mouth, went to shout -- but too late. One second she was in the arena, the next she'd suddenly been transported into the crowd, surrounded on all sides by walls of humanity.

An unwelcome voice echoed in her head.

Sorry! it squealed. Looks like you were in the arena immediately prior to the beginning of a match! In accordance with the rules, I had no choice but to teleport you out! My bad!

Gritting her teeth, Ruth forced her way as far forward as she could -- but the crush of man could not be conquered, not without drawing more attention to herself than she could afford. Dawn Contest or not, Ruth Blaine was still a known associate of the terrorist Zachariah Esmeralda.

She swung her head in every direction, trying to catch a glimpse -- any glimpse -- of what was happening in the arena. In the end, she had no choice but to turn her head upwards -- to follow the gazes of everyone around her to the holographic screens floating in the air. They were angled down, each and every one showing what was happening in the arena.

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The shape of the battlefield had already started to change. Structures had begun to emerge from the concrete floor -- blocks and pyramids, spheres and rectangles, obstacles of stark geometry. They flew around the circumference of the arena lazily, just large enough to be used as platforms or shields. Not as extravagant as the later matches of a Dawn Contest…

…but Ruth suspected this would still be a night to remember.

As the protector of the Supreme Heir, Muzazi had managed to get himself an exclusive observation booth high up in the Arena of the Absolute.

He stood before the window, arms crossed, looking down at the match that was about to begin. A holographic screen floated loyally at his side, but he paid it no mind. With his eyes as infused as they were, he wouldn't be missing a thing.

“Xander Rain,” Jamilu Aguta noted, stepping alongside him. “He's one of the candidates we very much don't want becoming Supreme.”

There was another reason Muzazi had decided to attend this match in person -- and why he'd left Aclima at the hotel with the rest of the Phases. He'd needed an opportunity to speak to his new benefactors. Jamilu’s hawk-like eyes were fixed on the match as well, while his red-haired companion lounged on the couch behind them.

“Why's that?” Muzazi asked.

“Despite the image he presents, the boy himself is soft, easily manipulated,” Jamilu said. “And even discounting him, we have plenty of intelligence on the danger the Tree of Might poses.”

As he spoke, Jamilu tapped the red halo that floated over his head. A Principality. Muzazi had heard of the collective Aether ability of the Inganci people, but he'd never seen it in person before.

The Principality was effectively a shared database of knowledge, accessible by anyone trained in the technique. History, skills, combat techniques… the potential was limitless. Apparently, the colour of the halo denoted the level of access the user had to the database, with gold belonging only to the Oda. Red was right beneath that.

Muzazi sniffed. “I suppose I must agree with you there. While the Tree of Might's respect for the Supremacy's history is splendid, their judgment… is perhaps lacking.”

“Warmongers,” the man on the couch, Rufus, called up. “That's the word you're looking for. I ain't the brightest tool in the shed, but even I know letting them into the Shesha’s a recipe for disaster.”

Jamilu nodded. “And to make matters worse, despite his mental weakness, the boy is no slouch in combat. For the time being, it seems we must put our faith in Dragan Hadrien.”

Muzazi stiffened, his eyes flicking over to the Cogitant himself as he strode across the arena floor.

“What do you know about Hadrien?” he asked quietly.

Jamilu glanced over. “Very little. We know he was part of your AdminCorps, then he joined up with Esmeralda… after Elysian Fields, though, he's a ghost. Why?”

“Because if you knew Hadrien…” Muzazi muttered. “...I don't think you'd want to put your faith in him.”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the cry of Brett del Boros echoed through the stadium, amplified and transmitted by countless speakers. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The true beginning of this historic occasion! The moment when sparks fly and blood spills! The search for the true Supreme! The… Dawn Contest!”

The crowd rippled like an ocean, arms waving in the air as they screamed and shouted and cheered -- a chorus of excitement, very nearly overpowering the announcer.

“In one corner…” the host went on, undeterred by the sheer noise. “The man they call the Shooting Star. The mysterious Cogitant with a penchant for spectacle -- Dragan Hadrien!”

Some in the audience lifted their scripts, screens tinted a bright blue to show their allegiance, and waved them back and forth.

“And in the other corner… the young First Branch of the Tree of Might! Son of the Redwood! It's… Xander Rain!”

As Xander thumped his glaive against the floor, his supporters in the stand stomped down in unison. A drumbeat, seeing him off to war. He walked towards his opponent without hesitation, and his opponent did the same.

The two of them continued marching forward until they were truly face to face, blue eyes staring into brown, brown eyes staring into blue. Even as the excitement of the crowd reached a crescendo, totally overpowering any other noise, they didn't so much as flinch. They didn't even blink.

Not until the one all-important, vital word was heard over the din.

“BEGIN!”

Xander moved first. In one smooth, fluid motion he dropped to one knee, and spoke.

“I surrender,” he said. “My Supreme.”

The cheering stopped.

One Year Ago…

The front of the Tree of Might's great hall exploded inwards as Xander was sent flying through it, falling into a pitiful heap before the pedestal where his father had been laid to rest.

He had suffered -- that was plain to see. Cuts and bruises covered his body, and his right arm dangled useless and broken from its socket. As he forced himself to his feet, he had to squint to see properly, as the beginnings of a black eye were already making themselves known.

Xander calmed himself, ragged breathing slowing down. He wasn't defeated. Not yet.

It was true that this enemy was formidable -- but they weren't invincible. Even though Xander had been sent flying by that last exchange, he’d given as good as he’d got. The enemy’s severed arm was clutched in Xander’s good hand, orange-tinted blood oozing from the stump.

Wait, orange? Xander frowned at the odd colouration. He’d assumed this mysterious foe to be a Cogitant from his appearance, but was he actually some kind of Scurrant, instead? There were Scurrants designed to resemble more prestigious subspecies, after all, so --

“The reason you're losing…” his enemy's voice cut through the fog of dust. “...is because you don't know where to go.”

Slowly, steadily, his foe appeared through the gloom. Just a silhouette at first, but even that was enough to make Xander's heart drop. That silhouette had all its limbs, after all. Some kind of regeneration.

This was hopeless.

Twin dots of blue light regarded Xander. “That man behind you… the Great Redwood. You're still waiting for him to get back up and show you the way. It's an impossible wish. Believe me, I know.”

As the silver-haired Cogitant finally emerged from the cloud of debris, Xander hurled the severed arm at him -- as straight and as fast as a missile. It never even reached him, fizzling away into blue Aether right before it would have made contact. Xander's good arm trembled.

“Shut up…” he hissed.

“If I was wrong,” the man said, his voice as calm as ever. “You'd have an argument to refute me with. But you're letting a corpse decide what happens to you. It's sad to look at.”

“Shut up!” Xander roared.

The flow of the world acquiesced to him. Currents of wind roared through the great hall, plucking the flames from their torches and converging upon the enemy. The flow of the fire changed too, concentrating itself, becoming more ferocious, orange flame brightening into blue. An ordinary person would have been incinerated in an instant.

But Xander was already well aware this was not a normal person. Again… the fire didn't even reach him.

As the flow of flame subsided, the worst the Cogitant had suffered was a slight scalding of the skin -- and even that was quickly healing, gaps in the epidermis being filled in as if they'd never even been there.

“Let me show you…” the man said, holding his palm out. “This is what you should have done the second he died.”

Xander threw himself out of the way as the flames -- recorded and now manifested -- were released back out of the enemy's hand as a single stream. The torrential blue flame blasted past him, striking the pedestal and the body lying upon it. As Xander whirled his head around in shock, he was just in time -- just in time to see the already blackened skeleton of his father be blasted apart entirely into ash.

The flames ceased.

Xander opened his mouth, but no words came out. There were no words to be said. It wasn't even that his thoughts weren't reaching his mouth. He couldn't… he couldn't even think of anything. The inside of his mind had been cremated as well.

A shadow landed on him.

Slowly, Xander looked up… and saw that the Cogitant was looming before him. Darkness had fallen over his face, and so his glowing blue eyes were the only trace of his expression visible.

“I did nothing just now,” he said softly. “That man was already dead… whether his body still existed or not, there was nothing more he could do for you. He had no path to the future.”

Xander trembled -- then flinched as the Cogitant extended an open hand.

“I, however, do have that path. My name is Dragan Hadrien. Come with me…”

Blue Aether crackled.

“...and I'll show you the shape of a new world.”

For a good, long moment, Xander lay there in silence, staring at the hand as if it were a bomb. His mouth was dry, his throat was dry. Tears brewed from his eyes. At the edges of the room, the other members of the Tree of Might -- exhausted by the furious battle -- began to trickle in, observing.

Xander opened his mouth to say something.

Attack. Finish him off. We can defeat him together. Don't let us be defeated now. Victory is still before us. Don't falter. Life through battle. Life through battle. Life through battle.

They were the correct words. They were his father's words. Xander went to say them…

…but instead, he found himself reaching up and clasping the offered hand.

“Show me,” he gasped… he begged.

Dragan Hadrien smiled. “We have a lot of work to do.”