Chapter I - Page 4

she was a tall, slender woman, with deep scarlet hair and green eyes - to the best of Soren’s memory, accompanied by stories from his father.

     He tried to remember her voice, but the only remnants of her was a ghost that ricocheted off the insides of his skull.

     Soren, spaced out in attempted reminiscence, was oblivious to a new movement on the horizon. A bright flash caught his attention. His thoughts abruptly disintegrated as he immediately placed all his senses on the anomaly.

     There was a craft of sorts, and it was nearing the surface out in the dunes. Soren placed the rough, wartime technology to his face, and focussed them in on his target.

     It appeared to be rather small, and was coated in flicking flames that began to dance off the dirty soil of the Badlands as it drew ever closer.

     Soren gasped; the craft was crashing. He watched it intently for several moments, until the flaming spacecraft’s nose impacted the surface. At that moment, fire and debris flew vertically into the air, and the ship dug a deep trench into the ground. It continued on its path for perhaps a dozen meters, and slowed to a burning halt.

     The twin moons had broken the horizon, and darkness was quickly falling; he would be late - and in deep trouble - if he did not abandon his seat. The boy hopped off the Wall onto the blue grass of the hill, and burst into a sprint down the path.

     The cool night air flowed briskly over his face and the tops of his ears. Nocturnal insects chirped as their dark sanctuary settled in, keeping them in the shadows.

     He could see his father standing on the deck, arms crossed.

     “Dad!” he shouted, still a good distance away from his home, “Dad, Dad! You won’t believe it!”

     Soren ran up the short flight of metal steps and up onto the deck. Garik, Soren reasoned, was perturbed by his slight lateness.

     “You’re off, Son. Ten minutes since nightfall. I was getting antsy,” Garik told him, arms still crossed.

     Garik was a tall man, with muscles that had only just begun to soften up. He was wearing a tight, white silk Coalition military shirt, with black pants - the usual for his father, and many other soldiers that were off duty.

     “Dad, I saw…” he gasped, “something crash… out… in the Badlands...”


The End

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