The eclipse cast a line of darkness on the stadium. Not a cloud in the sky, Kahton stood in front of the sun. It happened about once every couple of days. Most days it happened at night. But it had to be now for Beseth.
He looked up, the sunlight trying desperately to reach around the white ring to give Beseth light. To light upon his life's work. He sat in the stadium stands, back to the high walls of Blood Gully, the largest of the three stadiums. If he wasn't leaving, he could see The Godling, soon at Blood Gully. The other stadiums held different activities, whether it be a sport, fighting, or something miscellaneous, Nerth had it. But Beseth would soon lose it.
The crowd sat, the hum of chatting amongst themselves. He sat towards the front in a reserved player's section. To that point, other people behind him had recognized him. He smiled at them sufferingly. Almost winning Crown Siege three times gained him the moniker "The Heir" to the fans. How he hated their expectations in this moment.
He leaned forward as the third round of Chezyr's match commenced, flute sounds floating across the masses in waves. He watched Chezyr carefully, his discs being blocked again and again. Beseth scowled. Chezyr was down in score, too. For a person to cheat and still lose...
Then Chezyr took out several discs at once, breaking a Javelin across from him suddenly and knocking down their pins, all at once. The round was over. The crowd cheered wildly. Beseth walked out, knowing what Chezyr had done.
He went out of the stadium and back to his hotel, which was past the bustling marketplace. The players that were high enough in popularity had their rooms paid for by Nerth. His parents would have paid, even if the hoffers hadn't. Shutting his door behind him, he smelled lemons in the cleaned and perfumed room. He got out his envelope that he recieved from his parents, sliding out the chips onto the floor. He double tapped each one, a small projection of the contents displaying above them. He found the list of Name signs that his parents had assigned each one, and signed "Satchel". Instead of doing "Bag", they had opted to make it something more niche. He attached the canvas holster to his belt by a combination of metal clasps, putting the chips into the divots inside of the bag.
He left one binding chip out, setting it on the ground along with a small cylinder which would act as a stand for the Attribution. He got out several flying discs and set them next to the chip. They were regulation discs, with the white rubber trim on the edges. He had bribed a kid, who was collecting the chips filled with discs to store them away. The kid was overjoyed to speak with The Heir, and thought he just wanted a souvenir from the game Beseth won. He even signed a disc for the child.
He Called Water, it taking a couple seconds for it to appear above his left hand. He then skipped the third sign, Shape, and gave it the fourth sign that could give the Spoke a descriptive word- Attribute. He signed "Bouncy" with the left hand, and the water began to pulse frantically, as if the little bubble could hardly handle the aug. He felt a little silly using the word, bouncy. It didn't take much out of him, but he was saving it for the next part.
Next, he took one flying disc and placed the disc on the small cylinder so that the edges wouldn't touch anything. With the pulsing water in his left, he finger spelled in his right hand the triplet required for this attribution, trickling in his aug as he went.
I bring a disc as ground,
I bring water to sow,
No soul may hence unbound.
As the aug left him, droplets fell sideways towards the propped up disc, forming on its edge. The shimmering water was "painting" itself on the sides. The water pulsed on the surface of the trim, causing the disc to vibrate and tremble. Once the desired form had been reached, just a covering over of the trim, the droplets that hung from it pulled back up, maintaining its place. He breathed out, shakily. He found that he had been holding his breath, which was common for people to do during attribution.
Beseth raised the disc with his right hand, bouncing it off the floor. It shot back up higher than it should have, banking high off the ceiling and fell back to him. It was not so drastic, however that it would immediately get noticed. He kept going, determining that he could manage five discs before getting lightheaded. He leaned back on his hands, eyes going fuzzy. This was good work, and had taken him around thirty minutes to complete all five.
There came a rapping at his door. He jumped, collecting the discs into one pile on the floor.
"Beseth K'Tonos? This is recruitment officer Jacwe. I am sent here to collect you."
"Just a moment, sir." Beseth said, keeping down the panic in his voice. Giving them a name sign, the discs puffed away like dust settling, before that too fizzled out. The discs were safe. He got off his knees and opened the door. In front of him stood a tall man in grey uniform. His worn, brown skin was lighter than Beseth's own dark Civiti color, but the weathering made this man seem like he'd been worn down by this five and twenty year war. Beseth gulped. Was this his future?
"Yes? I am he."
"Despite your fame, you've been fairly difficult to get a hold of." Jacwe said. "Any particular excuse?"
"Would you believe that I don't want to go to war?"
Jacwe chewed on his lip. "May I come in?" Beseth gestured to a table and chair, Beseth sitting on the bed with his legs crossed. "We know your reluctance. It wouldn't be the first time someone has held out on us."
"Were those others also national and religious icons?"
Jacwe shook his head. "Your position makes a good case. We don't take that lightly, and our culture must be protected. But..."
"But our way of life is secondary to the preservation of life, I know. That's what came in the letters, at least."
"Precisely. But as a personal fan of the sport, I think you'd do great work with us. You lead your team well, and are admired by the other players."
"Which is why I'm needed here. I'm Addoli, I give to Zil this way if I keep doing what I do."
"Some would say you're Profiad for taking part in this."
"Its my enjoyment in it that counts me as Addoli. You could say that the crowd cheering is quite the worshipful experience as well." Beseth smirked.
Jacwe laughed. "Another fair point. However, we cannot allow this. You are one of three children."
Beseth cut in. "So I'm expendable from a family scale. But you can't deny that I'm an asset on the religious scale." But my brother isn't being considered. Why have they singled me out?
"Which is why we want to work with you in those regards." Jacwe sat forward in his chair. Beseth could tell this man put a lot of effort in his arguments, and actually cared about Beseth's thoughts. "There's not just one way to give Zil's Nerth. Your leadership could be invaluable in the coming days. Things will be changing in the war, soon. Bring your best to the table, and we'll see you rewarded quickly. We want you in the higher ups."
Beseth let his feet down and stared at his hands. "How long will that take?"
"Around a year, and you will see progression. I doubt you'll be in boot camp for more than a couple weeks, since you're so fit already. That has been predetermined to fit your... unique position. That will just ensure you know what to expect of us."
He bit back his lip. He wanted to ask, "And if I refuse?" His refusal wouldn't matter. This conversation was a formality. He was going, and all the reasons the man gave were empty conversation- to show he had cared. But Beseth still had to leave. Had to do what other people wanted for him.
"You were expecting to leave with me in the morning, correct?"
"That is right. I directed your parents to leave you what they could. Have you recieved them?"
Beseth nodded. Officer Jacwe cocked his head. "Sir." Beseth said instead. "Sir, I see I have no choice. But I must do something first."
