When Ouranos was created, hundreds of billions of years ago, no one populated it. The flowing, shifting surface of the planet did nothing but create a hazardous, unsafe atmosphere where nothing could live. The planet's lava eventually cooled, and congealed into rock. The rock rose to the surface, and water filled the planet's cracks and crevices, until only one landmass remained. This would come to be known as Allea.
Eventually, the planet became populated with creatures of all kinds. Fish to fill the seas, birds to rule the skies, reptiles to survive the heat, dragons to balance the land and sky, and man to unify the planet in all its parts.
Along with the creation of life, came the creation of magic. The first and most dominant magic of all was the magic of Mother Oura, which became the foundational force for the peoples of the land of Tarra. Tarra was the most eastern continent of the separated Allea, and was ruled by a Theocracy. The church of Mother Oura came to dominate the peoples of Tarra. It ruled Government, Punishment, Science, and even the Armed Forces that protected the peoples of Tarra.
Those who lived in Tarra harnessed the power of Mother Oura by channeling Her mighty strength through their bodies. Everyone born under the rule of great Tarra was born with magic of Mother Oura. Their magic was that of the planet, and they called themselves Geomancers. They could manipulate and use the environment around them, including the ground, the plants, the water, the air, and everything else around their natural environment. Most Tarrans can use rock and ground-based geomancing most effectively, but those that live near the ocean are the best water Tarrans alive.
The next magic was born from the core of people themselves. All humans were born with magic inside of them, and these people of the northern continent learned to harness and control that magic. These people were known as the Arvan people, of Arva. This magic became the foundation of their culture and government in little time. Rulers of Arva had to be gifted in magic, and the military had to be expert magic users. Those who operated in Arvan culture respected the magic in every living being, and used their own magic to do even the most basic of tasks.
Those born into the Arvan magic are born with tattoos across their body. Some have more than others, but everyone has at least a few tattoos. These tattoos channel out the magic from inside the Arvan peoples' bodies, forming different spells based on their manipulation. Instead of channeling power through their tattoos, some Arvans channel their power to their tattoos, giving them solid mass that hovers above their bodies. These tattoos can be incredibly strong, and have been reported to cut through diamond when honed properly. Either magic is a possibility for any living Arvan.
Every Arvan has a limit on their own magic, however. When this runs out, Arvans draw magic from those who've long since been dead. By pulling magical energies straight from the Otherside, as they call it, they can channel even more power through themselves and out into battle.
The western clan, which dominates the largest portion of the now separated planet, is that of the Dragon Clan. They are a race of humans that found their magics outside of themselves. Members of the Dragon Clan themselves contain little magical energy whatsoever, but their source of power comes from Dragons. The humans of the Dragon Clan have befriended the Draconic race over thousands of years of a symbiotic relationship, resulting in the current-day bonding of Dragons and humans. Dragons themselves have always been a wellspring of magical energy, but they've never been able to completely access this magic. By bonding to a human, Dragons can access their full potentials, channeling their magic through a human. The humans can access and easily use magic, but lack the necessary magic to do so. A Dragon possesses just the opposite; boundless magic with no control. Some Dragons mature magic immediately, while others take time. Dragons themselves have developed a new biological clock to match that of humans. Birth, growth, and death all occur within a very close time frame to that of humans, and for every human that is born, a dragon is born as well. Every human is given a dragon partner at birth, and grow up with the dragon as their closest friends. Some humans would rather die than face a world without their dragon partners.
Outside of Allea, little is documented. Ships have been constructed, but most, if not all, have been lost at sea and found little to nothing.
This is Ouranos.
And this is its story.
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Prologue - The Trial
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His eyes captured everything around him wildly and brightly, trying to hold everything he saw that day, trying to understand so much that was too much for his small mind to comprehend. Wearing his shaggy hair just above his eyes, Landric saw much other seven-year-olds didn’t. He clasped his father’s left hand with his right, clinging to his father’s side. His brother strode along on his left, his hands placed firmly in his pockets. The two siblings looked much alike, but his brother had a much different mindset. Landric was built sturdy and thick, from both of his parents. His father’s side of the family came with thick bone structure, as well as thick bones. His mother’s side of the family had strong bones, as well, but their minds is where they excelled. Landric took both of these traits with him everywhere, striving to both understand and withstand the world he was involved in. His brother, however, seemed to draw solely from his father’s side of the family. He didn’t bear the magical prowess of his mother, in fact, he only had a basic grasp on Geomancing in general. His body was well-built and strong, but he didn’t use it to defend those around him. He used it to get away with defiance, and to pressure those around him into his way.
The three of them filed into the courtroom, ornately decorated with carvings of trees and plants, as every other courthouse in Tarra would look, but the courthouse of the capital building was decorated with a grand carving of Mother Oura herself in the back, behind the place where the residing Bishop would seat himself. Sitting down in one of the wooden benches, the three of them tightly packed themselves into a group. His father told the two of them to hush, and Landric nodded, turning to Sean for his approval, who made a click against his teeth and nodded slightly.
“Bishop Kley presiding,” The bailiff standing next to three high seats, each guarded with a stone desk and wall, said. “All rise.”
After a few moments of chatter died down, everyone rose to accept the bishop into the room. He took his position at the highest seat, and everyone stayed standing. The two priests sat at the two lower seats on either side of him. The bishop looked out at everyone who was gathered at the trial, and waved at the two iron-clad guards in the back of the room.
“Send him in,” The bishop commanded. His voice was dry as clay, but his wisdom seemed just as old as the substance. His typical brown garb was draped over his figure to mask his human form, and a coil of vine was worn about his neck and shoulders, falling just short of where his diaphragm would’ve been. He wore a small crown with the tree of Oura on the top. The two priests wore a similar garb, but neither wore the vines or the crown. They looked just as old.
The two guards at the back pushed the doors open, and the entire crowd was brought into a sudden state of panic. Landric’s father seemed angry when his son checked, and Sean had a look of intrigue. He had yet to make his judgments. His brother always was late to decide. Landric, not knowing what to do, decided to try and adopt both intrigue and anger in his face, but he only hurt his forehead trying to twist up his eyebrows in both patterns. The two guards blocked a clear view from Landric, but as they led the defendant to his table, Landric realized what the man was, and why they’d called him a dog of a man.
The man was about 6 feet tall, and managed to stand on both feet, surprisingly. He had a human structure, but the rest of him was covered in a brown coat of fur. His ears pointed up out of his skull, like a dog, and when he turned to look at his guards, Landric saw that the man had the head of a wolf. He wore a pale loincloth, most likely for social reasons, but the look agreed with him. His muscles appeared well-built, but it was hard to tell. The tail that poked up out of the top of the cloth gave the crowd and embarrassing view of the wolf-man’s butt, which Landric snickered at childishly. The wolf was bound at both his arms and legs, with cuffs behind him and shackles beneath him. Landric couldn’t bare to pay attention, and preferred to swirl the dirt beneath him around in circles with his childish magic. Small pebbles rolled about under his fingertips, ones he had trailed in with him.
“Cyrus, age twenty-three...” The bishop murmured, and then addressed the defendant. “Do you understand the crime?” The bishop asked, looking down his long nose at the accused man. “You have been convicted of trespassing on sacred ground, touching that which humans are not allowed to touch, and baring malice against Her Holiness, Mother Oura.”
“Convicted?” Sean growled, just above a whisper, beside Landric. The child brought the pebbles up, hopping them onto the back of the chair in front of them, and up onto their seat. They rolled silently in circles, amusing Landric to the point where he was smiling. “They’ve already decided his guilt?”
The wolf man nodded lowly, seeming as if he carried the weight of a long life on his young shoulders.
“He’s just accepting it?” Sean protested quietly. His father leaned over Landric, and hushed his son. “Sorry, dad.”
“Just remain quiet,” The father’s gruff voice commanded.
“So you understand the sentence?” The bishop asked. “You are to be treated as a tainted one, and sent out of the capital city.” Landric’s pebbles suddenly stopped moving, no matter how he willed them. “You will be placed within a confinement ring, and tended to daily. Your crimes cannot go unpunished.” Landric tried to force the pebbles back, but they rolled forward, onto the solid ground with a gentle clatter. They rolled under the bench ahead of them, and Landric bent over his knees to get a better look. He craned his head down to the bottom of the wooden back, stretching himself just far enough to see them roll to the feet-or claws, in this case-of Cyrus. The pebbles, as well as many others, gathered about his hind claws. They rolled to the bases of his feet, and the wolf tried to shake them off, until each rolled back about an inch and waited. Landric’s father reached his hand down, and pulled his son up by the black collar of his shirt.
“Stop that,” Landric was told. The young boy slipped back onto the bench, his arms folded.
“Your silence proves your guilt,” The bishop assessed. “Without a defender,” The bishop gestured to an empty desk where Cyrus’s defender would’ve been. “I am enacting your sentence at the end of this meeting. You are to be escorted by the premises by no less than three knights, and dealt with. Now to discuss the legalities and religious meanings...” Landric, from a mixture of lack of sleep and boredom, felt his eyelids start to droop. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, from being so excited to see the wolf man. But now that he was there, he couldn’t bare to stay awake. In the fifteen minutes the boy slept, it appeared that something had happened. Everyone stood quiet, their eyes locked onto Cyrus. Each looked down at the wolf’s legs, as opposed to up at his face. The man seemed ashamed of what had happened, and Landric hadn’t a clue why.
Pebbles were harmlessly collecting around his feet and ankles, shifting slightly. One rolled up his leg and around his thigh, and quickly descended into the ant-like scramble of pebbles beneath him. The crowd hung silent, no one knowing what to do. The bishop was holding a book half-open, and was keeping his eyes locked firmly on the convicted man. Landric didn’t know what was wrong. All he knew was that others were upset.
“Stop this,” Sean muttered. Landric could feel his brother’s anger, and see it in the twisting cloth between his clenched fingers. “This isn’t right. You all know it.”
“What do you mean, brother?” Landric protested, tugging on his brother’s suit sleeve.
“Hush, children,” His father hissed, eyes focused like pin-pricks on the bishop. The air was taut with silence, muffling sound in all directions. The gentle rubbing of stone on stone was like an avalanche to the audience, each appearing as if in wait for as much.
“They can’t make him do anything,” Sean finally answered, barely above a breath. “Anything from this point on is his choice.” With that, the wolf turned his head to look the family in the eyes. It looked first at the father, then at the sixteen-year-old youth, and finally at the young child. His eyes rested on Landric for a long time, and he turned to face the back of the courtroom, uttering his first word since his entrance into the court.
“I accept the terms,” Cyrus answered. “And I will await the sealing priests at the point which I shall choose.” The wolf exited the court, shedding pebbles as if they were loose hairs. The room stood still, completely quiet, until Landric fell forward on his brother.
“What are you-?” His brother began.
“That man made me sleepy,” Landric muttered, his consciousness sliding gently into darkness. “Can we go fishing later?”
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Chapter 1 - Registration
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The salty sea air ran warmly through Landric’s hair, drifting down his shirt and flapping at the tail of his blue fisherman’s jacket. His left leg was placed up on the edge of the boat, his uncovered calve flexing to maintain a steady pull. As he tugged on the ends of the net, his arm muscles began to bulge and move, in an attempt to keep up with the heavy weight. His other leg was braced firmly against the wooden floor of the vessel, straining against the pull of the fish. He could feel a large haul of food, a good omen for the rest of the day. He normally didn’t resort to geomancing for fishing, but his grip was slipping. Putting his left leg up against the boat, and firmly wrapping the extra netting around his right arm, he reached his left arm out and made upward motions.
A molehill-sized boil of water moved upwards, a small stream of water moving from the top. It kept together well, forming a tendril of solid saltwater. It reached for Landric, and coiled around his tanned forearm. His connection with the water complete, he found it easier to direct the flow of the water. Pulling up from the water further, he grabbed at a sphere of water around the net. Lifting that with his non-dominant hand, his dominant one got a better lift of the netting. The sphere of water pushed the net up, and his father walked up beside him.
“Couldn’t lift it yourself?” His father’s dry voice asked, his breath baked in salt and rum.
“No, Dad,” Landric groaned back in low tones. The water formed a column, pushing the net up to the same level as the boat. Now using both arms, Landric yanked the large capture of fish onto the boat, sweat rolling down his face.The water on his arm retreated into the ocean, and the column of water fell back down to the surface as if nothing had happened, save a few ripples across the waving water. Landric emptied the net onto the floor of their fishing boat, spilling out pounds upon pounds of fish. The haul seemed enough to keep them going for the week, and definitely enough for dinner for a few weeks, if nothing else. Landric dropped to his knees, the fringes of his blue working shorts soaked, and began to sift through the aquatic life.
“Great haul today, son,” His father said, lifting up a particularly meaty Blue Flipper, and placing it gently back down. “What are you looking for? More of those damn clams?”
“I really need it, Dad,” Landric protested, moving his hands through the wet, scaly pile of fish. His fingernails caught on a fin here or there, but nothing was particularly drawing his attention. Going up to his shoulder in the center, he felt his fingers brush over something hard and ridged. He plunged his hand down hard, and pulled up a Bigmouth Cracker, and held it up by the tail. It writhed at the touch, but held in its mouth was a clam, the fish cracking the surface with its known hard grip. Landric lowered the fish to the dock, and placed his foot on its back. Taking the clam in his right hand, he took the club at the edge of the boat with his left. He raised it high above his head, and brought it down solid on the fish’s head. Its mouth seized, crushing the clam. A small, tooth-colored rock flew from the mess, skittering across the deck. Landric dropped the dying creature and ran towards the pearl. Grabbing it with his hands, he fell softly to his side. He parted his fingers slowly, revealing a pearl the size of a large grape.
“What is it, Landric?” His dad asked, his fist around the neck of a rum bottle. His son held up the pearl, light sending white patterns all over the boat.
“I’m gonna do it, Dad,” He answered. “I’m gonna be a knight.”
“Of course you are,” His dad said, moving to the back of the boat. “Hit the sails. We’re going home.”
“You’ve got it,” The eighteen-year-old teen moved to the mast, and grabbed onto the rope. Twisting it around his arm as he had done with the water earlier, Landric twisted the mast around, catching a rogue gust of wind. Lifting his right arm, Landric waved a few stray winds into the sail, righting the boat and aiming it towards the shore of Fasheel, their home. As the wind hit the sail, they moved forward at a brisk pace, Landric’s left leg wrapped around the mast. He looked a little silly, but it felt great to have the wind rush over his face and through his hair. His happy green eyes faced the shore, and he held his body tight to the wooden mast.
The shore came into view after a while, littered with boats firmly tethered to wooden docks. After just a little while of clinging to the mast, Landric had began boxing up the fish and throwing out the debris, leaving them with two full wooden boxes, each carrying just over 50 pounds of fish. The two of them hauled up the fish onto their backs, and carried them to their home. There were fish racks outside, as well as a carriage with a horse. The two of them dropped their fish out in front of the house, and walked in to meet Landric’s mother at the stove, cooking up a plate of fish and eggs. They all hugged, and Landric’s father moved upstairs after supper, leaving the other two alone to clean the dishes.
“Mom,” Landric started, carrying the supper platter into the sink.
“Yes, dear?” She responded, humming something quietly to herself.
“I finally have enough money,” He said, pushing the dishes into the water. He grabbed the rag, and went to cleaning them. “So I’m going to be taking my horse out to the Capital City, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine with me, honey,” His mother answered with a gentle smile. Her brown hair fell just below her shoulder blades, leaving her time-worn face to talk to the rest of the world. Her clothing was plain, with just a brown blouse and white skirt to present. She was all about putting her best foot forward, a task which Landric had happily adopted. “As long as you come back.” Her voice weighed heavy on both of them. “I don’t want to get another letter about my son not coming back from war. Another one of my men can’t leave me, you hear?”
“I know, Mom.”
“And take your own sword. You’ll be better with it than a regulation one.”
“I know.”
“And pack up everything, in case you want to stay.”
“I know, I know!” Landric and his mother laughed, and she turned to give him a wet hug.
“I’ll miss you,” She confessed, squeezing him tight.
“I’ll miss you too,” He returned.
----
His legs ached to drop off of his horse, throbbing with pain as his horse trotted slowly towards the army building of the capital city. His brown eyes were wide like a young child, trying to take in the surroundings of his new place. He could hardly believe what was going on around him, with all of the hustle and tightness of a city. Everyone seemed to move out of the way for him, as if they knew he was a would-be soldier. The broadsword hanging from the left side of the horse’s saddlebags might have given it away, but Landric liked to pretend he looked soldierly. He may not have had the muscles for it, but his full build suggested otherwise. As Landric passed by a larger building, he heard some shouts flying over the noise of the street.
“Clear!” A small man shouted, waving his hands back to the other side of the market. Landric’s horse shuffled sideways, and a few men around the shouting one waved their hands out. The middle section of a building flew out, barely clinging to the base of the building with some spindly-looking supports. The men were geomancing a rock building built straight out of the ground. The upper floor was connected by more stable-looking supports, and it gently sunk to the place where the second floor had been. The men below made movements with the building, swinging it up into place above the new second floor. The merchants beneath them seemed unafraid, and Landric was the only one making any looks towards the building.
“Hey kid,” A man behind him said, pushing on the right flank of his horse. “Move. This isn’t your street, y’know.” The man seemed to angrily push ahead Landric’s black horse, Sky, but his intentions seemed lax enough. As the man pushed, Landric could feel the white equine fall to the left side. With his hand free of the reigns, Landric pulled up a section of soft earth to catch his horse, and stabilized himself again.
“Watch yourself,” Landric chimed, righting the horse towards the large building with the Tarran crest hanging above the archway. As he moved towards it, he saw two men standing by a collection of horses, decorated with the symbols of rich families and Capital connections. Landric trotted up on his horse, and they nodded at him.
“You here for registration?” He waved a hand at him, exposing his army sword, a sign of military ranking. His smile was sweet, and his tone baked with trust and honesty.
“Yes,” Landric answered with a nod. “Do I leave him here?”
“Yeah,” He continued, looking back at the row. “Aaren, hook him up at the end.” Landric dismounted his horse and retrieved his bags, hanging them over his right shoulder. He strapped his sword to his left hip, and thanked them both.
“Hey,” He asked before they turned away with Sky. “Where do I go to get my information?”
“Uh,” The man shifted his eyes towards the other man, and pointed out into the courtyard. “Well, if you can go and ask him out there, he can tel-”
“Don’t listen to them,” A man behind Landric said. The teen turned to face an army commander, in civilian clothes. He had a custom scabbard for his sword, with scars all across his face proving that he had earned it. He had light blond hair and blue eyes, signs of royal blood in these parts. His clothes were an army brown, covered with the dust of a walk through town. “They’ve been swiping horses all day.” Upon hearing this, the man Landric had been talking to turned white as steamed rice, and turned to flee. Landric held out a hand, and lifted some of the thick dirt beneath the man upwards, tripping him. The man skidded to a stop on his stomach, and attempted to stand. Lifting the ground beneath his feet high in the air, Landric sent the man’s feet reeling over top of him, landing the thief on his back. Landric charged for him, and the other man, Aaren, tried to get at him with a drawn knife. As Landric turned to defend himself, he found a blade placed a few inches in front of his chest. A long blade, with a serrated edge pointed directly into the soft flesh, placed itself just on the soft trachea of the man, stopping him dead short of doing away with the soon-to-be soldier.
“And don’t turn your back to them, either,” The commander sheathed his blade, and grabbed Aaren by the shoulder, practically covering it with his large hand. “Why don’t you run along and we’ll count this as a big mistake, shall we?” The man needed no more persuasion than that. He slunk away from the commander, and fled. The other man had no intention of getting up.
“Thanks so much,” Landric said, smiling.
“No problem, kid,” The commander walked over to Sky, and grabbed the reins. “You’ve got a nice horse here. Name and hometown?”
“Uh,” Landric stuttered, and then stood at attention. “Landric Galmaea, of Fasheel.”
“Never heard of it,” The commander gave the reigns over to Landric, who relaxed and grabbed onto his horse.
“Few people have,” He said with a disappointed look. “Just a fishing town, y’know. Not much but pearls and fish there.”
“So what brings a fisher like you all the way to the capital city?” The commander was overlooking Sky as Landric re-saddled his bags.
“I’m here to join the army,” Landric answered, walking over to talk to the commander. The two of them stood close enough that Landric could see how much smaller the man was. Landric was just a hand’s breadth over six foot, but this man seemed to be a hand’s breadth under six foot. His frame wasn’t that impressive, but he appeared to have muscle in all the right places for combat. His eyes were perceptive, and at his age of around thirty, they should’ve been.
“You don’t say,” The commander continued, giving Sky’s black mane a pat down. “Did you say your name was Galmaea?” He seemed to take an interest in that.
“Yeah, why?” Landric raised his eyebrows at the question. Not many people knew of or cared for the Galmaea family.
“Your brother, was he a commander as well?” He asked.
“Yeah. He went MIA a few years back.”
“I heard. Tragedy, honestly,” The man extended his hand to Landric. “Well, Galmaea. I’m commander Rossel. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasure to have you in our ranks.” Landric took his hand and shook it.
“It’s an honor, really,” Landric said with a nervous laugh.
“Now go and get on up and get your stuff registered. It won’t be long before we’ve closed registration.”
“Thanks, sir,” Landric gave the man a salute, which Rossel laughed off, and the teen walked off, Sky’s reigns in his right hand.
----
Landric’s room was scarcely decorated, like an empty room filled to match the tastes of anyone. He walked in, noticing the fact that there were two beds, as opposed to one. Each was just white, with a wooden bed frame. There was a window on the far side of the room, which Landric opened. The window provided a view out into an empty field on the west side of the training grounds, which were mostly flat. There was one ring of dead grass far out in the distance, but it seemed like something one could just glance over. Landric shrugged his bags onto the bed closest to the window, and looked around the room. There were two writing desks next to each other on the other side of the room, and a private lavatory for the two occupants to share. A chest of drawers was next to Landric’s bed, with two distinct sets of drawers, for the two people to most likely share. A feeling of duality washed over Landric.
He emptied out his clothing bags, placing them in each drawer as he saw fit. Underwear in the top, socks in the next, pants, and then shirts. They’d given him his new clothes when he got there, and they all looked the same. He had one drawer left over, and he placed the formal attire they had given him in those drawers. Walking around the room, Landric saw the emptiness and felt a little lonely. After a few minutes of straightening his things and placing his bags under his bed, a boy of Landric’s age walked noisily through the doors. He had dingy blond hair, as if it were fading out. His eyes were a tired green, and his frame suggested he hadn’t done anything physical short of the lifts and runs he had to do to pass the physical. His shoulders seemed to strain under the bags he carried.
“Excuse me,” The boy asked. “Could I get some help?” Landric got off of his feet and shouldered one of the bags, realizing just how light it was. The boy looked down and shrugged his bag off onto the writing desk next to Landric’s, and turned to face his roommate, but his eyes still looked at one of his shoes, which was apparently falling off.
“My name’s Landric,” He offered.
“My name is Isaac,” The boy looked up at Landric for the first time, his lazy eyes barely focusing. “It’s nice to-whoa!” His eyes snapped open, and he gave Landric another look over. “You’re huge!”
“Thanks,” Landric said with a smile. “It comes from working on the boat with my dad, I guess-”
“I hardly come up to your chest!” Isaac interrupted, as if he hadn’t heard Landric talking. It was true, the boy was on the short side. “But I guess any big guy can join the holy army of Tarra nowadays.” Isaac had a very royal attitude about him, undoubtedly bought into the army.
“Excuse me?” Landric took a few steps towards the princely man.
“I’m just saying they need strong fighters,” Isaac sighed and regally walked over to his things, placing them on top of the chest of drawers. “I mean we need War Knights just as much as we need Holy Knights, don’t get me wrong.” The boy started opening up the drawers Landric had placed his stuff in, and began pulling Landric's clothes out one at a time.
“Actually, I came here to be a Holy Knight,” Landric interjected. “I don’t have the physical strength to be a War Knight. I only have the magical abilities, really.”
“I never would have guessed,” Isaac continued, throwing Landric’s shirts onto the ground.
“What are you doing?” Landric asked, picking up his clothing as it fell.
“Putting my stuff in my drawers,” Isaac said as if it were obvious. “You get the right ones. I want the left drawers. And the bed that’s closer to the window. Could you move your things to the other bed?” Isaac waved his hand to Landric, as if dismissing him.
“I guess so,” Landric took his things and moved them to the other bed.
“Y’know, I think this could be the start of a great friendship or something,” Isaac said, looking completely cheery about the entire thing.
“Or something, I’m sure.”
Eventually, the planet became populated with creatures of all kinds. Fish to fill the seas, birds to rule the skies, reptiles to survive the heat, dragons to balance the land and sky, and man to unify the planet in all its parts.
Along with the creation of life, came the creation of magic. The first and most dominant magic of all was the magic of Mother Oura, which became the foundational force for the peoples of the land of Tarra. Tarra was the most eastern continent of the separated Allea, and was ruled by a Theocracy. The church of Mother Oura came to dominate the peoples of Tarra. It ruled Government, Punishment, Science, and even the Armed Forces that protected the peoples of Tarra.
Those who lived in Tarra harnessed the power of Mother Oura by channeling Her mighty strength through their bodies. Everyone born under the rule of great Tarra was born with magic of Mother Oura. Their magic was that of the planet, and they called themselves Geomancers. They could manipulate and use the environment around them, including the ground, the plants, the water, the air, and everything else around their natural environment. Most Tarrans can use rock and ground-based geomancing most effectively, but those that live near the ocean are the best water Tarrans alive.
The next magic was born from the core of people themselves. All humans were born with magic inside of them, and these people of the northern continent learned to harness and control that magic. These people were known as the Arvan people, of Arva. This magic became the foundation of their culture and government in little time. Rulers of Arva had to be gifted in magic, and the military had to be expert magic users. Those who operated in Arvan culture respected the magic in every living being, and used their own magic to do even the most basic of tasks.
Those born into the Arvan magic are born with tattoos across their body. Some have more than others, but everyone has at least a few tattoos. These tattoos channel out the magic from inside the Arvan peoples' bodies, forming different spells based on their manipulation. Instead of channeling power through their tattoos, some Arvans channel their power to their tattoos, giving them solid mass that hovers above their bodies. These tattoos can be incredibly strong, and have been reported to cut through diamond when honed properly. Either magic is a possibility for any living Arvan.
Every Arvan has a limit on their own magic, however. When this runs out, Arvans draw magic from those who've long since been dead. By pulling magical energies straight from the Otherside, as they call it, they can channel even more power through themselves and out into battle.
The western clan, which dominates the largest portion of the now separated planet, is that of the Dragon Clan. They are a race of humans that found their magics outside of themselves. Members of the Dragon Clan themselves contain little magical energy whatsoever, but their source of power comes from Dragons. The humans of the Dragon Clan have befriended the Draconic race over thousands of years of a symbiotic relationship, resulting in the current-day bonding of Dragons and humans. Dragons themselves have always been a wellspring of magical energy, but they've never been able to completely access this magic. By bonding to a human, Dragons can access their full potentials, channeling their magic through a human. The humans can access and easily use magic, but lack the necessary magic to do so. A Dragon possesses just the opposite; boundless magic with no control. Some Dragons mature magic immediately, while others take time. Dragons themselves have developed a new biological clock to match that of humans. Birth, growth, and death all occur within a very close time frame to that of humans, and for every human that is born, a dragon is born as well. Every human is given a dragon partner at birth, and grow up with the dragon as their closest friends. Some humans would rather die than face a world without their dragon partners.
Outside of Allea, little is documented. Ships have been constructed, but most, if not all, have been lost at sea and found little to nothing.
This is Ouranos.
And this is its story.
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Prologue - The Trial
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His eyes captured everything around him wildly and brightly, trying to hold everything he saw that day, trying to understand so much that was too much for his small mind to comprehend. Wearing his shaggy hair just above his eyes, Landric saw much other seven-year-olds didn’t. He clasped his father’s left hand with his right, clinging to his father’s side. His brother strode along on his left, his hands placed firmly in his pockets. The two siblings looked much alike, but his brother had a much different mindset. Landric was built sturdy and thick, from both of his parents. His father’s side of the family came with thick bone structure, as well as thick bones. His mother’s side of the family had strong bones, as well, but their minds is where they excelled. Landric took both of these traits with him everywhere, striving to both understand and withstand the world he was involved in. His brother, however, seemed to draw solely from his father’s side of the family. He didn’t bear the magical prowess of his mother, in fact, he only had a basic grasp on Geomancing in general. His body was well-built and strong, but he didn’t use it to defend those around him. He used it to get away with defiance, and to pressure those around him into his way.
The three of them filed into the courtroom, ornately decorated with carvings of trees and plants, as every other courthouse in Tarra would look, but the courthouse of the capital building was decorated with a grand carving of Mother Oura herself in the back, behind the place where the residing Bishop would seat himself. Sitting down in one of the wooden benches, the three of them tightly packed themselves into a group. His father told the two of them to hush, and Landric nodded, turning to Sean for his approval, who made a click against his teeth and nodded slightly.
“Bishop Kley presiding,” The bailiff standing next to three high seats, each guarded with a stone desk and wall, said. “All rise.”
After a few moments of chatter died down, everyone rose to accept the bishop into the room. He took his position at the highest seat, and everyone stayed standing. The two priests sat at the two lower seats on either side of him. The bishop looked out at everyone who was gathered at the trial, and waved at the two iron-clad guards in the back of the room.
“Send him in,” The bishop commanded. His voice was dry as clay, but his wisdom seemed just as old as the substance. His typical brown garb was draped over his figure to mask his human form, and a coil of vine was worn about his neck and shoulders, falling just short of where his diaphragm would’ve been. He wore a small crown with the tree of Oura on the top. The two priests wore a similar garb, but neither wore the vines or the crown. They looked just as old.
The two guards at the back pushed the doors open, and the entire crowd was brought into a sudden state of panic. Landric’s father seemed angry when his son checked, and Sean had a look of intrigue. He had yet to make his judgments. His brother always was late to decide. Landric, not knowing what to do, decided to try and adopt both intrigue and anger in his face, but he only hurt his forehead trying to twist up his eyebrows in both patterns. The two guards blocked a clear view from Landric, but as they led the defendant to his table, Landric realized what the man was, and why they’d called him a dog of a man.
The man was about 6 feet tall, and managed to stand on both feet, surprisingly. He had a human structure, but the rest of him was covered in a brown coat of fur. His ears pointed up out of his skull, like a dog, and when he turned to look at his guards, Landric saw that the man had the head of a wolf. He wore a pale loincloth, most likely for social reasons, but the look agreed with him. His muscles appeared well-built, but it was hard to tell. The tail that poked up out of the top of the cloth gave the crowd and embarrassing view of the wolf-man’s butt, which Landric snickered at childishly. The wolf was bound at both his arms and legs, with cuffs behind him and shackles beneath him. Landric couldn’t bare to pay attention, and preferred to swirl the dirt beneath him around in circles with his childish magic. Small pebbles rolled about under his fingertips, ones he had trailed in with him.
“Cyrus, age twenty-three...” The bishop murmured, and then addressed the defendant. “Do you understand the crime?” The bishop asked, looking down his long nose at the accused man. “You have been convicted of trespassing on sacred ground, touching that which humans are not allowed to touch, and baring malice against Her Holiness, Mother Oura.”
“Convicted?” Sean growled, just above a whisper, beside Landric. The child brought the pebbles up, hopping them onto the back of the chair in front of them, and up onto their seat. They rolled silently in circles, amusing Landric to the point where he was smiling. “They’ve already decided his guilt?”
The wolf man nodded lowly, seeming as if he carried the weight of a long life on his young shoulders.
“He’s just accepting it?” Sean protested quietly. His father leaned over Landric, and hushed his son. “Sorry, dad.”
“Just remain quiet,” The father’s gruff voice commanded.
“So you understand the sentence?” The bishop asked. “You are to be treated as a tainted one, and sent out of the capital city.” Landric’s pebbles suddenly stopped moving, no matter how he willed them. “You will be placed within a confinement ring, and tended to daily. Your crimes cannot go unpunished.” Landric tried to force the pebbles back, but they rolled forward, onto the solid ground with a gentle clatter. They rolled under the bench ahead of them, and Landric bent over his knees to get a better look. He craned his head down to the bottom of the wooden back, stretching himself just far enough to see them roll to the feet-or claws, in this case-of Cyrus. The pebbles, as well as many others, gathered about his hind claws. They rolled to the bases of his feet, and the wolf tried to shake them off, until each rolled back about an inch and waited. Landric’s father reached his hand down, and pulled his son up by the black collar of his shirt.
“Stop that,” Landric was told. The young boy slipped back onto the bench, his arms folded.
“Your silence proves your guilt,” The bishop assessed. “Without a defender,” The bishop gestured to an empty desk where Cyrus’s defender would’ve been. “I am enacting your sentence at the end of this meeting. You are to be escorted by the premises by no less than three knights, and dealt with. Now to discuss the legalities and religious meanings...” Landric, from a mixture of lack of sleep and boredom, felt his eyelids start to droop. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, from being so excited to see the wolf man. But now that he was there, he couldn’t bare to stay awake. In the fifteen minutes the boy slept, it appeared that something had happened. Everyone stood quiet, their eyes locked onto Cyrus. Each looked down at the wolf’s legs, as opposed to up at his face. The man seemed ashamed of what had happened, and Landric hadn’t a clue why.
Pebbles were harmlessly collecting around his feet and ankles, shifting slightly. One rolled up his leg and around his thigh, and quickly descended into the ant-like scramble of pebbles beneath him. The crowd hung silent, no one knowing what to do. The bishop was holding a book half-open, and was keeping his eyes locked firmly on the convicted man. Landric didn’t know what was wrong. All he knew was that others were upset.
“Stop this,” Sean muttered. Landric could feel his brother’s anger, and see it in the twisting cloth between his clenched fingers. “This isn’t right. You all know it.”
“What do you mean, brother?” Landric protested, tugging on his brother’s suit sleeve.
“Hush, children,” His father hissed, eyes focused like pin-pricks on the bishop. The air was taut with silence, muffling sound in all directions. The gentle rubbing of stone on stone was like an avalanche to the audience, each appearing as if in wait for as much.
“They can’t make him do anything,” Sean finally answered, barely above a breath. “Anything from this point on is his choice.” With that, the wolf turned his head to look the family in the eyes. It looked first at the father, then at the sixteen-year-old youth, and finally at the young child. His eyes rested on Landric for a long time, and he turned to face the back of the courtroom, uttering his first word since his entrance into the court.
“I accept the terms,” Cyrus answered. “And I will await the sealing priests at the point which I shall choose.” The wolf exited the court, shedding pebbles as if they were loose hairs. The room stood still, completely quiet, until Landric fell forward on his brother.
“What are you-?” His brother began.
“That man made me sleepy,” Landric muttered, his consciousness sliding gently into darkness. “Can we go fishing later?”
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Chapter 1 - Registration
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The salty sea air ran warmly through Landric’s hair, drifting down his shirt and flapping at the tail of his blue fisherman’s jacket. His left leg was placed up on the edge of the boat, his uncovered calve flexing to maintain a steady pull. As he tugged on the ends of the net, his arm muscles began to bulge and move, in an attempt to keep up with the heavy weight. His other leg was braced firmly against the wooden floor of the vessel, straining against the pull of the fish. He could feel a large haul of food, a good omen for the rest of the day. He normally didn’t resort to geomancing for fishing, but his grip was slipping. Putting his left leg up against the boat, and firmly wrapping the extra netting around his right arm, he reached his left arm out and made upward motions.
A molehill-sized boil of water moved upwards, a small stream of water moving from the top. It kept together well, forming a tendril of solid saltwater. It reached for Landric, and coiled around his tanned forearm. His connection with the water complete, he found it easier to direct the flow of the water. Pulling up from the water further, he grabbed at a sphere of water around the net. Lifting that with his non-dominant hand, his dominant one got a better lift of the netting. The sphere of water pushed the net up, and his father walked up beside him.
“Couldn’t lift it yourself?” His father’s dry voice asked, his breath baked in salt and rum.
“No, Dad,” Landric groaned back in low tones. The water formed a column, pushing the net up to the same level as the boat. Now using both arms, Landric yanked the large capture of fish onto the boat, sweat rolling down his face.The water on his arm retreated into the ocean, and the column of water fell back down to the surface as if nothing had happened, save a few ripples across the waving water. Landric emptied the net onto the floor of their fishing boat, spilling out pounds upon pounds of fish. The haul seemed enough to keep them going for the week, and definitely enough for dinner for a few weeks, if nothing else. Landric dropped to his knees, the fringes of his blue working shorts soaked, and began to sift through the aquatic life.
“Great haul today, son,” His father said, lifting up a particularly meaty Blue Flipper, and placing it gently back down. “What are you looking for? More of those damn clams?”
“I really need it, Dad,” Landric protested, moving his hands through the wet, scaly pile of fish. His fingernails caught on a fin here or there, but nothing was particularly drawing his attention. Going up to his shoulder in the center, he felt his fingers brush over something hard and ridged. He plunged his hand down hard, and pulled up a Bigmouth Cracker, and held it up by the tail. It writhed at the touch, but held in its mouth was a clam, the fish cracking the surface with its known hard grip. Landric lowered the fish to the dock, and placed his foot on its back. Taking the clam in his right hand, he took the club at the edge of the boat with his left. He raised it high above his head, and brought it down solid on the fish’s head. Its mouth seized, crushing the clam. A small, tooth-colored rock flew from the mess, skittering across the deck. Landric dropped the dying creature and ran towards the pearl. Grabbing it with his hands, he fell softly to his side. He parted his fingers slowly, revealing a pearl the size of a large grape.
“What is it, Landric?” His dad asked, his fist around the neck of a rum bottle. His son held up the pearl, light sending white patterns all over the boat.
“I’m gonna do it, Dad,” He answered. “I’m gonna be a knight.”
“Of course you are,” His dad said, moving to the back of the boat. “Hit the sails. We’re going home.”
“You’ve got it,” The eighteen-year-old teen moved to the mast, and grabbed onto the rope. Twisting it around his arm as he had done with the water earlier, Landric twisted the mast around, catching a rogue gust of wind. Lifting his right arm, Landric waved a few stray winds into the sail, righting the boat and aiming it towards the shore of Fasheel, their home. As the wind hit the sail, they moved forward at a brisk pace, Landric’s left leg wrapped around the mast. He looked a little silly, but it felt great to have the wind rush over his face and through his hair. His happy green eyes faced the shore, and he held his body tight to the wooden mast.
The shore came into view after a while, littered with boats firmly tethered to wooden docks. After just a little while of clinging to the mast, Landric had began boxing up the fish and throwing out the debris, leaving them with two full wooden boxes, each carrying just over 50 pounds of fish. The two of them hauled up the fish onto their backs, and carried them to their home. There were fish racks outside, as well as a carriage with a horse. The two of them dropped their fish out in front of the house, and walked in to meet Landric’s mother at the stove, cooking up a plate of fish and eggs. They all hugged, and Landric’s father moved upstairs after supper, leaving the other two alone to clean the dishes.
“Mom,” Landric started, carrying the supper platter into the sink.
“Yes, dear?” She responded, humming something quietly to herself.
“I finally have enough money,” He said, pushing the dishes into the water. He grabbed the rag, and went to cleaning them. “So I’m going to be taking my horse out to the Capital City, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine with me, honey,” His mother answered with a gentle smile. Her brown hair fell just below her shoulder blades, leaving her time-worn face to talk to the rest of the world. Her clothing was plain, with just a brown blouse and white skirt to present. She was all about putting her best foot forward, a task which Landric had happily adopted. “As long as you come back.” Her voice weighed heavy on both of them. “I don’t want to get another letter about my son not coming back from war. Another one of my men can’t leave me, you hear?”
“I know, Mom.”
“And take your own sword. You’ll be better with it than a regulation one.”
“I know.”
“And pack up everything, in case you want to stay.”
“I know, I know!” Landric and his mother laughed, and she turned to give him a wet hug.
“I’ll miss you,” She confessed, squeezing him tight.
“I’ll miss you too,” He returned.
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His legs ached to drop off of his horse, throbbing with pain as his horse trotted slowly towards the army building of the capital city. His brown eyes were wide like a young child, trying to take in the surroundings of his new place. He could hardly believe what was going on around him, with all of the hustle and tightness of a city. Everyone seemed to move out of the way for him, as if they knew he was a would-be soldier. The broadsword hanging from the left side of the horse’s saddlebags might have given it away, but Landric liked to pretend he looked soldierly. He may not have had the muscles for it, but his full build suggested otherwise. As Landric passed by a larger building, he heard some shouts flying over the noise of the street.
“Clear!” A small man shouted, waving his hands back to the other side of the market. Landric’s horse shuffled sideways, and a few men around the shouting one waved their hands out. The middle section of a building flew out, barely clinging to the base of the building with some spindly-looking supports. The men were geomancing a rock building built straight out of the ground. The upper floor was connected by more stable-looking supports, and it gently sunk to the place where the second floor had been. The men below made movements with the building, swinging it up into place above the new second floor. The merchants beneath them seemed unafraid, and Landric was the only one making any looks towards the building.
“Hey kid,” A man behind him said, pushing on the right flank of his horse. “Move. This isn’t your street, y’know.” The man seemed to angrily push ahead Landric’s black horse, Sky, but his intentions seemed lax enough. As the man pushed, Landric could feel the white equine fall to the left side. With his hand free of the reigns, Landric pulled up a section of soft earth to catch his horse, and stabilized himself again.
“Watch yourself,” Landric chimed, righting the horse towards the large building with the Tarran crest hanging above the archway. As he moved towards it, he saw two men standing by a collection of horses, decorated with the symbols of rich families and Capital connections. Landric trotted up on his horse, and they nodded at him.
“You here for registration?” He waved a hand at him, exposing his army sword, a sign of military ranking. His smile was sweet, and his tone baked with trust and honesty.
“Yes,” Landric answered with a nod. “Do I leave him here?”
“Yeah,” He continued, looking back at the row. “Aaren, hook him up at the end.” Landric dismounted his horse and retrieved his bags, hanging them over his right shoulder. He strapped his sword to his left hip, and thanked them both.
“Hey,” He asked before they turned away with Sky. “Where do I go to get my information?”
“Uh,” The man shifted his eyes towards the other man, and pointed out into the courtyard. “Well, if you can go and ask him out there, he can tel-”
“Don’t listen to them,” A man behind Landric said. The teen turned to face an army commander, in civilian clothes. He had a custom scabbard for his sword, with scars all across his face proving that he had earned it. He had light blond hair and blue eyes, signs of royal blood in these parts. His clothes were an army brown, covered with the dust of a walk through town. “They’ve been swiping horses all day.” Upon hearing this, the man Landric had been talking to turned white as steamed rice, and turned to flee. Landric held out a hand, and lifted some of the thick dirt beneath the man upwards, tripping him. The man skidded to a stop on his stomach, and attempted to stand. Lifting the ground beneath his feet high in the air, Landric sent the man’s feet reeling over top of him, landing the thief on his back. Landric charged for him, and the other man, Aaren, tried to get at him with a drawn knife. As Landric turned to defend himself, he found a blade placed a few inches in front of his chest. A long blade, with a serrated edge pointed directly into the soft flesh, placed itself just on the soft trachea of the man, stopping him dead short of doing away with the soon-to-be soldier.
“And don’t turn your back to them, either,” The commander sheathed his blade, and grabbed Aaren by the shoulder, practically covering it with his large hand. “Why don’t you run along and we’ll count this as a big mistake, shall we?” The man needed no more persuasion than that. He slunk away from the commander, and fled. The other man had no intention of getting up.
“Thanks so much,” Landric said, smiling.
“No problem, kid,” The commander walked over to Sky, and grabbed the reins. “You’ve got a nice horse here. Name and hometown?”
“Uh,” Landric stuttered, and then stood at attention. “Landric Galmaea, of Fasheel.”
“Never heard of it,” The commander gave the reigns over to Landric, who relaxed and grabbed onto his horse.
“Few people have,” He said with a disappointed look. “Just a fishing town, y’know. Not much but pearls and fish there.”
“So what brings a fisher like you all the way to the capital city?” The commander was overlooking Sky as Landric re-saddled his bags.
“I’m here to join the army,” Landric answered, walking over to talk to the commander. The two of them stood close enough that Landric could see how much smaller the man was. Landric was just a hand’s breadth over six foot, but this man seemed to be a hand’s breadth under six foot. His frame wasn’t that impressive, but he appeared to have muscle in all the right places for combat. His eyes were perceptive, and at his age of around thirty, they should’ve been.
“You don’t say,” The commander continued, giving Sky’s black mane a pat down. “Did you say your name was Galmaea?” He seemed to take an interest in that.
“Yeah, why?” Landric raised his eyebrows at the question. Not many people knew of or cared for the Galmaea family.
“Your brother, was he a commander as well?” He asked.
“Yeah. He went MIA a few years back.”
“I heard. Tragedy, honestly,” The man extended his hand to Landric. “Well, Galmaea. I’m commander Rossel. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasure to have you in our ranks.” Landric took his hand and shook it.
“It’s an honor, really,” Landric said with a nervous laugh.
“Now go and get on up and get your stuff registered. It won’t be long before we’ve closed registration.”
“Thanks, sir,” Landric gave the man a salute, which Rossel laughed off, and the teen walked off, Sky’s reigns in his right hand.
----
Landric’s room was scarcely decorated, like an empty room filled to match the tastes of anyone. He walked in, noticing the fact that there were two beds, as opposed to one. Each was just white, with a wooden bed frame. There was a window on the far side of the room, which Landric opened. The window provided a view out into an empty field on the west side of the training grounds, which were mostly flat. There was one ring of dead grass far out in the distance, but it seemed like something one could just glance over. Landric shrugged his bags onto the bed closest to the window, and looked around the room. There were two writing desks next to each other on the other side of the room, and a private lavatory for the two occupants to share. A chest of drawers was next to Landric’s bed, with two distinct sets of drawers, for the two people to most likely share. A feeling of duality washed over Landric.
He emptied out his clothing bags, placing them in each drawer as he saw fit. Underwear in the top, socks in the next, pants, and then shirts. They’d given him his new clothes when he got there, and they all looked the same. He had one drawer left over, and he placed the formal attire they had given him in those drawers. Walking around the room, Landric saw the emptiness and felt a little lonely. After a few minutes of straightening his things and placing his bags under his bed, a boy of Landric’s age walked noisily through the doors. He had dingy blond hair, as if it were fading out. His eyes were a tired green, and his frame suggested he hadn’t done anything physical short of the lifts and runs he had to do to pass the physical. His shoulders seemed to strain under the bags he carried.
“Excuse me,” The boy asked. “Could I get some help?” Landric got off of his feet and shouldered one of the bags, realizing just how light it was. The boy looked down and shrugged his bag off onto the writing desk next to Landric’s, and turned to face his roommate, but his eyes still looked at one of his shoes, which was apparently falling off.
“My name’s Landric,” He offered.
“My name is Isaac,” The boy looked up at Landric for the first time, his lazy eyes barely focusing. “It’s nice to-whoa!” His eyes snapped open, and he gave Landric another look over. “You’re huge!”
“Thanks,” Landric said with a smile. “It comes from working on the boat with my dad, I guess-”
“I hardly come up to your chest!” Isaac interrupted, as if he hadn’t heard Landric talking. It was true, the boy was on the short side. “But I guess any big guy can join the holy army of Tarra nowadays.” Isaac had a very royal attitude about him, undoubtedly bought into the army.
“Excuse me?” Landric took a few steps towards the princely man.
“I’m just saying they need strong fighters,” Isaac sighed and regally walked over to his things, placing them on top of the chest of drawers. “I mean we need War Knights just as much as we need Holy Knights, don’t get me wrong.” The boy started opening up the drawers Landric had placed his stuff in, and began pulling Landric's clothes out one at a time.
“Actually, I came here to be a Holy Knight,” Landric interjected. “I don’t have the physical strength to be a War Knight. I only have the magical abilities, really.”
“I never would have guessed,” Isaac continued, throwing Landric’s shirts onto the ground.
“What are you doing?” Landric asked, picking up his clothing as it fell.
“Putting my stuff in my drawers,” Isaac said as if it were obvious. “You get the right ones. I want the left drawers. And the bed that’s closer to the window. Could you move your things to the other bed?” Isaac waved his hand to Landric, as if dismissing him.
“I guess so,” Landric took his things and moved them to the other bed.
“Y’know, I think this could be the start of a great friendship or something,” Isaac said, looking completely cheery about the entire thing.
“Or something, I’m sure.”
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