The Kuro-Sil Chronicles

There lived a human, a young boy named Orren Hawkins. Orren was twelve years old, and was a few months away from his teenage years. He was a fairly average child: his body was lean, he stood around five feet tall, had fair, light skin (if a bit pale) and bright brown eyes. From that description, you’d think there was nothing remarkable about him. But believe me, he was very famous, even at that age. There were four things that made Orren Hawkins stand out from other humans, but I won’t get ahead of myself just yet. I mean, what fun is it if we spoil everything right away?

This particular story began one gloomy morning in the middle of July, when his alarm clock went off, jolting him awake. He put his Utili-Palm – a multipurpose smart device that resided in the palm of your hand, created by OmniTech* – on his hand, and checked the time. It read 4-40 Marak. He groaned. He didn’t sleep very well, due to bad dreams, and also because he was currently living on a new planet, and the time difference was hard to get used to compared to his home world Terrarus.

He glanced at the large bed next to him. The covers weren’t moving. The Master of the house must still be asleep, even through the loud alarm. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if he slept in a bit. So he shut off the alarm and slumped back on his mattress.

The alarm went off again minutes later, much to his annoyance. All he wanted was a good night’s sleep for once, but once again, reality got in the way. Despite his exhaustion, he lazily got out of bed, hoping to avoid another lecture from the Master.

“Okay, I’m up now. You don’t have to drag me out today,” Orren said groggily to the massive bed.

He got no response.

He looked closer, and found the bed empty. Orren forgot it was the beginning of the week, meaning the Master was out shopping for supplies. That explained things, but something felt off. His clock now read 4-48 Marak, which would have been approximately 9:00+ in the morning in Terrarium hours, if he computed the time difference correctly. The owner of the house usually was home and asleep before Orren woke up. He wondered if he fell asleep in the foyer again. He stepped out of the bedroom and searched his entire house, a filthy, ramshackle hut called an alaark, to find him.

He checked every room in the alaark, but he was nowhere to be found. Orren was all alone. However, in the kitchen he found, aside from a large mess of plates and food covered in insects, a note written in the Standard Tongue on a piece of paper. It read,

Gone shopping for supplies. Will be back before 4 Marak.

“Figures he’d be late,” Orren said to himself, rolling his eyes. A list of chores followed, which he read halfheartedly. At the bottom, an extra, hastily scribbled, note read,

Do NOT step out of the alaark until I come back.

Orren groaned. He didn’t like being trapped inside the house by himself all day. He knew the Master only wanted to keep him safe, but might be hours before he returned, and didn’t like that thought. At least he knew where he was now. With that mystery solved, he went to the cold box to get his breakfast, not noticing another note that fell out of his list, which read:

Cover up the hole in the roof with the quantol shield from the attic, if you can.

He warmed and ate a frozen meal consisting of eggs and leafy greens, then went into the washroom. After a quick bath, he dried off and combed his bushy, white hair. Yes, you read that right. Orren’s hair was as white as snow. That was his first quirk. There was nothing wrong with him, his hair was just an abnormal color. He didn’t know why it was like this, and he hated it, as it made him a very easy target for bullying. Worst of all, he couldn’t change its color, no matter how much he dyed it. His grandfather told him his hair was a sign from God, but he didn’t believe that. He vowed to one day make his hair normal, so that people would no longer pick on him.

Once dry, he dressed in a dark blue shirt and green cargo pants, and began his daily chores. He cleaned all the dishes, swept the entry hall, the garage, and the attic, tidied the closets, and picked up trash strewn about the floor. The house was usually a mess, but Orren was diligent, and cleaned up without complaining. He always strove to please the Master, as he looked up to him dearly.

After that, he went back to the bedroom to do his school work. He was home schooled at this time, because no school would accept him where he currently lived. He wished he didn’t have to do any of this, but he sucked up his pride, and studied the subjects recommended to him, such as universal history, mathematics, and science. They were just as dull as they would be if he learned them in a real school, and he didn’t retain any information. However, there was a subject that he actually liked. He opened up a book called Beginner’s Guide to Reptuulian Lore, Language, and Culture, written by the famed human historian Magellus Armstrong. Orren was happy he didn’t go to school, because they would never teach this to him.

Today, he learned of Boka’Shar’s Kralosha, the last battle in an ancient war the Reptuuls fought against another species called the Dumon, one of the Reptuuls oldest enemies, who allied themselves with the Paumus, a species most known for running the criminal underworld even to this day. Boka’Shar was a revered Reptuulian warrior, who led his people to victory against the two species that tried to annihilate them many years ago. In his final battle, the story read, Boka’Shar’s army of eight hundred million Reptuuls were greatly outnumbered by the Dumon’s and the Paumus’ combined two billion, with victory seemingly impossible. As their forces were being slaughtered, Boka’Shar performed a Kralosha, a sacrificial attack to save his people. He flew his star craft into the center of the enemy fleet and decimated his foe’s mighty Subjugator vessel with a massive EMP blast, destroying their enemy’s tech in one fell swoop. With this, the Reptuuls finally routed their enemies, securing Reptuulian universal independence ever since. Boka’Shar’s last words, given through his allies comm recorders, was the most famous Reptuulian proverb, “Never forget, if you lose your sight and you can’t see your way forward, the almighty Ku’Vethra will be your eyes.”

Orren read this story with childlike wonder. He studied it for a long while, taking time to pour over the art commemorating the battle contained in the book. Every legend he heard of the Reptuuls filled him with such fascination. They seemed so brave and mighty. He wondered if they would accept a human as a friend.

That was his second quirk: Orren looked up to the Reptuuls, and longed to befriend them. No one understood why he felt that way, and truthfully, neither could he. He had known about them ever since he was a toddler, and always wanted to meet one. He believed they weren’t evil at heart, like every human he knew told him, and wanted nothing more than to befriend one of them, two if he was lucky. He had been rejected for this belief back on Terrarus, but he was determined to make his dreams come true, no matter what it cost him.

He finished reading, ending his daily education, and checked his list of chores. He had done everything on it, feeling satisfied. So what could he do now? He could find another mess to clean, or study some more. Those were the last things he wanted to do, but he had little in the way of entertainment while he was alone.

There was one option, however, that interested him. He could focus on his special physical training. That sounded good. Except he would have to go outside to do it, and the Master’s number one rule was to never step outside without his supervision.

At that moment, he realized that the Master was still not home yet. He checked the time again. It now read 6-41 Marak. The morning was almost over. What was going on? The Master never was this late. Maybe he was on his way? Orren pondered. That has to be it.

He went to the front window, and peered outside, only to find the entry way empty. “Still nothing,” Orren muttered. “What’s taking him so long?” This wasn’t normal. What could possibly be holding him back, and for that matter, what was Orren supposed to do now? He hoped he hadn’t gotten in trouble again.

He debated with himself for some time what he should do. His training was very important. Now was probably the only time he could do it, because the Master was likely going to take him out for an important errand once he got back. But he didn’t want to disobey him, either. He respected him too much. What would he do? Would he stay inside and let his strength stagnate, or would he sneak out, disobeying the Master’s wishes? Neither option sounded good, so he thought carefully over his options.

Eventually, he decided to step outside for a few minutes. He would do some quick drills, then be back inside before anyone noticed he was gone. The Master wouldn’t like this, but he didn’t have to know.

He went to the closet, and removed a panel on the wall, revealing their security system. He made sure the protective barrier around the alaark was activated, which it was. He would just stay in the back yard, so the Master wouldn’t have to worry about anything. He then remembered that there were security cameras outside. On a whim, he searched the settings, and found the option to turn off the outside cameras. He felt dirty doing that, but he hoped no one would find out.

After that, he grabbed his satchel from the bedroom, put on some boots and a brown jacket, and headed to the door, then realized his chest felt light. He looked down, and saw he wasn’t wearing his pendant. He went back to the bedroom, found it lying near his mattress, and put it on, a warm relief washing over his body. The pendant had the symbol of a cross in the middle of a galaxy, and was made of a precious metal called Kuskara. It was something he mustn’t lose, for it protected him from deadly spirits, as the Master would say.

He stepped outside to the hot, muggy swamp that was his neighborhood. Thankfully, his clothes were stitched with temperature adjusting fibers to keep him cool. A surprisingly cold breeze suddenly hit him. He recalled the Master saying something about a major storm planning to hit that day. Maybe that was why he was still gone. Hopefully he could do his drills quickly before it arrived. He looked around the area in case anyone was watching. Luckily for him, it was hard for neighbors to spy on him, as his home was situated on a small island in a river just a few yards from shore, with only a small bridge connecting it to the main land. Plus, the barrier protected Orren from intruders, so that gave him some peace of mind.

He went to the back yard, and began his training with some stretches and a few push ups (only ten that time, which he wasn’t proud of). Once he finished, he retrieved a few items from the satchel: a cylindrical handle, a round, gray node, and a separate large dagger with a jagged blade. He flipped a switch on the handle, and long blade materialized out of it. This was what was called a Materion Blade, a high tech, easily portable weapon for the modern age. It wasn’t a big, fancy weapon, but the blade was crafted from strong gallorok steel and light enough for him to handle. The blade was strong enough to cut through stone, so he inserted the node into a slot in the crossguard, making it glowed gray with a dulling pulsar beam. That should keep him safe.

Then he retrieved a round, training drone from the satchel, and activated it. The drone hovered in the air in front of him. “Beginning warm up training,” the drone said.

Orren spent a few minutes practicing with the drone. It floated around the boy, shooting a laser blast here and there. Orren dodged them easily, and landed a few hits with his sword. He was still a novice, but a friend of his gave him three simple steps to an easy victory:

-First, breath. You can’t focus if you lose your temper.

-Second, observe. There is always a weakness to exploit.

-Third, stand. Stand tall and strong, or your foe will use your fear against you.

These tips he took to heart, and had learned a lot about proper sword training in a relatively short time.

Eventually, the warm up ended, and Orren felt invigorated, ready for the next step. “Now comes the real test,” the drone said, “Skill level set to one.”

“Level one? Who set it there?” Orren said. He wondered if a certain friend did that. It annoyed him that they still treated him with kid gloves. He shook his head. “No, give me level five.”

“Level five is too difficult for young humans,” the drone said, “Are you sure you want to continue? I won’t hold back if you do.” The drone projected a ‘yes’ and a ‘no’ box in front of him.

“Yes, I’m sure!” Orren said, hastily pressing the ‘yes’ option. “Now hurry up! I don’t have much time.”

“Affirmative,” the drone said, “Let us begin.” It projected a humanoid hologram the size of Orren, and it held a holographic blade of its own to protect its owner.

“Alright, let’s do this!” Orren said, smirking. He held his sword firmly in both hands. “I won’t let you beat me this time.” This may be tough, but Orren secretly stashed the Reptuulian dagger up his sleeve. This would be his key to victory.

Orren and the hologram sidestepped around each other, Orren laser focused on his prey. The hologram was just a distraction. His real target was the drone. He lunged first, striking a blow to the hologram, making it fizzle a bit. “Ha! Gotcha!” Orren exclaimed. The image recovered, and quickly drifted to the side to avoid the drone as it shot three stinger blasts from its central eye. Orren dodged one, blocked another, but the last hit his side, giving him a sharp sting. “Ow! No fair, you’re too fast!”

“You chose this level, not me,” the drone retorted, its central eye light dimming in a mocking manner, “You get what you ask for.”

Orren lunged again, but the drone dodged. He swung to his right, but the robot avoided again. He steadied his feet and prepared an overhead strike. He brought his sword down, but the hologram jumped in his way and blocked with its holo-blade. He clashed against the image again and again, hoping to find an opening, but he couldn’t find one. The longer this went on, the more frustrated he became, failing his instructions.

Orren backed off slightly, and readied his dagger. The drone wouldn’t expect this, he hoped. He crouched down, focusing his energy on his feet. Once he threw the dagger, he would boost forward with incredible speed, and slash through the drone with ease. He had bee practicing this for over two weeks, and he was eager to pull it off.

He was just about to throw the dagger, then noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It looked like something was hovering just outside the barrier. He noticed it right as the dagger left his fingers, allowing for the hologram to deflect it easily. Orren was in shock. His plan was ruined! He knew he shouldn’t have set the drone to level 5!

But what was the floating thing? Was it a drone? Was someone spying on him? He turned to look, and the drone fired a heavy concussor blast at his chest the moment he took his eyes off it, knocking him to the ground, his pendant falling off without him noticing.

“Hey! You cheated!” Orren shouted.

“I only took advantage of your lack of focus. You forget the most important rule of sword fighting,” the drone said.

“Never take your eyes off your opponent, yeah, I know,” Orren said frustratedly.

“Indeed. As I thought, you are still too weak to succeed at level five.” The hologram disappeared, and the drone started to cool down. “Ending training protocol.”

“Wait! Don’t turn off yet! Can’t we go again?”

“I cannot. Until you take this seriously, I cannot help a foolish human child get any stronger.”

“Goddamn it!” Orren said, grunting in frustration, “I said I wouldn’t lose to you, so I won’t lose!” He sprang to his feet, gripping tightly to his Materion Blade. Without realizing it, his body began to glow with a white aura, and his weapon in hand grew in size, burning brilliantly with a white light. “This is your judgment!” He raised his sword, and swung down, slicing the drone in half, causing it to explode, sending a surge of light throughout the area.

The power surge ended seconds later. Orren opened his eyes, slightly dizzy, but still conscious. Before him was the drone split in two, its wires sparking. He wondered why that happened, as the pulsar node should have dulled his blade. Then he felt his chest and realized his pendant was missing again. “Oh no! Where is it?” he cried.

He looked around desperately, luckily finding it lying in a dead patch of grass behind him. He put it back on, sighing with relief as it healed him of his dizziness. Then he turned back to the destroyed drone. “Great,” he groaned, holding it up by its wires, “Master’s gonna kill me when he sees this.”

He then noticed vehicle alarms going off in the distance, one oddly close to his home, and angry neighbors shouting. He cringed. His powers caused a panic again. The master would definitely kill him now.

“’Ey, bak-lor with the white fur! Get over here, now!” a voice roared from the front yard.

“Oh crap!” Orren gulped. Though the voice had a guttural tone to it, meaning it was speaking another language, he could understand clearly enough to know it was talking to him. He went to the front yard, still clinging to the broken drone, and saw a blue, crocodilian creature with bruises on his body glaring at him from behind the barrier. It was his neighbor, a Reptuul, and he was very angry.

Orren, not knowing if he somehow saw anything, decided to play things safe. “Oh, hi there, big guy!” he said, poorly acting innocent. “How’s it going with you…um, what was your name again?” He snapped his fingers, trying to recall his name.

“None of your business, human!” the Reptuul spat, “And my day was goin’ fine, until you decided to ruin it again. I was paneling my home to prepare for the zashkala, and ’cause of your noise, I fell of my ladder, and I nearly broke my neck!”

That explains the bruises, Orren thought.

The Reptuul snarled, baring his sharp teeth. “What in Ku’Vethra’s name are you doin’, tryin’ to burn the pakalath down? How can someone so small possibly make so much noise? And what’s that you’re holdin’?”

Orren forgot he was still holding onto the drone, and quickly hid it behind his back, hoping he didn’t notice. “Heh heh, what–what do you mean? I–I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said nervously, “I was just…chopping wood?” Orren cringed again. He was never good at lying on the spot.

“Don’t play dumb with me, human, I know it was you!” the Reptuul snarled, “I heard a drone floatin’, you shoutin’, then all of a sudden a wave of light knocked me over! I don’t know how or why, but every time there’s a burst of Velas power, you’re always the source of it.” He tossed a hammer, only to have it bounce off the barrier, much to his annoyance. “Grr, how many times must I tell you to keep quiet? Do I need to break through this barrier and pound this lesson into your skull? The whole pakalath is in an uproar ’cause of you!” He motioned with his hand to the rest of the swampy pakalath – er, sorry, the neighborhood – where many Reptuuls were loudly complaining.

“Sha’Vok, don’t cause a scene. He’s just a human hachala,” the blue Reptuul’s wife called from their nearby alaark.

“Sha’Vok! That’s the name! Thank you, miss,” Orren said to the wife, who appeared confused by his friendliness.

“Don’t speak to my kiava, bak-lor!” Sha’Vok said before turning to his mate, “And don’t let him off the chain so easily, Ani’Kal! I don’t care how young he is, this little runt has been ruining our peace for the last two kaloths, and I can’t take it anymore!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just exercising,” Orren lied.

“You just changed your story. How stupid do you think I am?” Sha’Vok said.

“I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Then why are you lyin’?”

“I’m not lying!” Orren said. Sha’Vok glared at him, and he felt guilty. “Okay, I lied just then, yes, but don’t worry. I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Yes he was,” Sha’Vok’s son said, showing up suddenly behind his father. “I saw him swingin’ a blade around in his back yard, and he made it glow. Check this out, chapi, I caught all of it.” His son replayed a recording from his own Utili-Palm.

“What? Were you spying on me?” Orren said.

“Of course, Bak-Lor. Chapi wants me to keep a close eye on you,” the son said.

“How did you–”

“Through this, stupid softy.” The son held up a drone, and stuck out his tongue.

So that’s what that thing was, Orren thought. He was in for it now.

“A glowin’ blade, eh? Valeshka, Da’Chola, now I understand everything,” Sha’Vok said, patting his son’s head. He bared his teeth again. “Plannin’ a rebellion, are you? When is your stupid owner gonna wise up and put a leash on you?”

“He’ll never do that! He trusts me,” Orren said, getting angry with him.

“Where is he, then? Doesn’t he not like it when you step foot outside of your alaark?”

“Yes, but he’s out shopping. He doesn’t know I’m doing this.”

“Ah, I see. I always knew he was stupid. Can’t even keep a single human in check.”

“Don’t call him stupid! My master’s a good guy.”

“I can say whatever I want about the both of you, bak-lor! You ain’t the boss of me,” Sha’Vok shouted, “Tell me what to do again, and I’ll call the drulak chanukas on you, your owner be volked!”

“You wouldn’t dare! If my master heard about this, he’ll–”

“He’ll what? Eat until his belly bursts? Don’t make me laugh, Bak-Lor. That no-good balunka can’t do anything without screwin’ up.”

Orren clenched his fists with rage. Not because Sha’Vok kept calling him ‘bak-lor’, which was a derogatory term against humans that Reptuuls loved to use. Orren wasn’t offended by this, oddly enough, but because Sha’Vok kept insulting his Master. If there was one thing he wouldn’t stand for, it was his Master’s honor being smeared. He wanted to explain himself, but the Master forbade him from saying anything, because he had a secret that should not be shared with anyone. All he could do was say, “Stop insulting my Master!” through gritted teeth.

“What did I just tell you, Bak-Lor?” the neighbor snarled, “The nerve of you! Why I oughtta–”

“GET BACK HERE, DRULAKS!” a voice shouted from the main road. Everyone turned, and watched two large Reptuuls chasing two people, a teenage male human and a four legged alien, down the street. They almost got away, until one of the Reptuuls fired stunning shots from his gun, knocking them to the ground. The Reptuuls reached them, and bound them up with an orange coil beam. One of them, an angry, reddish-yellow brute, then zapped them with an electric rod. “That’ll teach you not to defy me again,” he boasted. Orren gasped. These burly, monitor like characters wore rugged leather vests and horned helmets. He recognized them as drulak chanukas, slave hunters. He ducked out of sight behind the house, quickly scooping up his belongings, just in case.

“Perfect timin’! Ku’Vethra must be smilin’ upon me today,” Sha’Vok said, looking pleased with the hunter’s sudden appearance. He waved to them, ignoring his wife’s pleas in the distance. “Ara, you there! Could you lend me your assistance?”

The slavers looked up at him. “Hm? Whaddya need, Krodal?” the larger one said, flicking his tongue out, “We’re really busy at the moment.”

“Nothin’ much,” Sha’Vok said, “There’s this Bak-Lor I need help with. I know you lot are interested in that.”

“You want me to take it away?” the slaver asked, “Like I said, we’re busy. We’re running a few errands, one for the Garathal, and they won’t like it if I’m late.”

Orren shuddered. That was a name he hoped he wouldn’t hear again. If this slaver was involved with them, he’d be in trouble for sure.

“No, that’s not it. I just want you to scare some sense into him,” Sha’Vok said, “This young human has been an absolute pain in my rump for the last two kaloths, and I want my peace back.”

“Sorry, kuna, I can’t really waste much time,” the slaver said, “I would help, but somehow the engine to my karak blew up. I have no idea what happened. It was like I was attacked by a Velas or something. Worse than that, these two worthless drulaks are from Clan Fa’Vrolak, and if I don’t deliver them to the drulak traders within the next tanalash, my boss will kill me!”

Orren peeked around the side of the alaark, and saw a large vehicle parked nearby his house, smoke pouring from its hood. Did he do that? He laughed quietly to himself. If he did, hopefully the Master would be proud of him for that. It served the slaver right, anyway.

“No, please, I’m desperate! I’ll pay you two hundred kor-skales, I promise!” Sha’Vok begged.

“What the hell, Sha’Vok?” Orren whispered loudly to his neighbor, who shot a glare at him.

“Tula ki, please, let it go! It was just an accident,” Sha’Vok’s wife pleaded, but he paid her no attention.

The chanuka pondered the situation. “Hm, sounds tempting,” he said to himself, “I could do with some extra skales.” He noticed the home before him. “Wait, I know this place. Isn’t this the dwelling of that failed klashar?”

“The very same,” Sha’Vok said with a smirk.

The slave hunter straightened up. “You’ve got a deal. I’ll be glad to teach that shurak not to mess with Grushkulok Krull again. Maybe my boss will go easy on me if he learns what I did.” He handed off his captives to his partner. Orren caught a brief look in the young human’s eye, a look of absolute fear, like a wild animal caught by poachers. He felt an urge to help him, but he snapped himself out of it, knowing it would only make things worse.

The chanuka turned to Sha’Vok, and held out his hand. “Pay up,” he said.

“But you haven’t done anything yet.”

“Chanukas are always paid up front, just in case you try to pull a fast one on us.”

“That’s ridiculous. I would never–”

Sha’Vok cut himself off when the hunter aimed a heavy blaster at him. He hissed, and stormed inside his home, returning moments later with his money pouch to pay the hunter. Once the hunter counted his money, making sure he got what he was promised, he patted his chest twice. This was a common Reptuulian greeting. “The name’s Ja’Buk, by the way.”

“Sha’Vok kur vana,” Sha’Vok said, repeating the greeting, angry with the hunter’s greed. “And don’t steal him. Just scare him, that’s all I want.”

“Say no more. My kuna and I will take care of him, no problem,” Ja’Buk said, arming himself with a large blaster rifle. His partner returned with traps.

Sha’Vok’s eyes widened with concern. “What are you doing, chanuka? This wasn’t a part of the deal!”

“What does it look like? I’m taking care of the problem.”

“But the human is a child! He’s not a wild gargont!”

“Like I care. All humans are the same,” Ja’Buk said.

“You misunderstand, the human’s not mine. I can’t allow you to–”

“I’m sorry, you want to do this?” Ja’Buk said angrily, cutting off Sha’Vok. He bared his teeth at him, who said nothing in reply, “I thought so. Unless you have any other stupid comments, shut up, and mind your own business, Krodal. I’m a professional, I know what I’m doing.”

Sha’Vok was disturbed by the turn of events. He forgot that drulak chanukas were a greedy bunch, always eager to make money. They didn’t care who they hurt, as long as they got paid, as Orren knew too well. “Now where is he?” Ja’Buk asked.

“Behind the hovel. Can’t miss him,” Da’Chola said, pointing in Orren’s direction. Sha’Vok slapped his son, but the damage was already done.

“Perfect. This will take a skosh,” Ja’Buk said. He and his partner approached the home. “Watch and learn, Krodal skadulok.”

“Hey! Don’t treat my father that way, you mangy Zorls!” Da’Chola shouted, “Show him respect, or I’ll–” Sha’Vok then clamped his son’s mouth shut, not wanting to start another clash between subspecies.

Orren watched with curiosity. He thought this wouldn’t last long, as the protective barrier was still up. The slavers walked into said barrier, and stood there with a confused look on their faces for a moment. Orren hoped this would deter them. However, Ja’Buk was handed a pronged tool, which he stuck into the barrier to deactivate it, and entered the yard. Orren forgot that slave hunters, though their jobs were legal, were borderline criminals. They always acted outside the law to get what they wanted.

The slavers disappeared around the left side of the alaark. Orren looked to side door on the right. No one was there, so he could sneak inside and be out of trouble. He took a step forward, but one of the slave catchers reappeared, cutting him off. He checked a few windows, but they were locked from the inside. The only option left was the front door. It would be riskier that way, but he had to take that chance. He said a quick prayer, and crept around the other side of the house as quietly as he could, holding his pendant in his hand, trusting in his Higher Power. He felt this Power turning him invisible from sight.

He approached the front door, and was thankful the hunters weren’t anywhere nearby. He was confident he would escape. Then he accidentally tripped over a red wire that wasn’t there before, setting off a blaring alarm. He steadied himself and held his breath. His power waned, making him visible again. Did the hunters hear him?

Right as he thought that, Ja’Buk leaped from a hiding spot in a nearby bush, and grabbed Orren by the wrist. “GOT YOU!” he shouted gleefully. The other hunter showed up soon after, and pointed a gun at the boy. “I knew you’d fall for that trap! Humans are so predictable.”

“Ooh, this kid looks good. I bet he’d make some good skales, Ja’Buk,” his partner said.

“You said it, No’Rok! Boss is gonna promote us for sure!”

Orren’s situation was grim. He had one option left, and that was to remove his pendant, and use his powers again. But that was a last resort, and he would only do that if there was no other way to escape. Or worse, if he was recognized.

Ja’Buk eyed the boy, wondering how much he he would sell for. Then he noticed his hair. “Wait, why is his fur white?” His eyes widened, as if he realized something. “Wait, could this be–”

That was it. Orren had nothing left to lose. He wrenched his pendant off his neck with his free hand, and another surge of white light burst from his body. “AAARGH!” Ja’Buk let go, his hand burning from the light. Orren took this chance, and made a mad dash back to the house.

“Get back here, you!” the other slaver demanded, swiping at the boy. Orren slashed him with his dagger, cutting the slaver’s hand, and made it back to the house.

Orren put his pendant back on to still his powers, and ran to the closet again, opened the security panel, and pressed the emergency button. “Urm, are those–” was all he heard Ja’Buk say before the alaark’s hidden turrets activated and fired at them, sending the slave hunters screaming like babies as they ran away. “He’s your problem now, Krodal!” he cried.

“Wait! What about my money?!” Sha’Vok shouted after them.

They threatened him with their weapons, and he backed off. Drulak chanukas didn’t give refunds, no matter what.

Orren laughed, amazed he pulled that off. But his joy died down when he heard an angry Sha’Vok shouting at him: “This isn’t over, you little voshrat! You may have won this round, but I’m watching you! One more screw up, and you’re dead!”

Orren heard others laughing, scaring him. He looked out a window, and saw many other Reptuuls crowding around his home for some kind of show. He wondered if he should send a distress signal or not. Usually the neighbors bluffed like this and never did anything to him, but Sha’Vok seemed very serious today.

“You really outdone yourself this time, Orren,” he said to himself, “When will you learn, ‘If you’re not a fool, don’t piss off a Reptuul’?” He chuckled dismally at the dumb rhyme, but each day, he learned more and more how relevant his Master’s phrase was to his current situation. He was lucky he only had to deal with a few dumb slave hunters. Anyone else, and it would be game over for him.

He waited ten minutes for the commotion to die down. When it seemed safe, he crept back outside, carrying his satchel, and sat on the porch, looking around the neighborhood. Everyone was back in their own yards, minding their own business. No one paid him attention anymore, and he was both thankful and saddened. Thankful they weren’t bothering him anymore, and sad that they were ignoring him.

He sat back, watching the Reptuul neighbors go about their day, longing to know all their stories. He wished he didn’t have to hide from them all the time. All Orren wanted was to be their friend, and he would do anything to make that happen.

There was just one problem: Orren was a drulak, the slave of a Reptuul.

On May 20^th, 5027 AD, the planet Terrarus was raided by an army of Reptuuls, and Orren Hawkins was taken to the planet Tuul-Rakalosh, the homeworld of the Reptuuls, where he was sold into slavery. It wasn’t how he thought he would meet the reptilian species, but believe it or not, he found it kind of exciting. He always wanted to live among the Reptuuls, and didn’t mind serving one if that’s what it took to befriend them. Thankfully, he was bought by a good Reptuul, who kept him safe in exchange for his taking care of the alaark, and that was fine by him.

He waited a few minutes, hoping the Master would show up soon, only to be further disappointed. He almost got bored, until he remembered something else he could do to pass the time. Something very important to him.

Orren reached into his satchel and pulled out a musty, ragged old book, which he kept very close to him at all times, and began to read from it. It wasn’t any ordinary book. It was the scriptures of a long forgotten human religion: a Bible. That was Orren’s third quirk. He was a Christian, one of the few remaining in the universe, and this is what gave him hope for his future.

This was a reason Orren knew why he loved the Reptuuls. He believed they were a part of God’s creation, and that humanity didn’t need to be afraid of them. He was mocked frequently for his beliefs, but that never brought him down. He was determined to prove everyone wrong about them. True, being enslaved almost destroyed that dream. The time spent before he was sold was horrible, and he thought he would die many times over. But God blessed him in the end by giving him a good master and protector, and his faith in God, as well as the Reptuuls, only became stronger since then.

He read from a book from the Bible called Psalms, which were some of his favorite passages, as they helped him clear his mind. ‘If you make the Most High your dwelling,’ the ninety-first Psalm read, ‘then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent.’

Orren could hear his late grandfather reading these verses to him, and he choked up. He missed him very much, and wished he were still with him. At least he had his old Bible to remember him by. He read it again, letting the words calm his mind. Make the Most High my dwelling, Orren thought, Yes, be my dwelling, God. That’s what I need. He held out his hands, as if to receive God’s blessing, and he felt a warm sensation in his body. A white aura shone around his body, but not too bright, thanks to the pendant around his neck.

Humans weren’t known to be spiritual in those days. Most were secular materialists, and thought they no longer needed religion, which left them vulnerable against the Reptuuls and their spirits. Orren, however, was different from other humans, and not just because of his beliefs. He had a Velas of his own, it wasn’t any ordinary Velas. It was the Holy Spirit of God, and He was the one who gave Orren his strength.

And that was Orren’s fourth quirk, and probably the most unique of them all. He was called by the very God who created the universe, and he was tasked to unite humans and Reptuuls together, bring them back to Him, and end the wars between them forever. And he was given godly powers to aid him in his quest.

Orren had the Light of God, which blessed him with many abilities: He could understand the Reptuul’s language, he could perform miracles, and he was given divine weapons and strength to fight the evil spirits of the Reptuuls. He was still training to control his own abilities, which was why he wore the pendant called Ku’Vethra’s Heart, so that he could keep his powers in check.

His training didn’t come easy. Reptuuls don’t like it when humans have spirit powers, as rare as it was, because they believed the spirits only belonged to them. Nor did they like Orren’s religion, and they would do anything to stop him. That was why he learned to fight. He had to fight if he wanted to live, as Reptuuls make it very hard for humans to survive in the Kuro-Sil. Fortunately, he had plenty of allies to protect him and teach him how to control his powers, so he wasn’t alone on his journey, which made him happy.

But there was another, more important reason why he trained. At that moment, humans and Reptuuls were waging their most deadly war to date, and God told him he would be involved with it very soon: the War of the Cosmos.

Despite his great Gifts, Orren had doubts. He wondered if God would really come through in the end, because of how devastating the war was. Sometimes he wondered if he was even real. He didn’t like thinking like this, but it was how he truly felt, and it made him feel like he was failing God. He was far from a saint, too. He swore on occasion, and he sometimes put more faith in his friends than in his Creator. Would he help him, even if he sinned a lot?

Whenever he thought this, he meditated on the Bible, and prayed. His grandfather told him once that it didn’t matter how he sinned or what size his faith was. If you believe with all your heart that the Lord is your savior, God will provide, no matter what. And deep within his soul, he knew this to be true. The Holy Spirit was far stronger than any of the Reptuul’s spirits, after all, and no evil spirit could touch him.

Orren looked up from his Bible briefly, and watched many Reptuuls pass by his house. He saw their dark expressions, and sighed. They all looked very miserable, and he felt sorry for them. He wished they could have hope like him.

He also remembered those slaves taken away by Ja’Buk. They were likely going through the same fears he went through a few months ago. He wished he could have helped them, but he knew it wouldn’t have done anything. They would have been recaptured, and he would be taken away himself.

“God, help those poor slaves. Help both of them find peace in this time,” Orren prayed, “Maybe you can give them good masters, so that they won’t be afraid. Send your spirit to lift them up, so that they will know you are there.” Orren thought of his own Master, and realized he was lucky to have someone like him. Hopefully those slaves could get one like him too.

A great shadow passed over him. He looked up, and saw a massive gol-sharok airship traveling toward the incredible Drasharak Kobaloth – the Palace of Dragons in your language – nestled in the distant peaks of the Koro’Varl mountains, underneath a cloudy green sky. “And let me find my own peace with the Reptuuls. Lead us in paths of righteousness. And help the Reptuuls to find you too. I know you have plans for all of us. Amen.”

He smiled. One day, he would change things. One day, Orren would unite the two species. He would prove to his old friends that Reptuuls are good at heart. It may take his entire life, but he was willing to fight for his dreams to come true. He knew it would, because he had God on his side.

This is the story of a young boy’s journey, of how he came to a hostile foreign planet, how he survived, and how, through the grace of God, he changed the universe forever. In my time, his adventures have become something of legend, many of them exaggerated to the point some even question if Orren Hawkins really existed. But he did exist, and his stories are just as incredible as they say. That, my friends, is why I’m here today. I am chronicling his most famous adventures gathered from his journals and many eyewitness accounts so that the true story can be told and never be forgotten, as a promise I made to him a long time ago. I’m certain the powers that be don’t want the truth of him to go out, so hopefully I can tell his tale before I’m caught, as long as God wills it.

This is but one of the stories of Orren Hawkins and the Saviors of the Kuro-Sil.