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Surge: Chapter One

Disclaimer: I apologise in advance for any spelling/grammar - this is an entirely unedited Work In Progress and therefore my dyslexia will be on full display. ^_^; If I publish this, I'll get it edited, but for now, enjoy the rough draft - let's have fun!

Chapter One

A child need only envision a thought for it to become real to them.

Planet: Ghaliya

Litin Empire

Fortress: Zlatanburg

Light glossed over a round bed and the tiny curled up figure therein. Loose blankets had been tossed aside as twin tails flicked back and forth. Little pointed ears twitched. Tyrin was lost in a dream. He yowled in fright, breaking free of the icy claws of slumber. His chest ached from harsh, rough breathing. Perspiration dampened grey fur. Tyrin wiped cheeks with a paw, shivering at the air from the doors, open to the balcony. He frowned. He could not recall opening the large doors that evening, and everyone in the fortress knew of his dislike of the howling desert winds that could rip in sudden waves at night without warning. Crawling from the bed he padded across the floor, daring to peer out onto the balcony. White curtains fluttered in the warm breeze, turning silver in the hue of the broken moon’s gaze as its fragmented shape crested the tips of the distant mountain ranges, painted with a dusting of snow. Night decorated the lands of his Pride in glittering jewels, with the constellation of Pantanora swirling in the sky beyond the Moons, Dathron and Kapaella. The Tyrin Pyramids, after which he was named, shone like enormous crowning diamonds in the far distance, surrounded by the climbing metropolises of Yin.

Something was calling to him, beyond the flatlands of the shipyards, out across the expanses of space. The pull of a deep yearning, to be with the one who shared his dreams. His ears pinned back, and he turned quickly from the view, trembling at the intense swell of cold besetting his body as though he was being frozen from the inside, despite the warm desert air of the north. With both tails balancing him on his foot-claws he awkwardly dashed out of his chamber and down the corridors of the fortress, passing the marble statues of his forebears, huge in their luxury, until he reached the southern chambers.

His raw mind, infused with the craft he had been born with, sensed the sleep of his bloods. Their familiar tones were easily extinguishable from the other members of the large household of the Empathic and Telepathic Pride. Curling his claws around the heavy wooden door handle he shoved it open and peered into the silver glow.

Across the large chamber the circular bed looked small amongst the enormity of the pillars holding up the high ceiling. His kalathra and falathra rested therein, though he could not see them, their mind-waves displaced his own with a deep urge to slumber. His legs wobbled. Tyrin shook off the sensation and dared to creep closer, until, with a quick burst of energy, he dropped to all fours and scampered to the edge of the bed. He was so cold, bitterly frozen, and he needed their warmth and comfort, though like so many nights before, he knew even their powerful minds would not disperse the ice within his veins.

“Kaka?” he whispered.

Kaka, his thought-waves hesitated, waving like notes on a harp. He doubted they even made a ripple upon his kalathra’s remarkable mental walls. Kaka, I am fearful.

A large paw reached out, touching the little tuffs of feathers between his rigid ears. Sharp claws scratched him fondly and his falathra’s bright yellow eyes glowed in the dull light. Tyrin was plucked from the floor and settled in his falathra’s lap. Feathers and fur enveloped him, but he was still cold.

Your kalathra needs her rest this night, Tyrin.

Falathra’s tone was as strong and assuring as his brass voice that would heave out of robust, powerful lungs. But a tone could convey so much more than just a voice; for it filled him with an overwhelming rush of affection that he knew his late-night intrusion was not frowned upon despite his bloods weariness. Tyrin curled tightly into the warmth, cuddling into the greying fur. He glanced to his kalathra, blinking at how still she was in the silver haze of the moonlight. Falathra was right, he could sense her tone’s exhaustion, the weariness that came with bearing a cub—his new brother. He hoped the cub would not know the same cold he did, that he would grow in the warmth of the sun and not the unnatural bitterness of the forsaken wastelands.

Falathra’s tongue licked between his ears and Tyrin purred in delight, his twin tails coiling together. He was settled upon a pillow, a blanket tucked around him tightly.

“What has frightened you? Is it the dream again?”

“Aye, Fafa.” Tyrin burrowed into the large cushion, clutching at his father’s paw. A curious pulse vibrated from falathra’s tone-glands. Tyrin tipped his head to one side, trying to shield himself from the strength of the old-beasts powerful mind. His gills were still too underdeveloped to withstand the full force of a probe, and he winced as falathra plucked the dream from his mind.

Falathra was silent for a time. “Cub, the dream is not a bad dream.”

“I know.” Tyrin choked, playing his falathra’s large claw. “But I am so cold. I am always cold. I do not understand, Fafa, why I am so cold.”

A deep sigh rumbled from falathra’s chest. Tyrin was lifted, carried in strong arms towards the cascading windows. Falathra drew back the curtains, revealing the night and the view across the desert, towards the glittering lights of the great ocean cities.

“Somewhere out there, my little cub, you will find your answer.”

Tyrin turned his eyes to the immensity of the sky. It curved and coiled in a dance as the stars twirled together as though kalathra had taken a spoon to milk and porridge and tossed it all about. He sucked in the dusty desert air, letting it fill his lungs. A sudden thrill sent a rush through his body, spiking fur, causing his tone-glands to spread wide around his ears in a flash of colour.

He looked hopefully to falathra. A tender smile touched falathra’s lips, forming wrinkles around bright green eyes. His mind was open, without a barrier, enveloping Tyrin like a blanket, warming his icy veins.

“Tyrin, if you strive forward, and never give up, you will find who you share your dreams with.”

It was a promise.

General Litin terminology

Falathra (Fafa) - Father

Kalathra (Kaka) - Mother

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