Surge: Chapter Two
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!
When does a dream become reality and reality become a dream?
Tyrin bounced eagerly down the long hallway towards the departure room. It was always a treat to visit the shipyards, to marvel at the enormous and yet graceful vessels taking to the sky and space beyond. He loved the way the sound of their vast engines hummed and danced against his sensitive tone-glands. Each unique class of ship had a song, and it was a fun pastime of a crafter learning to tell them apart by the tunes alone.
“Isn’t it so exciting, Zy!” He skipped about on his foot-paws, twin tails twirling as he faced his little brother. There was no excitement in the dejected figure slumping behind him, dragging a floating case. There was only a radiating tone of wallowing. To have a craft was to keep no secrets, at least, it was not easily done. To do so one had to seek a deep, deep place within themselves, and to gather tightly all that which they did not wish others to find, and throw those things into the pit. This always led to close-kit clans, to bloods with bonds that were tangled tightly. Ever since Zydra had been born, Tyrin had done his utmost best to make sure his little brother had been warm, but even still, Zydra struggled often to find a smile. He was a sensitive spirit. A strong empath—that they had in common—but Zydra absorbed the emotions of those he encountered like a sea-sponge. No amount of training seemed to help Zydra dispel the emotions, so they festered, like a painful abscess. Even the mild aversion his classmates had towards him as a crafter had become like a maelstrom that constantly swallowed him.
Tyrin sighed. “You’re going to have fun, Zy. I really enjoyed this trip.”
Every young litin went on a special excursion to Dathron, the nearest moon of their home world, Ghaliya. It was full of lush grass to run in, and golden water in enormous, suspended plates. It was safe and well-guarded by the Litin Empire’s Fleet, due to its proximity to Ghaliya. But to a crafter it was a special trip—for it was the only one they were ever permitted to undertake. He did not fully understand it himself, for falathra had not explained it, but something in their craft made it impossible for long space flight.
This greatly saddened him. The planet felt like a shackle around his ankles, holding him and his craft down.
“I don’t want to go. No one in the class likes me. They tease me!” Zydra’s covered his extra ears and horns . “They grab my ears and laugh at my small hor