From the smoldering ruins of the crashed wreck ZANZABAR, the child arose. Dazed and concussed, he put his hands to the floor to push himself up to his knees. Instinctively he put out his hands to steady himself. He’d been thrown from his previous position behind the main junction by his father’s quarters, clear forward to the first airlock. Getting to his feet required more effort than the boy had ever known, but he willed himself to do so. Standing as tall as the little boy’s three-year-old body would permit, he withdrew his hand from the wall, now keeping his own balance. With new focus, Arcus Angelus took in his surroundings.

 

     Smoke and death was all around him.

 

     Kay. Jon. They’re gone.

​

     He was all that remained. Neither of his Keepers Kay nor Jon. No brother Andus. No sister Arnora. No father Arter. He was alone. Before isolation consumed him he shifted his focus, facing the ship door that now loomed in front of him, short as he was.

​

     Arcus, you must go now, a deep, tranquil, polytonal voice spoke inside his head; everything depends on it. Leave this place. Leave and live.

 

     The boy did not know how to respond, grief stricken and angry, he shut the voice out and fumed over the closed door. He stared at it now; not knowing or understanding why it wouldn’t open for him like the doors normally did. He wanted to leave this place of death and despair. His temper flared and his childish, uncontrolled anger fueled him now as his focus was poured into the door.

 

     Open up and let me out, he demanded. Open up!

     His emotions began swelling and for the first time in his life his Ara flared in a golden orange hue around him—unknown to him as his Arco birthright.

     Open!

     Doubt suddenly reared its ugly head and tears swelled up in the boy’s eyes.

     Op-en!

     Desperation was suddenly sinking in as the tears began to fall like the first droplets of a storm.

     OP-EN!

     His mind screamed and his Ara fumed in response, glowing golden around him.

     “OP-EEEEEEEEEEN!!!” Arcus finally shouted as the Ara around him erupted in a blasting wave aimed at the door. The wave of energy triggered the door's auxiliary failsafe, opening it immediately.

 

     He dropped to his knees after his exertion and caught his breath. He felt a sudden chill throughout his body and the world around him. Raising his head, he saw a wall of white beyond the newly opened door. His eyes adjusted and took in the world of white that awaited outside.

 

     Arcus moved toward the door and touched the soft whiteness in front of him. It was flakey and cold to the touch, though it melted and steamed when he touched it. He put both of his hands to it and watched as the soft whiteness melted away in the shape of handprints before withdrawing his hands and looking about the ship once more.

 

     You must go Arcus. Now is your time. Make haste.

 

     He wasn’t sure of the voice’s origin, but thought he could hear his Adda's voice amidst its multi-tones.

 

     Arnora too? And brother Andus?

​

     Whether it was his father or not, Arcus could not deny its omniscient presence.

 

     Fueled by the fury of leaving his father, his brother and sister, his people, and his planet—and now the misfortune of coming to this unknown world, coupled with the loss of his Keepers Jonner and Kaylari—the dazed, grief-stricken form of Arcus Angelus plowed his hands into the cold white and began digging his way out of the final remnants of Arco civilization.

 

     Leaving the airlock, he dug through several feet of snow that melted around him as his golden Ara glowed. His toddler muscles flared and his Ara began to fade as he dug and dug and dug. The golden orange glow ebbed and faded as his body began to cool from the whiteness that encased him, but he did not stop. He dug and dug and dug. His golden orange fire cooled to a warm yellow aura. The yellow aura cooled to a soft beige hue, and soon even beige faded to match the surrounding white.

 

     His Ara had left him. Dissipated and burned out.

 

     Arcus stopped for a moment, only to catch his breath. Cold, wet, and hopeless he stopped, frozen in time.

 

     Do not stop Arcus. The voice came again soothing and reassuring. You must go on. You must live. You must.

 

     Resolved with a fresh undeniable feeling, the young Arcus Angelus renewed his effort and continued to dig and dig until he finally reached the surface and pulled himself up and out into the frozen tundra of the giant mountain he’d apparently crashed on. He gasped for air as his body took in the brunt of the cold, exhaling large breaths in puffs of steam.

 

     He looked around himself as he stood atop the mountain, tiny streams of water trickling past and wild winds swirling around him. Rivulets of water had formed and quickly frozen from the crash and the rapidly cooling form of ZANZABAR, though he could no longer see them. Nor could he even make out the faintest shape of the ship buried beneath the blanket of white from the avalanche that resulted from the impact. 

 

     The world was a bleak scene before him. Sleet and snow flurried around him as he looked off at the woodlands and earthy landscape far below the mountain, all the while the wind tearing at his face and loose clothing. The cold was consuming and his hope dismal, but he bared it. He’d survived the crash. He didn’t know how, but he still drew breath and still felt the fire of life within him.

 

     What now?

 

     You must live Arcus. Live for your people. Live for you. Live for all. The calming polytonal voice said again before disappearing entirely.

 

     Confused and unsure, Arcus surveyed the expanse of land that surrounded him and saw a reddish-orange light flicker in the distance.

 

     What is that? Is that Adda? Did he come here too?

 

     Arcus knew his father had glowed red sometimes, he’d seen it himself twice; on the one occasion he’d gotten to watch his brother and father train and once more recently from a distance during a fearsome battle.

​

     Did the battle come here too?

​

     Arcus hoped there was no battle here but felt compelled to know. Far below him and faint, he decided to follow the flickering light. Emboldened with purpose, the toddler wrapped his arms around himself and gave his shoulders a quick rub, before setting off down the mountain toward the red light and uncertainty.