Chapter 4

  The Teacher

  Emhyr was feeling better now. It had been approximately a month since the incident on Ceres, even better since the fight on Ceres. The door slid open and a medical droid entered his room.

  "Please be ready to depart the orbital station in 1 hour," it announced.

  Time passed quickly as Emhyr didn't know where he was going, but knew he would be training somewhere beyond the space station. The hour flew by. He had no possessions to gather—he would leave with nothing but the clothes he wore. The medical droid returned, this time accompanied by a strict-faced man who stood silently in the doorway, waiting to escort him.

  Emhyr looked one last time at his room, just like how he had looked at his empty apartment on Earth before leaving for Ceres. Always leaving, always starting over. He followed the man in silence, not asking questions as they walked through the station's hallways.

  The man led him directly to where the starship waited.

  "I was told to bring you to this shuttle," the man finally spoke, his voice sharp. "You're going to Alpha Centauri, planet Banneker. This ship is for one person and flies itself. The trip takes about two Earth days. Someone will be waiting when you get there."

  A light scanned emhyr's body. The door of the ship open.

  "Farewell," the man said, already turning away as Emhyr stepped inside.

  The ship detached from the orbital station, acceleration pressing Emhyr into the pilot's chair. As stars streaked past the window, he remembered his father talking about far-off worlds he'd visited working shipping routes. Planet Banneker: a dangerous mix of scorching deserts and predatory jungles.

  The jumpspace engaged, and time blurred...

  "Warning, warning, system failure. The automated voice snapped him out of sleep. Lights flashed red across the console. He fought rising panic, fingers hovering uselessly over controls he didn't understand.

  "Arriving at destination," the ship announced, as if nothing were wrong.

  As the ship entered the planet's atmosphere, he could see large capital ships and small fighter jets. They scanned his starship as it passed by.

  "Scanning from the Imperial fleet complete," the automated voice announced. "Descending to the planet."

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  The ship burned through the atmosphere. Emhyr closed his eyes, gripping his seat as the vessel shook violently.

  Before he knew it, the ship had landed on a circular platform in the middle of a desert.

  "Destination arrival. ," the automated voice says.

  With nothing but the clothes on his back, Emhyr stepped out into the harsh sunlight. He saw an old man standing with his arms behind his back, looking directly at him.

  As he approached the old man, he noticed a long skinny stick behind the man's back. Stepping closer, Emhyr attempted a greeting.

  "Hello, are you...?" he began.

  The old man didn't say anything. Instead, he walked around Emhyr, examining him closely. The stranger touched Emhyr's arms, face, and legs, which took Emhyr by surprise.

  Finally, the old man spoke, measuring each word carefully. "The fifth prince doesn't send people here unless they're either exceptionally gifted or exceptionally dangerous. Perhaps both, in your case." He tapped his stick once against the sand, leaving a perfect circle. "I'll teach you control, discipline, and self awareness — Follow me and keep up—I won't slow down for weakness. Your first lesson has already begun, whether you realize it or not."

  Without warning, the old man pivoted and sprinted across the sand with surprising speed for his age, his footsteps barely disturbing the surface.

  Emhyr stood frozen in disbelief, his jaw tightened. "No one said anything about running," he growled, glancing back at the departing ship.

  With no choice, he followed the old man across the desert landscape.

  Trying to follow the old man, he was already tired and sweating under the hot sun. The old man kept running, the distance between them growing until Emhyr couldn't see him anymore.

  "Shit," he muttered, pausing to catch his breath.

  Some time passed as he alternated between walking and running, with no sign of the old man. Thoughts filled his head: As images of death ran through his mind, he found new determination and began to run without stopping.

  Eventually, Emhyr spotted the old man sitting beneath a lone tree, resting comfortably in the shade. As Emhyr approached, stumbling and gasping for air, the old man barely looked up.

  "You're late," he said flatly.

  Emhyr tried to speak between labored breaths.

  "For that—one hundred push-ups," the old man commanded.

  "What?" Emhyr managed to say.

  Without warning, the old man struck Emhyr on the head with his long skinny stick. Pain shot through Emhyr's skull.

  "One hundred push-ups. I won't repeat it again," the old man said, his voice calm but firm.

  Barely able to move after the exhausting run, he dropped to the ground and struggled to begin the push-ups, his arms shaking with the first few attempts.

  The sun crawled across the sky as he struggled through each push-up. His arms trembled, then burned, then went numb. Sweat dripped onto the sand beneath him, forming small dark patches that quickly dried in the heat. Twenty-five... fifty... seventy-five... each milestone seemed impossibly far from the next.

  The old man sat cross-legged in the shade, occasionally looking at his new student.

  When Emhyr finally collapsed after the hundredth push-up, chest heaving against the hot ground, the old man stood and approached him.

  "Your body houses your mana," the old man explained as Emhyr lay exhausted on the sand. "If your vessel is weak, your mana will break it."

  Emhyr tried to push himself up but could barely lift his chest from the ground.

  The old man's eyes narrowed as he assessed his new student. "We have a lot to work on," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "From now on, you will address me as Lord Vor."