Nineteen-year-old Trenekis Idero entered Counselor Votig Brem’s home, having been summoned minutes earlier. Trenekis crossed the spacious central room and pushed open the wooden door separating it from the smaller bedroom further on. Turof, one of the counselor’s caretakers, was sitting next to the man’s bed. She greeted Trenekis as he entered.

A scratched and dented lightstick, hung horizontally from ropes, was attached to the ceiling. The room seemed bright and cheery, in sharp contrast to what Trenekis saw laying in bed. The counselor lay under a thin sefa blanket, his head propped up by several pillows. The room was quiet except for the soft whirring of the fan at the end of the duct which supplied the room with fresh air.

The counselor looked much older than his fifty-six years. Votig’s normally light brown skin had become pale over the last several weeks. A week ago, he had become bedridden and was no longer able to carry out his normal day-to-day activities on Hiera’s small law council.

The counselor’s eyes were closed when Trenekis entered the room. He opened them now and focused on the youth. Tren’s shoulder-length brown hair, lightened in streaks by long hours in the twin suns, perfectly complemented his bright deep-green eyes. An even tan covered the boy’s body. The dark grey-brown drel skin shirt Trenekis wore was unlaced, exposing the middle of his chest and stomach. The light down that covered Tren’s belly had only recently begun turning into a man’s darker hair. The same soft drel skin had been fashioned into trousers as well. Laced up the side and form-fitting, its thin leather had molded itself to his body. His close-toed boots were laced at the top just above his ankles.

“Tren, you’re here,” Counselor Brem said. Then to Turof, “You may leave.” He smiled wanly at her as she pulled the door shut behind herself.

“Why did you have her leave?” Trenekis asked. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be asked to tend to the counselor or not.

“Because I have something important to tell you.”

Trenekis took a seat on the stool Turof had just vacated.

“I have, at most, four months left,” the man told him.

Tren did his best to fight the tears. He had known the counselor had been sick for some time now. He had known this man his entire life. Although not related to his family, he considered Votig his uncle. Votig had been one of the original founders of Hiera. The counselor had been a close friend of Tren’s father since before Tren was born. Votig considered Trenekis the son he never had.

“But we have medicines, equipment. There’s Bosh. My mother can help!”

“Yes, we have all of that, Tren. But you, of all people, know the equipment is old and worn out. Much like me, it seems. The med scanners are the only things that work well nowadays. That’s how Bosh knows I’m dying. I have tumors he can’t remove. Your mother delivers children. She can’t help me. The best that can be done is to sustain my life for as long as Bosh can do so. Then it will be over. Perhaps it’s for the best.”

“No! It’s not for the best,” Trenekis said, his head shaking.

Brem reached out, took Tren’s hand and squeezed it. “I must tell you something far more important. Check the door.” He pointed toward it.

Tren noted that despite his sickness the man had plenty of strength left. Perhaps he might still pull through, Tren thought. He rose and made sure the door was firmly shut, then returned to the stool. What could possibly be more important, he wondered.
“Who are your parents?” the man asked.

“My parents?” Perhaps he didn’t hear the counselor correctly.

“Who are they?”

“Ayvik is my father. Ellu is my mother. You know that.” Perhaps this sickness is causing him to ask stupid questions.

“Tren, they’re not your parents.” Votig watched confusion sweep across the youth’s face. “We swore to keep it from you. You were just an infant when I… found you.”

“You’re ill, counselor.”

“No, Tren. They’re not your birth parents. They took you as theirs before you were even a year old. I-I asked them to. It’s the truth, Tren. I’m sorry we’ve kept this from you. It was for the good of the village. But you turn twenty in five weeks. It’s only right you were told before you reach the Age of Inclusion. Since I was the one who found you – saved your life – I asked to be the one to tell you.”

Trenekis was stunned. This was impossible. His parents were his flesh and blood. No one had ever alluded to anything else. There were no clues to say otherwise. No one had ever even hinted at it, least of all his mother and father. “Why did no one ever say anything? Ever?”

“Because of your father. His name was Arasen Vatch.”

Alarmed, Trenekis stood, nearly knocking over the stool. “What?”

“Him,” Votig replied, nodding.

Tren could barely breathe. “No…”

“It’s not spoken of except by a few who are still alive who used to live in the city. There is very little need to discuss those days. They were filled with many painful events. The Path Holders were ruthless. Are ruthless. And nearly mindless in their fanaticism to this day.”

Trenekis was overwhelmed. “W-why was I brought here?”

“I found you as we abandoned the city. I couldn’t let an infant die. It wasn’t until later that we determined who you were. That’s why we kept this from you. No one wanted you to be burdened by it, or ashamed. Tren, you’ve turned out to be more than we could have hoped for. Far more.”

Trenekis sat back down in stunned silence, now barely able to think.