Chapter 1: Don't Look Back

Vai’a’s mother had always warned her that running away from one’s problems was never a solution. Of course, Vai’atrikya is most positive that if her mother were here today she would make an allowance for such situations as the one Vai’a had managed to get herself mixed up into today.
The heist wasn’t one out of the ordinary- no, correction, this mission was to be a real steal- literally.  The scene of the crime- to be, the Central Temple, would be crowded on the set time and date. A ceremony of youths, the appointing of children to their adult careers made into a sacred ceremony to prevent revolt against often ill-judged placement of Asterion youth. For the board of career placement holds complete transparency in promoting many of the more affluent youth, and only a few of the actually talented (or in Vai’a’s opinion the possibly competent).
Which is why Vai’a’s expression holds a permanent sneer while yet another round of applause goes up for a well- groomed boy with a twitchy look  to his eye and a misplaced look of self- importance. He is pronounced to be the future minister of architecture and engineering. A farce of a position; since the Asterions hold little to no knowledge on the science, the art of engineering on Vai’a’s home world. Therefore they hide behind the genius minds of the masters in architectural design- the Tartician people, but the boorish Asterions even manage to pollute the work of geniuses by promoting untalented yet aristocratic individuals of their own species to supervise apparently inferior minds. 
Witnessing this foreign ceremony celebration the transformation of Aasterion youth to adult, only allows Vai’a a glimpse into the future where the children before her today are her adversaries in a fight for the Tartician world. Her home, a home that the Asterions have polluted with their greed. The rebels are correct to take action now, and even if they have only given her little information on the operation ahead- she is willing to do what she can to forge a world that will be breathtakingly Asterion- free.
Yet another round of applause goes up for what she can only guess was yet another incompetent snob. And parting the wake of the noise, a boy approaches the stage. She couldn’t tell you at that moment, what about him, specifically, caught her eye from across the crowded room. Maybe when she is a decrepit old woman, with only the memories of her youth to live off of, she will be able to accurately analyze why he of all people caught her eye. For a pretty boy he certainly is not, striking- of course. Just the way he carries himself, smoothly stalking across the stage- leaves eyes all across the room following his every step. He is handsome, not because of an aesthetically pleasing exterior which he may or may not have, but because of the, oh so apparent, clever- workings of his mind which bring an otherwise puppet- like body to life. Every eye in the room cannot help but be attracted to every purposeful contraction of one his muscles- an aura surrounding him which could only be the offspring of intelligence, talent, and some unknown other ingredient. He catches attention like a strong magnet attracts lead filings, for this soon- to be young man radiates power.
Long, nimble fingers shake a hand and then grab the document, which carries on it spindly black lettering, pronouncing his future. A voice in the background announces a name and the occupation which matches it. In response a roar swallows up the once silent crowd, and argentine eyes jump across countless nameless faces only to stop, frozen on just another nameless face in the crowd- hers. It was not an attraction which created the pull between their eyes; quite the opposite, really. It was the repulsion of two minds so ironically built from similar mentality yet splitting into far different reaches of the universe which propelled their eyes so far away from each other that they could only come back in full circle- to the very beginning. Just as suddenly as those mercury eyes had found hers they ripped from her reach by the stampeding of the crowd in exit.
From atop of the stage the young man watches the young woman get drawn away from him by the crowd, and unlike her he understands exactly what had just occurred between them. An act far more sacred than the farce presented today; a gauntlet throne where the ultimate union of friendship could be grown of the disastrous separation of enemies sworn.
Vai’a so lost in moments past, could still sense with every last one of her nerves the bitter tang of fate along with the sharp sting of destiny. So lost cloud which was her mind along with the overly sensitive receptors which were her nerves, she almost missed the symbol.
The Central Temple is so gaudy in decorations that any passing observer could easily scan over the subtle, yet ever so meaningful, marking lightly carved into the hallway doorframe. Sliding sideways through the crowd she jumps into the doorframe to wait for the last trickle of the crowd to make their way outside.
The Tartician masters, angered by the maltreatment of their Asterion supervisors, engineered clandestine tunnels- some from her people’s underground city below to the Asterion’s ostentatious citadel ever-reaching towards the sky; others like the one right before her only skim the surface, mainly used to hide a whole range of goods from the Asterion.  One of those mysterious objects, which she was asked to retrieve today by the rebel group, will hopefully aid in bringing down the Asterions.
The hallway has been seemingly clear for a few minutes, so Vai’a cautiously creeps out into the exposed clearing and begins the movements she has done so many times before. Living underground, one becomes knowledgeable about rock. Even those of her people who are not masters understand more than just the basics of rocks and how they settle, how they move, shrink, grow, etc. So finding the shifting piece of the once completely sturdy floor in a position which is exactly diagonal from the marking above, well- it was instinctual. The way the ground rumbled in response to her soft ministrations wasn’t startling-it was comforting, and as she stepped down into the pitch black stairway below- it was like being welcomed home.
So lost in the rhythm of accustomed movements, she was left unaware of the familiar eyes watching her in amusement from the down the hallway. So lost was she in the dark, that she never realized the footsteps following from behind.
The cool feel of an undisturbed chamber hugs her closely as she wades through the history which the layers of rock whisper to her eyes. A thousand years ago the rebel advocate told her did freedom’s ring hide. The first part of the riddle is easy, by looking at the layers of the rock she should walk down a thousand years from the present- not very much at all in rock years. The second part of the riddle is more difficult. Ring could mean a whole range of literal and figurative things. Via’a had even asked the rebel advocate what ring referred to the second she, the advocate, had finished reciting the riddle. The old crone had just scowled at her in disappointment and hobbled away. At the time Via’a had just shrugged the response away, and set the dilemma to ponder over for a later time. As she has reaches the layer which marks a thousand years from the present, Vai’a desperately searches for any sign of any sort of ring. None to be found, she severely wishes she had gone after the crone and shaken the answer from her wrinkly thin lips.
In a rare fit of anger she strikes the wall, and low and behold a sharp, clear resounding comes in response. With relief, she taps around the wall which the ringing did come forth, and manages to shift the rock layering to reveal a jar. Jar might be too optimistic of a term, for the thing could probably barely even hold a swallow of drink. No time to sit and ponder its use, she grabs the vial and tacks it into the sash on her hips before sliding the rock layering back into place.
It is right as the slab clicks into place that a distant thundering coming from the way she had come begins. Frozen in fear, she listens for a few moments as the thundering increases steadily, and then as if she had never been frozen at all she begins to sprint in the opposite direction of the ever approaching doom.
Vai’a’s mother had always warned her that running away from one’s problems was never a solution. Of course, Vai’atrikya is most positive that if her mother were here today she would make an allowance for such situations as the one Vai’a had managed to get herself mixed up into today.
Through the tunnel she runs until she is faced with another stair case which she climbs with hastiness. Facing the panel which leads to the Asterion streets above, she fumbles for the latch. The ever approaching thunder of genetically superior Asterion feet matching the tattoo of her heart. With another click the door swings open to reveal a light filled street ahead. She is lucky, this tunnel exit is close to the hole in the dome force field surrounding the Asterion citadel. Only a block from the hole, Vai’a commits the worst crime in the book for thieves, criminals in general really. She looks back, in response to the silence following in her wake, to find nothing. A feeling of dread sits in her stomach like a stone, and as she turns around she wonders why her mother never taught her that should she ever choose to run from her problems she should never look back. For right in front of her was a pair of silver eyes floating over an amused smirk. Well that’s a lie- right in front of her is a pole which she promptly runs into. It was behind that pole, in the distance her brain assures her as everything goes black and cloudy, that the young man with the silver eyes stood waiting for her.