“He needs to be prepared, Hellen,” the old man said in feverish hushed tones,

  “What for, Lor? He isn't sick, what could he possibly need to prepare for?” Hellen wheezed in a strained voice,

  “They took Dill, didn't they?”

  “Dill was sick, he’s not!” she hissed,

  “What do you think they are going to do with him when we are gone? Just leave him here? Keep the outpost going for one kid?” Lor was becoming agitated.

  “What if they come down for him, maybe that’s the best thing that we can do for him. He isn't sick, Lor, they could care for him, give him a proper upbringing, get him off of this gods-forsaken rock and hand him a future”

  “Then why haven't they, eh?”

  “I don't know, I am not friendly with them like you are, why don’t you ask them?” she accused,

  “She at least knows that something has to be done, Hellen!” There was a scuffle that told Meno that she had tried animatedly to stop him from speaking so loud, probably with the closest thing she could pick up with a threat of bonking him on the head.

  “Shhhh ! You will wake him,”. He chuckled,.

  “He’s been listening to us this entire time, my dear. Haven't you boy?”

  He did not stir, he did not want to explain again that he didn't want to leave them, despite how childish he knew that sounded. It wasn't because he was afraid of the worlds outside, in fact, it excited him. The stories that he had heard had painted a rich tapestry of the Galaxy, and he wanted to see it, he wanted to see it all, but not at the cost of these two.

  “You see” Hellen whispered, “He sleeps strongly that one, he works hard and he rests harder” Meno could hear the smile in her voice, she always did when she delivered that line. “But really, Lor, I know that she might, but what if she can’t? If he leaves this place and they see that as a crime, then his entire life disappears before him,”. This argument had been revisited countless times, growing more frequent as their health deteriorated.

  “There is not much that she is incapable of, Hellen, trust me,”

  “She clearly can’t see that bloody kettle on my windowsill though, can she?”

  *

  “You aren't concentrating” Hellen snapped at Meno the next day, “It needs to feel like air is rushing through the body, fortifying and empowering every part, it should feel like you can push it out from every pore” she explained.

  The room they sat in was Meno’s classroom, training room, and recreation room. It had been converted for him some time ago and it held his makeshift training equipment and books that had once belonged to Professor Swan, who had passed some years ago. Every book had been handwritten by Swan himself, as nothing was permitted to be brought to this town when they first arrived. Meno had read every volume, some multiple times, especially the one describing the last Sha-En and their battle with the Kryptea, each book an exploration of Swan’s own experiences.

  They were after all the life work of a man who had dedicated himself to the pursuit of knowledge but had no way of expressing its great power, or artistry to the world. Swan always seemed to long for some great debate that he could have with the people of Gol, and Meno had often wondered if he had written the books to arm his hoped-for opponent.

  He had taught Meno, of course, but Meno had been young then, and some of the concepts were complex, so he had left the books for him, knowing that the writing would outlive him. He was unfortunately right.

  The Professor had been a strange man, to say the least. Always ranting and raving about political structures and the indecency of the House’s powers. He drove most of the town mad with it, but Meno knew he was a man of deep compassion. His tangents weren't fueled by a rigid belief in some grand order that should exist. No, he spoke out because of the injustices he perceived, the ways they had restricted people .

  He had once said ‘’One should be very careful in agreeing to limitation, for it creeps up and tightens around you. Soon, your perceived freedom is at the permission of someone else’

  Hellen, who, despite the disease, was still a robust woman, she was strong and fiercely opinionated, but, above all, she was kind. She wore a ragged old dress that came up to her knees and shoes that had been stitched over countless times. Meno wasn't even sure what the original colour had been. Her wide eyes, once bright, were now almost always strained as she struggled to see and her button nose that sat above her ever-smiling mouth.

  ‘I was blessed with a cheery disposition’ she would proudly say. Then proceed to throw a pan at you.

  The room retained a green tinge from the light filtering through the fog that hung over the town. Gol sat in a valley, poisoned and cursed by disease. Hellen had struggled with her movement for some time now, and even in this position she wheezed, her plump seeming to drag her down. She sat on the only furniture in the room, an old wooden chair that matched the desk, both had been repaired multiple times now.

  Meno sat on the floor, his legs crossed and eyes closed, as he focused on drawing in the energy and expressing it outwards. He focused on pulling it into a centre point of his body, feeling slight tingles within him, and then pushing those outward, and then repeating the process.

  ‘You draw out the natural energy within yourself that is held in every cell in your body, you use this energy and push it out of yourself. Then once that energy alters the natural energies around you, you draw it back in and empower yourself. This gives you great strength, this is Heu.’

  Meno was seventeen, or perhaps eighteen, no one really knew. He had been left at the outskirts of the town as a baby, wrapped in a rag with nothing else. The town had taken him in, cared for him and raised him. They taught him how to read, write, do arithmetic and think.

  The town had taken its effect on him, his skin was a sickly grey colour, untouched by the light of their star And his hair was tied up in rat tails that generally held themselves in position nowadays.

  “Are you sure I’m not doing it?” Meno said indignantly, his eyes still closed. He opened his eyes at her chuckle. Her skin had whitened now, beyond the grey. Her eyes were cataract, her hair was rat-tailed too. Though she remained plump and had the kindest face he had ever known. However, he had only ever known just shy of forty faces in his life. He remembered all of them.

  “Why don’t we try again tomorrow? Maybe you will get it then” came the mantra that ended all of his training sessions. She knew that if she had told him he lacked the talent, he would reject it, and continue trying anyway, ‘I don't know where you get that from’ she would say knowing all too well, her belly dancing while she chuckled. Meno knew that she had only kept this up as a kindness to him, a request from him to keep trying.

  “Alright” Meno said jumping up from his spot and stretching his arms into the air, “I really feel like I’m getting it though”

  “So, you’ve mastered it?” said Mr. Dimitri from the door,

  “No,” she said

  “Almost,” he said. Mr. Dimitri smiled weakly. Lor Dimitri was once a grand soldier in the armies of the House Hulf, the old war god, Locne's army. He had long held the traits of a soldier, strong, firm and disciplined, but the disease had taken its toll on him too. He stood hunch-backed looking at Meno, leaning on his walking stick that he now carried everywhere. His hair had become wispy and his skin clung to his bones loosely. His eyes, however, never lost their look of determination and focus.

  “Well, let’s see if that mastery has diminished the rest of your abilities” he wheezed as he stepped in through the door.

  “I’ll get supper started for us,” said Hellen, standing from her chair with effort. Meno stepped forward and offered his hand, “I’m fine dear” she said, not looking at him. It was only midday, but with her movements being slow, the soup took some time. They were limited in their little town, so the soup was a mix of herbs and mushrooms that were foraged. Meno naturally foraged these himself on behalf of the elder two. It was generally the first thing he did in the mornings.

  “Now, let’s begin with the first form, and focus on Hellen’s training while you are doing it”, said the old soldier who stood with his back against the wall, ready to analyse Meno’s movements as he lowered to a half crouch and thrust his fist forward to start form one. This was usual practice from Mr. Dimitri, a repetition of the first forms before training began. Meno didn't mind. It was simply the old soldier's way.

  Meno had always admired him, but lately, he had noticed him becoming more prone to low moods. He would look at Meno with deep pity and sadness, something that Meno would immediately retreat from when he realised he was being observed.

  Mr Dimitri was not a man who felt comfort in showing emotion, he was always concerned more with others, with keeping theirs up. He would visit the sick in this town when they battled through their last breaths, telling them that all would be okay and that he would handle things, that they no longer needed to strain themselves. He was a man who was ready to shoulder others' burdens, not out of shame of that person being unable to carry it themselves, but almost as though he saw this as his duty. It was no crime that he was trying to pay off, but rather, as Hellen would say, the mark of a true man of service. Meno admired this about the old soldier, this was where Meno’s admiration for the man began. In the face of inevitable pain and death, Mr Dimitri would rise early, look for where he could help, what load he could take on and how he could better the lives of those around him, despite his own struggles.

  Meno endeavoured to learn as much from him as he could. He had always felt a small tinge of guilt that he was grateful that Mr. Dimitri and Hellen had lasted longer than the others. He had loved them all, even the ones that did not have as much time for him as he did for them, but Mr. Dimitri was his first hero, mentor and trainer, and Hellen was his de facto mother, though she would never say as much.

  Hellen stayed out of the way during Mr. Dimitri’s training, and gave the impression that she didn't like him receiving it, but knew that it was important, perhaps more for the old soldier than for Meno. The two types of trainings were meant to be combined, drawing in the energy and then using it to strengthen one's muscles and reflexes. However, Hellen never liked the ‘fighting’ aspect of it all.

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  ‘He’s too young to be a soldier, Lor’ would come the words from Professor Swan, when Meno was still only around 5 or 6,

  ‘He doesn't seem to believe you’ would reply the old soldier in response to Meno’s willingness to continue arriving at his training.

  “What are you finding difficult with Hellen’s training?” he asked, circling Meno who knew too well not to stop his training, lest he be smacked with said stick.

  “I’m trying to figure it out” he replied with strain as he did pushups with rocks from the stream atop his back. “I feel like I am doing it, but I am not pushing any energy out”,

  “Why do you feel like it’s working?”

  “Internally…” Meno breathed out sharply and in again as he pushed up with his arms, “I feel everything that Hellen says I should feel” he relaxed in his push for a moment and Mr. Dimitri placed the end of his walking stick on the rocks and pushed down, Meno exasperatedly laughed and continued, “It’s just that it…it doesn't reflect outwardly”

  “It is a complex training that she offers, one that not everyone is capable of…”

  “I am!” Meno barked through the strain. The old man chuckled,

  “Then tell me how you can accomplish it” Meno paused to consider this. With Mr Dimitri, there was no such thing as ‘unable’ or ‘inability’. He would never allow for such a thing to be said. There was only the problem and figuring out how to overcome it.

  “I will”, Meno said, not as a simple answer, but as a commitment to develop a plan to overcome the challenge.

  “Good. You need more rocks, you have outgrown this weight, before dinner I want you to go and get three large ones from the stream” Meno stopped himself from swearing loudly, and hung his head.

  “Yeah…okay”

  *

  Meno collected the rocks, as he was told and placed them outside of the training room for inspection. He walked back through the old timber town, named after the moon that it was on. They, the residents of Gol, had all been placed within the fence that surrounded the town some twenty years ago. The small military outpost hidden within the forest just outside the boundary held three or four guards at any time. The old crow Dot, had told Meno that the fences went up first, and then the mists had descended. Meno smiled thinking of Dot. She hated everything, but in a humorous way. Dot, who had been Hellen’s closest friend while she was alive, an older nutty lady with a cackle of a laugh and a sharp word delivered with a smile to anyone she deemed worthy of it

  He had grabbed a book from the training room and made his way home after stopping by the stream to wash off. The waters were cold in the shallow stream. There were no fish, no frogs, no sign of life in the waters at all.

  “Reading that again?” Hellen remarked as he sat in their small kitchen pouring over the book. She didn't much like this book.

  “He’s the one, isn't he? The best, Professor Swan always said,” Meno said trying to find any clue on the pages that would lead him to a possible answer in Hellen’s training.

  “That thing caused nothing but trouble,” she said, laying her tattered napkin down on her lap as she began eating. The ‘thing’ that she referred to was the last Sha-En. Meno’s favorite story, and one that Swan had written down for him at request.

  Meno had asked many times whether the story was real or not, to which he received the answer, ‘no, of course not’ from Hellen, and ‘Yes, of course, though it has been embellished somewhat’ from Professor Swan, and ‘There were always rumours’ from Mr. Dimitri. Dot had said that he was a previous lover. It was a broadly discussed story in the town and was often put down as a way to mark the awful crimes of the Kryptea. After all, it was a fact that the Kryptea had destroyed House Sha-En and had therefore incurred their punishment from the Autarch of service to the throne. The story of Jinn, though, that was still debated. Meno knew that it was farfetched. A young boy arriving on a battlefield to stand against the galaxy's most powerful army, and winning. Even Meno knew that there were limits.

  The story was only some thirty years old or so, though Professor Swan had said that it was reminiscent of many stories from memoriam. A boy, taking revenge for the crimes committed against his people. Meno knew it was probably some retelling for modern-day purposes.

  “They say that he was the best at wielding Heu, something that you are trying very hard to teach me” he said cheekily, which was always a risk with her.

  “By they, you mean Swan. He filled your head with too much nonsense,” she admonished dismissively. Meno merely smiled at this as she dipped into her soup. She had always been like this, she had never had any time for ‘nonsense’ like philosophy, theory or anything that could not deliver tangible results. She was pragmatic and believed in hard work as the only measure of a person's worth. She would work until absolute exhaustion and then sleep with a smile that night.

  She had had children herself, children that she was taken away from when brought to this place. She had been a House Maid, though she had never shared with Meno which House, nor which persons she was in service to. Dot had told him once that she had been sent here for a crime that she had committed against the family that she served.

  ‘They twisted her mind, you see, little thing. She still feels beholden to them, even though they threw her in with us. Rotten little stinkers, the whole lot of ‘em’ she had said in secret while foraging for mushrooms in Meno’s youth. He had decided then that Hellen’s story was none of his business, and would never press her for it.

  “Regardless, even if it is nonsense, there is always some truth in stories, right?”

  “Yes, well, he also doesn’t exist, so perhaps if you just try harder,” she said with a cocked eyebrow at him, "You could do it" she added with a wink.

  *

  Meno stabbed the shovel into the ground and wiped his forehead, his calloused hands no longer bleeding as they had at the labour of digging graves. He looked down at the now-filled earth and exhaled deeply. His eyes shifted to Hellen Milton’s neighbours. Just stones to mark their graves. No names attached to them, there was no need, nobody would ever come back for them here. Meno knew who rested in each, he knew their names, their stories, their teachings. These were the people that had raised him. Sixty-two in total now. He hadn’t dug all of the graves, he was too young when some of them had succumbed, but his number was now thirty-seven graves filled by his hands.

  He placed his hands together to offer a prayer of thanks to Hellen, the woman who had taught him how to read, write and cook. The woman who had shown him how to clean clothing, and most of all, how to care for others. She had taken care of all of them, for so long she had held off the effects of the disease. She always had a smile on her face, and an ‘I have it dear’ to whoever was about to stand to help. She had been so strong for all of them and she had been so strong for Meno.

  “I’m sorry, boy” Mr. Dimitri’s frail voice carried in the silence,

  “What do you have to be sorry for, Mr. Dimitri?” Meno said turning with the hint of a smile on his face, “We both lost her. I’m just glad she didn't suffer too long in the end.” They both knew it wasn't true. She had been in pain for years. Just as he was now, and had been for some time. He had been trying to stand straight, as he always did when they buried one of their comrades. In respect, like a military man would. It was difficult for him now.

  “This will be your last grave, my boy” The words made Meno’s heart sink. He knew that Mr. Dimitri would force him to escape soon.

  “Yeah, I heard that there was a lovely resort around the corner, or are you planning on living forever?” Mr. Dimitri looked at him sternly. “Come on, I’ll make you some supper,” Meno said with a smile, interjecting before Mr. Dimitri could correct him. He glanced one more time at Hellen’s grave. He felt her loss already, he didn't have a chance to say goodbye last night. He looked back at the old man and placed his hand on the bony shoulder, “Honestly, how do you plan to survive without me, old man, you can’t even make soup”

  It took time to walk Mr. Dimitri back into the misty town where the houses had started to fall apart with the moisture that clung to this town. There were days when you couldn't even see the house across the street from you, it was that thick, even though they were only a few meters away from each other. There was no point in maintaining all of the houses, and therefore Meno hadn’t. The three of them had been all that was left for the last five months. So they had moved into one house. Hellen’s had felt right.

  “You will need to continue your training”

  “I will”, said Meno trying not to show how emotional he felt.

  Meno looked back fondly at his ‘school’ that they passed. He had removed the doors from it years ago, sending invitations to passers-by to join him and tell him about their lives. He loved learning about the outside world from all of them, loved hearing about the different peoples and about the history of the Universe and how it worked. It seemed so big outside of his little town of Gol. He smiled seeing it, reflecting on those they had lost when walking back from the graves.

  ‘Always making up excuses or creating ruckus to make an escape’ was a major complaint of Frederick, the old politician who tried to teach him the value of following the orders of authority. A lesson that Meno was already learning all too well from Mr. Dimitri.

  ‘He has no potential whatsoever, can’t even sit through a lecture on how to behave, and he called me a bitch!’ said Eric, the zoologist.

  ‘He’s obstinate, and doesn't pay attention’ would say, Dot, who wanted to teach him how to sow and gossip,

  ‘So, stands up for himself, resourceful and no push over?’ Meno smiled, she had always supported him, even when he was being obstinate, dismissive or a know-it-all.

  The town had lived in stasis for all of Meno’s life, the guards in military uniform with helmets that kept the poisonous fog out patrolled the fence with their guns, and gliders.

  The losses always hit Meno hard, but he tried to hide how much they hit him. It was always noticed thought. Mr Dimitri would regale stories to comfort Meno during those losses, stories of the legendary Kryptea and their Silent Army, the triumph of the Autarch and the War King over the old god-emperor, of the great empire of Sha-En and the last living child who would set war into motion. The Empire on the other side of the universe that favoured poetry and peace above all things. Mr. Dimitri always gave particular attention to his favourite subject of the old Hulfean war god Locne and his triumphs from millennia before. Stories of how his armies swept through systems and triumphed over great evils and injustices. Hellen never wanted Meno to learn anything about the conflicts of the galaxy and wanted him to focus more on how to take care of himself, and be a good citizen,

  ‘War is for tyrants and bastards’ Hellen would always say, ‘You be a good lad and you take care of your own. Don't worry about people who fight, it’s all they will ever do,’

  Their dinner was quiet, calm and just what they both needed. They did not ignore one another but were rather, giving each other the space needing to reflect on Hellen’s passing. After dinner, Meno helped the old man into his room and wiped down the surfaces as Hellen would have. Mr. Dimitri’s belongings were few and the room contained only a small bed and a wooden chair where his clothing was folded. The old man now refolded them as Meno took the old cloth across the window sill. He didn't say anything.

  Meno wished him a good night and made his way to his own room, not wanting to leave the old man, but knowing that fussing over him would do nothing for either. He was scared now. Meno was no fool, he had always known that Gol was a doomed place, that it would one day come to an end with only him left. He just hadn't expected it to come as fast as it had.

  He prepared himself for the conversation that he knew was coming the next morning. Mr. Dimitri would tell him that it was time to leave. He knew in his heart, that he would have to.

  The next morning, Meno woke with the sunrise, as he always did. He didn't sleep well. He had tossed and turned in his bed that night, his silent tears welling in his ducts and trickling down his face. He lay in bed for longer than he usually did, his arm over his forehead. She would want him to move forward. She didn't want him to run away though.

  He made his way downstairs, grabbing the small basket that Hellen had woven from reeds that he used to gather the mushrooms and herbs and made his way outside for his forage. Mr. Dimitri was already outside, standing with his stick in the street, looking up at a hill through the fog. Meno joined him and was about to wish him a good morning, but what he saw took his attention,

  “What is that?” he asked the old man. He didn't answer. He too was transfixed on the enormous black ship atop the hill. A smooth elongated oval-shaped structure that hung vertically from the heavens, not quite touching the ground below it. It must have stretched up nearly a thousand meters into the sky from that peak. “Is that a Pillar?” Meno whispered, feeling dread. Mr. Dimtri did not answer, but Meno knew, from every explanation and description that he had ever heard about these ships that this was a House Pillar. A warship, a symbol of power and occupation. These were the chosen weapons of the Houses, their instruments of control. One of these ships could control entire planetary regions, a number of them strategically placed around a planet, could disrupt enough of the planet with its subtle weapons and energy manipulations that it could render that planet uninhabitable. It hung there, unyielding to the winds or physics itself, looming over their small town made of wood, held in the foggy valley.

  “It’s time we start making a plan for your escape, Meno”