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Hello everyone,
As the universe of The Red Spark has grown and deepened over the past 24 episodes, I've realized the original entryway into this world could be much more powerful.
To that end, I have written a brand-new prologue, "Prologue: The Theater of Scars."
I believe this new opening better captures the soul of the story from the very first page—the unique blend of military sci-fi, political intrigue, and cosmic mystery that you've come to expect. It sets the stage for the grand conflict and introduces the stakes in a way that I am incredibly proud of.
For my dedicated readers: Thank you for being on this journey with me! I invite you to read this new prologue. It doesn't change the plot you know, but it adds a thrilling layer of dramatic irony to the events of the early chapters. Think of it as a "Director's Cut" opening.
For new readers: Welcome! You are arriving at the perfect time. Your journey now starts with "Prologue: The Theater of Scars."
To make things clear, the reading order is now:
Prologue: The Theater of Scars (NEW!)
Prologue: The Crimson Veil (This was the original prologue)
Chapter 1: The Convergence (This was the original Chapter 1)7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjLu9CcucJR
...and so on.
Thank you for your support. I am more excited than ever to continue exploring this universe with you.
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The air in Nova Haven is thick with the scent of rain on hot dust, a smell Old Earth long forgotten. From the open window of the spacious, weathered room, the sounds of Esiri's night chorus bled in -the rhythmic chittering of unseen insects, the distant cries of avian predators, and the rustle of wind through the overgrown grasses. This is a world humming with chaotic, untamed life. A perfect painting.
Admiral Atrius Abressal was not looking at the setting. He paces, his polished Unity Accord boots striking the worn wooden floorboards with the rhythm of a caged predator. King of a borrowed castle. The humid air itself seems to tighten around his impatience as he stretches his chin toward the ceiling.
"Speak, oracle," Abressal commands, his voice a low growl. "You've been quiet for a stroke. The silence is irritating. What is the latest from your 'currents'?"
His prisoner does not move. The form sitting on a simple stool at the center of the room is draped in robes that seem to drink the light -a deep, shifting blue that darkens to near black in the shadows and brightens to an unsettling electric azure where the lamplight touches. These robes covered everything: head, hands, feet. No flesh is visible and there is no hint of what lay beneath the fabric. Yet somehow, unmistakably, the presence beneath is male in fundamental existence that transcends physical form.
Where a face should be, there is only the suggestion of features beneath the soft veil covering what would be a face. A smooth, featureless surface that somehow still conveys the sense of closed eyes as it listens to frequencies that mortal ears cannot detect. In perfect stillness, unbound, as if the very concept of restraint is meaningless to something that perceives reality from dimensions that have no names.
When the Prisoner finally speaks, his voice is like time itself, ancient and unhurried. "The Anchor shifts her fleet."
Abressal stops his wearing of the wooden floors thinner with intense pacing and faces the form. His eyes narrow. "Waldermara. The Orion. She's on patrol.” His eyes reflect a hint of the azure ripples from the cloak. A step closer. “Where?"
The Prisoner's lips curve into a faint, pitying smile giving humanoid features to the formless face. He senses a wound. "She is not one mind," he whispers, "but a gallery of scars. A canvas for a God who paints with pain and calls it love."
The words linger in the air. Heavy. Cryptic. Strange. Abressal sneers and huffs, interpreting the poetry remains a crude lens for strategy. "You’re suggesting a psychological weakness. Beautifully useful if we can exploit it. The Legion's influence, no doubt. She’s too stable to allow Messer’s temper to break or unbalance her. I require more. Specifics, oracle. Does her crew's morale falter?"
The Prisoner's cowled head tilts slightly, adjusting to vibrational energy beneath sound and heat. Beneath the shifting ethereal fabric, dry lips taste the psychic residue across the light-years. The Stain on Rigel's soul -a masterpiece of suffering, layered and complex- has a bitterness beyond the human palate causing the oracle suck air in almost animalistic mannerisms. A chronicle of a thousand tiny surrenders. Beautiful in its tragedy. And it tastes of her children.
"He will not come himself," the Prisoner croaks, his voice taking on a distant, prophetic cadence. "The God grows tired of the old games. He will send a splinter of his own shattered legacy. A child who flies with a dragon's name."
Abressal freezes. Eyes gleam. A slow, delicious, predatory smile builds. The Draco. "Ryuzen's boy. So sullen. So broken. That would be a gift." He turns on his heel, his mind already spinning with plans of ambushes. The oracle has delivered prosperity. But more than a short victory, there is potential gain of his enemy’s weakness.
He leaves the room is expeditious stride as if his heels ignited. The door remains open in his haste, announcing a slew of orders into his comms with giddy abandon, eager to claim his gains. Eager to take an upper hand.
The Prisoner does not watch him go. Where eyes should be, there is only the smooth suggestion of a face hidden by a veil. Yet the formless face shifts toward the window displaying the view of Esiri. The matte black shifts and shimmers with flecks of azure in the lamplight, and for a moment -just a heartbeat- the color pulses with its own inner luminescence. A reflex as if responding to thoughts that exist in those other dimensions beyond the physical.
The thing beneath the robes listens to the rain without visible ears -to the symphony of the living world he had traveled so far to observe. The warlord's maneuverings were less than footnotes to his pilgrimage. Frantic scribbles in the margins of a breathtaking work of art.
He smiles. The colors of this existence are so very interesting.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQWFy1WuBqA
