Special Notes: I'm certain you are wondering where the book is. Well, I have a very thick manuscript covered in red markings. The process is extremely tedious. In the meantime, enjoy this new story. Prologue The man pulled the woman’s arm as he ran, pushing passengers out of his way as he struggled against the listing deck. The woman clutched the bundle against her chest with her other arm and followed. Waves crashed over the railing of the ship and the stern dipped deeper into the ocean. The passengers screamed as the bow rose and made escape impossible. “We have to get to a higher deck, there’s still a lifeboat on ten,” shouted the man. “The gravity-well is collapsing, we don’t have time,” cried the woman. The man ignored her concern, he was aware the ship would be pulled down into the suction of the collapsing settlement. He pulled her into a stairwell, a sign above read ‘To Deck Ten’. The angle of the ship made climbing difficult, but he was strong and lifted her up. He pulled her up the stairs until they were blocked by a passenger clinging to the banister. The passenger reached out and grabbed the man’s arm. “Help me,” screamed the passenger, his face white with fear, and the knowledge he would soon drown in the angry sea. The man knew this passenger, he was a simple farmer. The man had purchased fruit from the farmer many times, but civilization and mercy no longer existed on the ship. The man struck the farmer in the face and threw him aside. The farmer tumbled out of the stairwell and fell towards the stern. If the farmer were lucky, he would lose consciousness before he fell into the lethal screws of the ship. “We’re almost there, keep climbing,” shouted the man. The smell of oil and fire mixed with the heavy salt spray of the ocean filled the stairwell and stung at the man’s nose. An explosion rippled through the ship and the bow sank back to the ocean. The woman stumbled at the lurching ship and the man lifted her back up. “Hurry, the bow will rise again soon,” said the man. The woman let herself be dragged up the last two flights to deck ten—she was exhausted and choked on the thick clouds of smoke in the air. Several more passengers tried to grab the man for help, and all met with the same fate as he struck them down and trampled them under his feet. He reached the opening for deck ten and ran out onto the outer deck. The bulwarks above were bent in a grotesque twisted mass of steel. The ship was ripping itself apart as the weight of the bow rose from the water. The man felt a moment of despair, the lifeboat hung by its bow in a tangle of rope, and the crane was bent, and more rope knotted in the pulley. The first passengers attempting to escape had tried to operate the crane without a qualified crew member. He pulled the woman to the railing and instructed her to wait, then crawled up the crane boom and worked frantically to free the tangled mass of ropes. An explosion ripped through the ship and the sound of metal tearing on itself gave warning that the ship had just broken its back. The bow rose faster than the man would have thought possible for such a massive structure. The woman gasped and frantically clawed at the railing as the ship rose nearly vertical. The railing was wet and her grip slipped. The man grabbed a rope and dived for the woman. He grabbed her hand just as she let go of the railing. They hung, two-hundred feet above the water, the man with one hand gripping the rope, and the other, the woman’s hand. The woman looked up at the man and smiled through tight lips. “You can’t climb back up the rope with one hand,” said the woman. “I’ll manage,” said the man between clenched teeth as he strained to hold them both. The woman shook her head and shoved the bundle up at the man. “You’ve been a good man, take him,” said the woman. The man knew she was right. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them and nodded. “And you have been a good woman,” said the man. He let go of her hand and grabbed the bundle. He didn’t look away, she deserved better than that, and kept his eyes locked on hers as she fell. She never screamed or showed fear. The end was merciful and quick when she struck a stern railing and broke her neck. She would not suffer the horror so many others would know in the water. The man pulled the bundle up to his chest and checked the small peaceful face sleeping, quietly unaware of the sinking ship. He tucked the newborn inside his coat and climbed the robe. Another explosion deep inside the ship trumpeted the final death shutter of the sinking vessel. The screams of passengers rent the air as the ship began its stern-ward plunge into the sea. The man had little time left and swung out to the lifeboat. The lifeboat hung by its bow, still tangled in ropes. He lifted the infant from inside his coat and wedged the boy between the rudder and transom. The great ship continued to slip beneath the waves, its windows blowing outward, steel twisting, and passengers falling to their death under the ship. The man scrambled up the railing, working frantically to free the lifeboat. He pulled at the ropes as the sea rushed up to claim the ship. The ropes broke free with only fifty-feet left before the lifeboat would be pulled under with the ship. He held the rope tight to the crane pulley to keep the lifeboat from falling and capsizing. The man realized at that moment he would not be able to let go of the rope until the lifeboat was level with the sea. The ship sank faster as it lost more buoyancy. The sea rushed up at an alarming speed. He wrapped his legs around the railing, he had to stay with the ship and free the rope. The man came level with the ocean and struck the water with enough force to nearly rip him from the railing. He lost sight of the lifeboat as he went under the waves. He hadn’t needed to worry about the rope playing out, the force of the ship sinking ripped the rope from his grasp. He pulled himself to the pulley and checked to ensure the rope hadn’t tangled again. The man looked up at the fading light and was pulled down with the ship. There was nothing more he could do for the infant, his son was in the hands of the gods now. The lifeboat hit the ocean and stood on its stern, balanced perfectly as the great ship slipped under the waves next to it. The infant slept as the scales of life determined its fate. In the moment the rope was ripped from his father’s hands, his father had held just long enough to tip the balance in the infant’s favor. The life boat fell in the correct direction and landed right-side up. The man’s sacrifice had touched the heart of Atan, the Ocean God—the child would live. The waves pushed the lifeboat in the opposite direction of the other survivors. Horrors would occur aboard the other lifeboats before rescue would come, but the infant would be spared the atrocities hunger and thirst would drive the over-crowded boats of survivors to commit. A gentle rain fell on the infant’s face, moistening his lips. It would be later said that Atan had personally nourished the child. Three days passed before a Dart rescue ship, flying search for survivors saw the lifeboat. “Father Laevious, down there,” reported the pilot. “This far out?” replied Father Laevious. “The Nezo sank nearly twenty miles from here.” The pilot flew a wide circle around the lifeboat, and then came to a hover above it. “I don’t see anyone,” said the pilot. “Boats are of infinite value on this world,” said Father Laevious. “We will take it back with us, I’m certain the Tuwans will claim salvage to it.” The priest prepared the rescue basket and tossed in the ropes needed to lift the lifeboat out of the water and fly it back to the new Grawel settlement. Survivors of the Nezo, as well as the other ships, had been arriving for the last two days. Father Laevious climbed into the basket and the pilot lowered him down to the lifeboat. He made quick work of securing the lines and was nearly finished when a light gurgle caught his attention. He climbed over the benches to the stern of the lifeboat and looked down. Nestled in the rudder housing, two bright green eyes stared up at him. Father Laevious bent down and picked up the small infant. “Well, what do we have here, did you sail this boat all by yourself?” The infant laughed, unconcerned and content. Its chubby brown cheeks showed no sign of being malnourished or dehydrated. Father Laevious pulled the swaddling aside and checked the infant’s gender. “Oh no,” whispered the priest covering the boy again. “There is little doubt who your father is, but if he is not here, then we know his fate.” The priest rocked the child for a moment and then held him out over the ocean. “I am truly sorry, child, but my brothers will not allow you to be raised in the Caelum Temple, and the Atanians will shun a half-breed. It will be better this way.” The priest took a deep breath, whispered the prayer of enlightenment, and steeled himself to drop the child into the ocean. He started at the sound of a seagull squawking and turned to look. It wasn’t a seagull, it was a pelican. A very large pelican perched on the bow of the lifeboat, and stared at him with angry eyes. The priest turned back to the edge of the lifeboat and again held the infant over the ocean. The pelican squawked even louder, and a swell rose and lifted the lifeboat. Father Laevious had to crouch to steady himself. He turned back to the pelican and stared at the bright intelligent eyes of the bird. “So, it’s true, you are real,” said the priest. The pelican tilted its head slightly and clucked a few times. “The child is a Caelum,” said the priest. “His fate is mine to decide.” The pelican turned, raised its wings, and hopped from the railing to the middle bench, squawking angrily. Father Laevious fell back and landed hard in the stern, the infant held out in front of him. “If you lay claim to him as an Atanian, then take him,” cried the priest. The pelican hopped again and came to within an inch of Father Laevious’ face, and unlike a normal bird that would have smelled of fish, it instead smelled of the sweetest honey. Any lingering doubt evaporated from the priest’s mind, he knew he was facing Atan, the Ocean God. “What would you have me do,” asked Father Laevious. “You’re not my god, and I’m just a low Caelum priest, I can’t defy the Caelum Prefect and bring a half-breed back.” The pelican opened its mouth and dropped a rock in the priest’s lap. Father Laevious picked the rock up and stared at a chunk of gold ore. “This is enough to save the child’s life today, but it will take much more than this if I am to protect the boy,” said Father Laevious. “I would need to be the Prefect to keep the boy safe.” The pelican spread its wings and lifted into the sky, and then was gone. The priest stared at the rock, and then the infant. “You have powerful friends, little one,” said Father Laevious. “So, what will I call you?” Father Laevious looked out at the ocean and the sky, searching for a name. His eyes came to rest on the name plate inside the edge of the lifeboat. “I see, of course,” said Father Laevious. “I found you in the Nezo’s number ten lifeboat. I will call you Nezo Ten.