"Were I to see, I would give freely my claws. Were I to need to scratch, I would forfeit my hunger. Were I in search of sustenance, I would gift away my sight. For I am not but subsumption of something greater than one, the wordless voice in the quiet, the embrace of the Will," Oscar finished reciting in quiet prayer.

  He crouched beneath the shrine, etched gold amongst inky black stone, speaking softly the oath to the Will, lighting incense as he did. He bore no clothing, stripping himself bare before it. He wished so dearly to be as a like-mind amongst many, so desperate was he to be subservient to the power of the Will. But it was all for not.

  Oscar Malis, had known since his first moments born of conscious thought – memories so ancient though he was incapable to excise them from his mind – that he was closed-off. Still able to perceive the divine workings of the Will, yet somehow separate from it as if looking in from outside a cathedral window.

  Oscar yearned to yield; to be held in embrace by the community of the Will.

  Therein lied the issue undermining his inclusion; the fact of his birth. For no son of a Crown Paramount had been born by archaic means, not in all of his peoples' history.

  Heirs were instead chosen and molded by the Will, given over to itself by its magics. They were to be taken as disciple; wielded so that when time came and their ascendency to the throne, to the crux that bound the Will, was at hand that they could bear the weight and wield it in kind.

  Being separate, Oscar was told often, bastardized the threads of the Will. His very existence by some was seen as ugly, even blasphemous, yet certainly dangerous. Many times in his years have ministers, advisers, and other courtesans of his father, Ti Malis, petitioned the Crown Paramount to bring a swift end to his shameful existence.

  The augurs, highest of all, showed a strong disdain for his presence.

  Shepherds of the magics of the Will, they held sway over his father in a way. Not overtly, no – rather they were crucial in the act of proliferating the Will amongst the rest of the citizenry, critical in its translation so that its godliness might be interpreted. For without them, there was only the father, the Crown Paramount himself.

  Set atop the reigns of the Will, Ti Malis drew strength from it in a way Oscar could only catch glimpses of. And in this act of stolen glances into the Will's wordless conversations with his father sprung the well of disruption that his being exacted upon the Will. It was this act that he wished so violently to shun. It was in this transgression's name that he struggled to pay penance.

  Penance paid amongst the Will.

  Penance felt around his feet.

  Looking down Oscar felt the familiar itch of his chains as they wore skin from around his ankles.

  Day in and out for as long as he could remember would his skin be broken and flaked, blood trickling and drying on spots of the stone floor, only for his wounds to close as he slept and the cycle to begin again when he rose the next morning. Most ancient of bindings, chains were elegant in their simplicity.

  Though they were made of harder metals than their iron progenitors, and Oscar assumed were bewitched so to withstand him, they remained effective and symbolic of his censure.

  "You stir and it bothers me," said Nought but Hunger, his words vibrating with zeal throughout the Will.

  "Brother Tarrare, I do apologize," said Oscar, urging the augur to remain at peace, "I can feel you – are you close?"

  "We are always close, son-of," Tarrare insisted, using a spitting-slur that echoed shame throughout Oscar's limbic system, "though in this case we are outside your cell."

  "You're here– why?" Oscar asked, surprised to have a visiter, his first in months.

  Tarrare shivered and growled through the Will; "Your skin makes my stomach churn, Oscar. And your chains– the rattle irks me through the stone of these walls."

  Through the Will, Oscar could feel the augur running his stout, sausage-like fingers along the concrete, his broken nails catching on fissures. Oscar fought the urge to shrink with discomfort, standing tall at the foot of his modest, foam bedding.

  "I am... sorry for the trouble, truly. But why do you seek me in my solemnity?" Oscar softly persisted, trying not to show even a hint of defiance.

  "I come not on my own volition, for we all serve the Will," Tarrare rebuked. "Do you not?"

  "I seek for nothing else," Oscar insisted, though through the Will he could taste Tarrare's doubt.

  "Seek and you shall not find," Tarrare scoffed. "Well, as much as it would relieve me to leave you to your witless penance, you have been summoned."

  "Summoned? What for?" Oscar asked.

  "Unchain yourself and find out," Tarrare said, "Now, open this."

  Tarrare's hand rapped against the metal of the cell door, echoing throughout the room.

  Oscar sighed, and began unshackling his feet; "I will yield."

  Carefully refitting the clasps of his bindings, he coiled the chains and placed them carefully at his bedside. His ankles finally able to breathe, after what felt like years, started to crack and blood made rivulets once more on the floor as he walked.

  "Hurry," Tarrare barked, "my stomach growls."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Oscar unbarred the door and turned the stiff lock with a loud clunk. Pulling the slab of iron open, harsh morning light poured into the space.

  Seeing Tarrare standing there, a foot tapping, and disdain already resonating on the augur's eye-less face, Oscar already knew something far more bothersome was upsetting him.

  "Well," Oscar said after getting over the momentary blindness, "lead on."

  Tarrare grunted and turned, heading off down the corridor unhindered by his lack of eyes.

  Oscar followed behind, his feet slow from swelling.

  "Come quickly," Tarrare barked, "you traipse about like a wandering evil."

  "Did the other augurs call for my release?" Oscar asked as they climbed a staircase that wound around the south palace tower.

  "No," Tarrare said, huffing as they climbed.

  They passed an open window that looked out across the lush wilderness surrounding the palace grounds. Golden shining rooftops and rivers of pure water broke up the ground far below. A gust of wind blew through Oscar's greasy hair, soothing his bones.

  "Your father," he said, spitting at the very thought, "he insisted on your involvement."

  Tarrare stopped trudging to turn back, this frown scolding Oscar for stopping.

  "Admiring the view?" Tarrare spat.

  "I'm sorry, it's just been a while," Oscar said meekly, forgetting Nought but Hunger's sightlessness, "I knew what I was giving up in my isolation. Still..."

  "Yet you insisted on that fools' endeavour. Your pitiful, self exile was never going to work to ingratiate you to the augurs," Tarrare said bluntly.

  "I had hoped I could prove my conviction. I knew of no other way," Oscar said, looking out again at the pristine waters that wove their way through the lowlands toward the horizon.

  The skies were a limewash patchwork of wisping clouds that danced amongst the mountains lit by the pale green glow of the new day sun. In the grounds nearby large beasts of burden lumbered about alongside their handlers as they tended the vast fields and verdant gardens.

  "It really is quite the sight."

  "So the Will tells me. Can we?" Tarrare gestured up the stairs with a robed arm.

  "Pardon my curiosity but did the Crown Paramount hint at what he needs of me?" Oscar pried.

  "Damn your curiosity! Were you one with the Will you would already know," Tarrare said, resisting the mental prodding Oscar couldn't help but exert. "Try that again, son-of, and I'll take your flesh to quiet my gut's ails!"

  "I am sorry," Oscar insisted, embarrassed. "Please, lead on."

  When the two of them reached the corridor that led to the Grand Hall of the Palace, they came upon an assortment of the highest ranking augurs' in his father's domain. Nought but Eyes and Nought but Claws, or as they were known more commonly as Gilgalel and Abadón, stood hand-in-hand as so often Abadón, blind like Tarrare and most other higher augurs, was led about by Gilgalel.

  Lining the corridor beside them were Nought but Lust, Nought but Fever, Nought but Woe, Nought but Arms, and a pick of others. Oscar knew not the names of all the augurs, nor how deep their ranks descended past the highest of them, only that it was a spectrum so deep he heard their voices only as the smallest of whispers. Deliberately did they hide themselves from him.

  Beneath the augurs descended the ranks of the Palace further still. Grand Admirals and Captains of the fleet were present too, but aside from Grásse, they bore no name nor honorific for the only honour was in service of the Will.

  As semi-kin to him, the augurs were like-minds subservient to the Will and to it's Crown Paramount, able to whisper words and emotion through its embrace. The same was not true for the rest of the subservients, instead the various admirals and captains contributed to the wordless voice of the community.

  Oscar had heard from his father of tales, so distant now, wherein even captains exercised such a power similar to his, able to speak to and influence the Will. For what reason he didn't know, the practice had long since fallen from favour, replaced instead with silent grace.

  The augurs' disdain for him rose as he passed, resonating like knives through the Will. So loud was their hate, that Oscar had to fight to keep down the last of his bile.

  "Eat this," Tarrare said, handing Oscar a piece of smoked grailfish, its dandelion flesh causing his mouth to water at the sight of it.

  "I will live," he said, waving it off.

  "For me," Tarrare insisted, forcing the fish to his face. "I do not share precious food lightly. Your hunger is making everyone hear weak with disgust."

  Oscar took the fish and swallowed the piece in a single bite.

  "Now," Tarrare barked, pointing the way forward toward the Great Hall.

  Entering the great room before him, Oscar couldn't help but breathing in a sigh of relief. He had seen the throne room a thousand times before, but to be here again after so long in quiet isolation – its opulence was intoxicating.

  Banners woven in the finest of fabrics, carvings and busts of the utmost quality and craftsmanship, and golden filigree running in intricate patterns through the marble floor beneath his cracked feet; each detail ushered his path toward the throne– toward his only home.

  "The Golden Word has spoken, and so you have been summoned. Come to me my son," a smiling and regal Ti Malis spoke from his place upon the brasilwood throne. His hand were open, his arms wide, his head risen as high as he was able.

  "Father," Oscar said, trying to hide his excitement to see him, his own voice betraying him to the augurs to their continued disgust. "I'm so happy to see you in such spirits!"

  The Crown Paramount before him was old. So old that the Will could no longer mask his decline. Cracks had began to show in his skin, patched and sealed by golden filament; the careful work of one of the augurs. His upper body was bare, his body unable to bear the weight of his once extravagant robes. His joints had slowed as well, aided now with prosthetic, biomechanical braces each adorned with intricately carved and painted designs.

  "Don't mind them," said the Crown Paramount referring to the augurs' rippling unease. "They mean well, their interest is for the Will."

  "Of that I have no doubt," Oscar admitted. "Though I worry you calling me here might upset them further."

  Ti Malis waved a hand. "Bah! It matters little, now."

  "Father?"

  "I do admire your attempt at penance, at ingratiating yourself to the Will," Ti Malis said, "I watched you in your long absence. The Will has, however, found a more impactful way you may serve."

  Oscar was elated. Too long has he yearned to be called upon. To be requested by the Will through the Crown Paramount himself was nothing short of an honour.

  "I will be embraced, father," Oscar assured him. "I want for nothing more."

  "I know, my son," Ti Malis said, an empathy present in his smile. "I want nothing more as well."

  "How may I prove my function?" asked Oscar with desperate eagerness.

  "Since the days of the Starfires, some measure of self has been afforded by the Will. I believe you are that self, Oscar. You are that anomalous voice that can help guide the Will's perspective."

  "I don't understand," Oscar said.

  "You can see me, plainly. You can feel my feebleness, my failing spirit within the Will," Ti Malis said. "The time has come for my successor."

  "I– I did not think the augur's would accept–" Oscar began to say, both saddened and bewildered by the Crown Paramount's words, only to be ushered into silence by a wave of his hand.

  "A successor has been found, one strong and chosen by the Will."

  Throughout the hall a thrum of excitement grew from the augurs and captains in attendance. A crescendo of euphoria swelled within the Will. Voices near and distant cried out with wordless ecstasy.

  "I will do my utmost to lead the Will," Oscar said with humble and elated acceptance.

  Here it was, his chance to become the crux in which the whole of the Will rotated on, to become the Crown Paramount and prove to the augurs and the rest of the subservients that he was one with the Will.

  Just as everything Oscar had ever dreamed of stood steps away from being born into fruition his father spoke again.

  "And you are to train him."

  Cradles of Gravity

  ?? A slow-burn Space Opera Romance

  ?? Come find family among sensual warrior matriarchs.

  ?? Soren woke up today on a strange planet. He's naked, and yesterday was 8,000 years ago.

  He's taller, stronger—full of unstable cosmic energy—and surrounded by beautiful aliens.

  And they want to kill him.

  Welcome to Cradles of Gravity!

  A space opera romance with Mass Effect energy—laughing with your dysfunctional space family in the moments between saving the world.

  - All the laughs, playful banter, and chaos that make up a good found family story

  - Powerful women who aren’t shy about sex

  - Layered, emotionally rich characters

  - Emotional damage

  - Trauma healing

  - Badass fights with occasional graphic violence

  Do other readers think you should read this?

  “If you don’t have a problem with lots of perspectives, read this. The writing, story, characters, and world are all amazing—like, Will Wight top-tier amazing."

  "If you like slow burn romances, found family vibes, or you like characters that embody the best that people can be, then yes. If you're like me and checked all of the above, then hell yes.”

  Two new chapters per week.

  Acts 2 of 3 complete, over 200,000 words ready for reading.

  Looking forward: LitRPG novella sidestory that accompanies Act 3; 2 sequels planned + prequel and additional spinoffs.