Luminosity 2-The Return - 1. Chapter 1

Tomas and Henry ceased flaring and stepped off the dusty trail into Dinas under the pale glow of the twin suns, their arrival timed for the day before the annual Gwyl celebration. It was the first Gwyl since the Divulgence a cycle ago, an event that had shaken the plains and left whispers of change in its wake. Tomas, known across the settlements as Twm the strong, carried a weight of fame that made discretion necessary. Their presence would soon spark rumors, but for now, they sought to blend among the plainsrunners, to savor Dinas as ordinary visitors caught in the festival’s fervor.

The air thrummed with anticipation. Dinas, the cultural heart of the plains, bustled with preparations. Stalls lined the central paths, draped in woven fabrics dyed in vibrant ochres and blues, polished stones, and intricately carved tokens for the games. The scent of pungent incense and sweet resin wafted through the streets, mingling with the chatter of locals and visitors. For Henry, the familiar sights stirred a quiet ache—Dinas was the closest thing to home, though he hadn’t been born in any of the birthing mangenis on this vast planet.

The first two days of Gwyl centered on competitions for fledglings and novices, contests designed to hone skills critical for survival on the unforgiving plains. Speed, lumin control, and tactical awareness were tested in games that drew crowds of cheering spectators. Henry, however, would not participate this cycle. He was no longer a fledgling, novice, or even primary. He and Tomas existed outside those ranks, their bond and experiences setting them apart in ways Henry was still learning to understand.

As they walked toward the gathering place, Tomas slung an arm around Henry’s shoulder, his touch warm and grounding. “What’s wrong, Henry? Not glad to be back in Dinas after a full cycle away?”

Henry’s gaze drifted to a group of fledglings practicing lumin flares, their bodies glowing faintly as they darted across a field. “I am,” he said, his voice tinged with longing. “But I’m the ‘Double Touch’ champion and I can’t compete this cycle. It’s only my third Gwyl—I should have cycles before I’m elevated to primary and no longer eligible to compete.”

Tomas’ eyes softened, a rare glimpse of warmth breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. “It wouldn’t be fair to the others. You’ve grown stronger this cycle, Henry; stronger than you realize.”

Henry kicked at the dirt, frustration flickering across his face. “I still want to play. Just one game, to feel like I belong again.”

Tomas studied him for a moment, then shifted topics. “The suns will cross the horizons soon. Where should we spend gorffwys tonight?”

Henry’s mood lifted, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “With my old phalanx. I want to drink water and sing with them, like before.”

“Perfect,” Tomas said, a grin spreading. “Let’s surprise Aneurin, Hywel, Cadan, and the others. They’ll be thrilled.”

The streets of Dinas pulsed with energy as preparations for Gwyl reached a crescendo. Banners fluttered from wooden poles, embroidered with symbols of the plains’ mangenis—sacred sites where life began and ended. Tomas and Henry wove through the crowds, passing the lush wooded gathering place where musicians tuned stringed instruments, their notes blending with the hum of voices. Beyond, the lake reflected the fading light, the Great Shrine of Gartwm standing sentinel on its far shore, its white stone walls etched with ancient runes that glowed faintly under the suns’ rays.

They approached two roundhouses nestled among long-needled pines, their thatched roofs blending into the landscape. The houses sat between two tributaries, their gentle currents carrying the soft murmur of water from the surrounding hills to the lake. The northern tributary sparkled under the suns, its surface alive with a dozen fledglings and novices splashing naked, their laughter cutting through the evening air. Henry recognized faces from his old phalanx—boys he’d trained with, laughed with, a cycle ago. Back then, he’d have been among them, diving into the cool water without a care. Now, standing beside Tomas, he felt a pang of separation, wondering if his friends—especially Hapus and Diffuant—would see him differently.

They entered the smaller roundhouse, its interior dim and cool, the packed dirt floor softened by woven mats. Aneurin, a primary with a stern jaw and steady gaze, sat across from his bonded mate, Diffuant, a novice whose quick smile hadn’t faded despite the cycle’s hardships. They were deep in a game of Picker, a traditional strategy game played with polished stones on a carved wooden board. The objective was to eliminate an opponent’s tokens while guarding the entrance to one’s mangenis, a lesson in plains tactics disguised as play. Their animated banter paused as Aneurin noticed the newcomers, his expression tightening with cautious recognition.

Diffuant followed Aneurin’s gaze, then leapt to his feet, crossing the room in two strides to envelop Henry in a fierce embrace. “Henry!” he exclaimed, his voice warm with relief. Henry’s shoulders relaxed, the knot of worry in his chest unraveling at his friend’s unchanged affection.

Aneurin stood, his tone formal but not unkind. “Welcome, Twm the strong and novice Henry. Will you do us the honor of joining us for gorffwys this riseset?”

Tomas waved off the title with a gentle smile. “I’m just Tomas tonight, Aneurin. We’re honored to accept.”

Aneurin’s posture eased, a flicker of relief in his eyes. “Please, sit.”

Diffuant grabbed two resting mats propped against the wall and spread them out, his movements quick and eager. As they settled, Tomas and Aneurin fell into conversation about the past cycle, carefully avoiding mention of the Divulgence—a topic too raw for casual talk.

“We’ve scouted from Dinas to Carreg and into the nmblings’ southern homelands,” Tomas said, his voice low but steady. “Vast territory, much of it uncharted.”

Aneurin leaned forward, his interest sharp. “That’s a daunting range. What did you find?”

“The nmblings are numerous in the south,” Tomas said, his tone darkening. “They remain a threat. It’s been a cycle since the Carreg attack, but most settlements are unaware of the danger.”

Aneurin nodded gravely. “The world is vast. It’ll take many cycles to warn every mangeni.”

Henry, listening quietly, had only begun to comprehend the planet’s scale over the past cycle. Its size dwarfed his imagination—possibly as large as Earth’s sun, with twin suns orbiting its surface in a dance that shaped the rhythms of life here. The thought made his head spin, grounding him in the reality of how far he’d come from the boy who once ran carefree with his phalanx.

“The nmblings are a real danger,” Tomas continued. “After Gwyl, I want to meet with the primaries to plan defenses. Will you arrange the assembly?”

“Of course,” Aneurin said, his voice firm. “We’re eager to hear your findings and take counsel.”

Diffuant turned to Henry, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Where’ve you been? You vanished after last Gwyl.”

Henry’s throat tightened with regret. “I wanted to say goodbye, but Tomas was summoned to Carreg.”

Carreg, the mangeni where Diffuant, Hapus, and most of Henry’s phalanx were born, held a sacred place in their hearts. The nmbling attack a cycle ago had left it scarred, its once-vibrant community struggling to rebuild. “There was fear of another assault,” Henry said. “We scouted the plains around Carreg for weeks, but found no nmblings. The settlement’s still shaken, even with extra phalanxes from Dinas.”

“Our phalanx served there a quarter-cycle,” Diffuant said, his voice heavy. “Rebuilding’s slow. The fields are regrowing, but restoring the population will take scores of cycles.”

“We tracked nmblings in the southern mountains,” Henry added, his tone steady despite the memories. “They’re retreating south, avoiding us. They’re terrified of Tomas.”

Diffuant’s eyes widened. “You saw their hordes?”

“Many,” Henry said. “Hundreds, maybe thousands, moving in loose bands. But they never came close.”

“How’s Hapus?” Henry asked, his thoughts turning to their friend, whose lighthearted spirit had been dimmed by Carreg’s destruction.

“Better,” Diffuant said, a small smile breaking through. “Almost his old self. He’ll be overjoyed to see you.”

The conversation paused as the suns’ light shifted, signaling the approach of gorffwys. The phalanx gathered in the larger roundhouse, its circular walls adorned with woven tapestries depicting plains battles and mangeni rituals. Eleven boys sat on mats in a half-circle, facing primaries Hywel and Cadan, their chatter loud and playful. The air smelled of pine and earth, the communal flask already circulating among the group. Diffuant joined Hapus, whose freckled face broke into a grin at the sight of familiar company. Aneurin took his place beside Hywel and Cadan, and the boys quieted, sensing the ritual’s start.

Aneurin’s voice carried authority. “We have special guests for gorffwys. We’ll drink water and sing welcomes. Henry is here!”

The room erupted. Novices and fledglings swarmed Henry as he entered, their shouts of joy echoing off the walls. Hywel and Cadan grinned, each landing a playful clap on Henry’s back as he passed. Hapus reached him last, his hug fierce and lingering, tears glinting in his eyes. Henry’s heart swelled, the warmth of his old friends washing away the cycle’s isolation.

Aneurin spoke again, his tone measured. “We also welcome Twm the strong.”

Silence fell, heavy and reverent. The boys stared as Tomas entered, their awe palpable. To them, Twm was a legend, a figure of myth who’d run with their phalanx only briefly cycles ago, his presence always distant and fleeting.

Tomas offered a disarming smile, his voice gentle. “No Twm tonight—just Tomas, Henry’s partner. Relax, drink, sing.”

The tension broke like a wave. The communal flask passed again, its cool water a ritual bond. Songs of welcome rose, the boys’ treble and alto voices weaving harmonies that filled the roundhouse with a haunting beauty. Henry, Hapus, and Diffuant fell into old rhythms—Hapus spinning silly tales of mischievous fledglings, Diffuant pressing for details of Henry’s travels. Henry noticed a shadow in Hapus’ eyes, a quiet melancholy beneath his jokes, a scar from Carreg’s loss that had stolen his carefree innocence.

The conversation drifted to lighter topics—memories of past Gwyls, pranks pulled during training, the time Hapus had accidentally flared into a thornbush during a lumin drill. Laughter rippled through the group, but Henry sensed the undercurrent of change. His friends had grown, too, shaped by the cycle’s challenges. Diffuant spoke of new responsibilities in the phalanx, while Hapus admitted to sleepless nights haunted by memories of Carreg’s burning fields.

As the suns crossed—one dipping below the western horizon, the other rising in the east—the phalanx stepped outside to watch the riseset. The sky glowed with an otherworldly light, a blend of gold and violet that bathed the plains in a fleeting, sacred hush. Henry stood shoulder to shoulder with his friends, the moment anchoring him to Dinas, to the phalanx, to a life he’d once known. Tomas stood beside him, their bond unspoken but steady. For one of the first times since their pairing, they resisted slipping away for private time, letting the group’s presence hold them. Henry thought, *This feels like home,* though he knew he wasn’t born in any mangeni on this planet. His origins lay elsewhere, a mystery he hadn’t yet unraveled.

Gwyl began after gorffwys, the energy in Dinas electric. The entire population—residents and guests—gathered at the Great Shrine of Gartwm, its rune-carved walls glowing brighter as the crowd swelled. The procession to the shaded gathering place was a river of bodies, voices raised in songs of gratitude for the cycle’s survival and sorrow for Carreg’s losses. Tomas and Henry, tucked within the phalanx, moved with the flow, their presence still unnoticed by most.

At the gathering place, a natural amphitheater framed by ancient trees and cliffs, the crowd settled. Primaries climbed a path to the dais carved into the cliffside, their silhouettes stark against the stone. Novices and fledglings spread out under the trees, their chatter a low hum. The air carried the scent of pine and damp earth, the ground soft with fallen needles.

Uwchradd, the senior primary, stepped to the dais’ edge, his voice carrying over the crowd. “On behalf of Dinas’ primaries, I welcome all to Gwyl. Let the celebration begin. Novices and fledglings for Double Touch, assemble on the plains with primary observers.”

Henry’s heart quickened. Double Touch was his game, his triumph from the last Gwyl. He longed to compete, to feel the rush of lumin control, but doubted Tomas’ claim that he’d grown stronger.

Boneddigaidd, nicknamed Boner as a joke by Hapus, elbowed him playfully. “You’re with Twm now, but aren’t you defending your title, Henry?”

“I shouldn’t,” Henry said, his voice heavy with reluctance.

Tomas rested a hand on his shoulder, his touch steady. “I was wrong. Compete. It’s a fine way to announce our presence.”

Henry’s face lit up, a grin breaking through. “Really?”

“Just be careful not to hurt anyone,” Tomas said, his tone serious but cryptic.

Henry, too excited to question the warning, joined the stream of boys heading to the plains. Double Touch allowed loincloths or nudity, a choice rooted in the game’s demand for unhindered movement. Henry, usually modest, had no loincloth and no time to borrow one. A cycle with Tomas had eased his discomfort with nudity, but stepping onto the field bare still sent a flush of nerves through him.

Five hundred boys gathered for Double Touch, the festival’s centerpiece, a test of lumin control and agility. Matches pitted eight to twelve players against each other, each carrying a pouch of colored dirt and coating their hands in sticky resin. The goal was to land two handprints on an opponent’s upper body to eliminate them, with victory going to the player with the most touches—or, rarer, surviving untouched for a “double win.” Primaries supervised closely, both for safety and to assess skill, as the game’s intensity could turn dangerous.

Henry stripped off his jerkin and trousers, feeling the weight of unseen eyes, though his toned body—honed by a cycle of scouting—drew no shame. The plains stretched wide before the gathering place, marked into arenas by colored stakes. Crowds lined the edges, their cheers rising as the lead primary signaled the start.

A boy flared toward Henry, his lumin glow a faint green as he aimed for a quick touch. Henry sidestepped with ease, his own lumin flaring instinctively, and slapped two crimson handprints on the boy’s back. The crowd roared, but Henry barely noticed, his focus razor-sharp.

Fifty yards away, a redheaded boy landed magenta prints on another. Henry flared, crossing the distance in a heartbeat, and tagged the boy’s chest before he could react. The move felt effortless, almost too easy, though it was only the first round.

Another boy flared toward him, his lumin a sharp yellow. Henry flared forward to meet him, then unleashed a deep blue lumin glow, reversing his path in a fluid arc. The attacker, caught off guard, stumbled and tumbled across the sandy soil, his momentum threatening injury. Henry’s stomach lurched. *He’s going to get hurt!*

A blinding light erupted across the plains, silencing the crowd. When it faded, Tomas stood in the arena, cradling the boy, unharmed, in his arms.

Twm the strong had arrived in Dinas.

The crowd’s silence broke into murmurs, then cheers, as the reality of Tomas’ presence rippled through them. Henry stood frozen, his heart pounding, not from the game but from the sudden weight of their return. Tomas set the boy down gently, his expression calm but unreadable. The primaries exchanged glances, and the game paused as the crowd’s focus shifted to the legend among them.

Henry caught Tomas’ eye, a mix of pride and uncertainty swirling within him. He’d wanted to blend in, to reclaim the simplicity of his past, but this moment marked them as apart. The phalanx, his friends, the plains—all of Dinas now knew they were back. Gwyl would not be the same.