Luminosity - The Beginning - 5. Chapter 5

**

At the next sunrise-sunset, Henry woke to a shimmering aura descending from the brightening sky. Waves of white light poured into Tomas’s body, his wounds slowly knitting, flesh reforming with agonizing slowness. Henry’s breath caught, tears spilling anew—not of grief, but of hope, a fragile spark igniting in his heart. He watched, trembling, as the light worked its miracle, praying it would be enough.

**

Henry knelt beside Tomas, his eyes fixed on the faint shimmer of white light descending from the alien sky. The plains stretched endlessly, a cracked, pale expanse under the eerie glow of dual suns, one setting as another rose in a ceaseless cycle. Tomas’s body, though reformed, bore a haunting translucence, his wounds healed but lifeless—no breath, no heartbeat. Days had passed, each marked by the strange riseset, Henry’s name for this world’s thirty-one-hour sunrise-sunset phenomenon. The light bathing Tomas seemed purposeful, a celestial force weaving him back together, yet Henry’s hope flickered. Had he lost his guide, his one tether in this foreign realm?

He never left Tomas’s side, his vigil a silent vow. On Earth, his appetite had waned, which he’d attributed to the stress of leaving his family—the Woodside estate, his mother’s studio vibrant with paint and dreams, his father’s stern expectations shaping his every step. Here, he hadn’t eaten in days, yet a radiant energy coursed through him, defying hunger or fatigue. He realized lumin was sustaining him, a primal force reshaping his body, making food obsolete. The discovery was exhilarating yet alien, another thread unraveling the boy he’d been, leaving him to wonder who he was becoming.

On the third riseset, Henry spotted lumin flares on the horizon, a dazzling spectacle against the plains’ stark canvas. Fifteen boys ran in a tight phalanx, three primaries flaring brilliantly, their golden glow enveloping twelve novices and fledglings trailing behind. The formation moved with grace, a dance of light and precision, the primaries guiding their charges as Tomas had guided him. Henry’s heart swelled—others like him, plainsrunners bound by lumin’s radiant pulse. Unlike his birth world, where he’d been the outcast, here he glimpsed a place he might belong. He considered signaling them, his hand twitching, but caution held him back. This world was vast and unknown, its dangers hidden. Over the next days, he observed more phalanxes, their sizes varying from five to twenty, their flares painting the plains in bursts of gold, white, and amber. Each sighting stirred awe and a quiet longing for the community he craved.

Eight risesets passed, and Tomas remained still. Henry’s running watch, its battery nearly drained, confirmed the thirty-one-hour cycle, yet he adapted effortlessly, slipping into a routine of light rest for five hours around each riseset—not true sleep but a deep, restorative trance. The moment when the suns crossed horizons, casting a dusky twilight glow over the cracked landscape, was mesmerizing, a fleeting beauty that anchored him. Lying beside Tomas, he’d watch the interplay of light, the plains’ vastness both humbling and isolating, a reminder of his solitude in this strange new home.

On the eighth riseset, a low rumble snapped Henry to full consciousness, the ground trembling beneath him. He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. Tomas stood several yards away, naked, his gaze lifted to the heavens. A solid beam of light poured into him, primarily from above, bathing him in a radiant aura. It was as if a divine power were breathing life into a fallen seraph, the sight both glorious and humbling. Henry’s breath caught, hope surging like a tide.

Tomas lowered his gaze, his silvery gold eyes meeting Henry’s, his voice resonating with unnatural depth. “I am healed and stronger than before.”

The light vanished abruptly, and Tomas’s form returned to normal, his smile warm and grounding. “How are you, Henry?”

Henry blinked, relief flooding him. After a stunned pause, he recounted the past days—his unbroken vigil, his fading hunger, the phalanxes crossing the plains. “I thought I’d lost you,” he admitted, voice thick with emotion. “You weren’t breathing, and I didn’t know if you’d come back.”

“I’m whole again,” Tomas said gently. “I was close to death, but your presence drew me back from that darkness.”

Tomas explained that Henry’s lost appetite was part of the transition. Plainsrunners drew sustenance from lumin, needing little else. They drank water occasionally, absorbing moisture from the plains’ humid air with uncanny efficiency. Hesitant, Henry asked, “What about… bathroom needs?”

“Have you gone since we arrived?” Tomas asked, a faint amusement in his tone.

“Once,” Henry mumbled, cheeks warming. “But barely anything.”

“You’re done with shitting, unless you eat solid food,” Tomas said. “You’ll still urinate occasionally.”

Sensing Henry’s discomfort, Tomas shifted topics. “Which direction were the phalanxes traveling?”

Henry pointed from right to left, counter to the suns’ path.

“Perhaps it’s gwyl,” Tomas mused.

“Gwyl?” Henry asked.

“Once a cycle—roughly a year and a half in Earth years—plainsrunners gather in centers across this world. Dinas, the cultural heart, is the largest, a portal to the greatest mangeni.”

“Mangeni?”

“The mangeni is where plainsrunners go after their time on the plains, where future runners are conceived, born, and trained. All plainsrunners come from a mangeni—except you, Henry.”

Panic gripped Henry, a familiar knot tightening. The phalanxes had given him hope that he’d finally escape being the outsider, the strange one. Now, he feared he’d remain an anomaly, even here. Tomas, sensing his distress, spoke softly. “Henry, these are your people. The same lumin flows through you. We are all plainsrunners. Be brave—you have wonderful people to meet, adventures awaiting.”

“Dinas is days away,” Tomas continued. “We’ll continue your training. Run with me.”

Running on the plains was a revelation. The flat, unobstructed landscape let lumin flow effortlessly, a radiant current surging through Henry’s body, electric and alive. Yet the speeds were staggering, the stakes dire—a single misstep could be catastrophic. Henry experimented with turning lumin inward, mimicking Tomas’s technique for slowing or turning, feeling the forces shift but falling short of the blue glow. Tomas’s lumin remained a steady tether, guiding him, allowing exploration without peril. Each run deepened Henry’s connection to this world, though memories of Earth—his mother’s laughter, his father’s firm handshake—lingered, a bittersweet ache.

Tomas was a meticulous trainer, his instructions clear and patient. They encountered other phalanxes, some overtaking them, others trailing behind, their flares like beacons across the plains. Henry learned each plainsrunner had an optimal lumin expenditure, balancing absorption and output for endless running, though all rested five hours around riseset, possibly due to lower lumin availability. Tomas taught him the plains’ culture—honor, unity, the songs that wove their history. He made Henry promise not to speak of their journey from Earth or his past life. “Travel between worlds is forbidden,” Tomas said. “You’re no longer an off-plainer but an out-plainer.”

“What’s an out-plainer?” Henry asked.

“Most plainsrunners live in northern settlements, like Dinas. Out-plainers dwell apart, often loners or small groups shunning settlements. They’re seen as different, sometimes distrusted. You’ll pose as an out-plainer fledgling joining Dinas for training. You’ve learned quickly, ready for your peers.”

“Why can’t you keep training me?” Henry asked, a pang of disappointment sharp.

“You need your peers to integrate fully,” Tomas said. “It’s the best way.”

Henry’s heart sank. Tomas’s steady presence had been his anchor, his guide through the chaos of change. The distance in Tomas’s words confirmed a painful truth—the depth of connection Henry felt wasn’t mirrored. The ache of unreciprocated affection, so familiar from his Earth life at Woodside Preparatory, resurfaced, casting a shadow over his new world.

One day, before the riseset rest, Tomas led them to a phalanx’s camp, preparing for the five-hour gorffwys. Henry’s anxiety flared, echoing his first days at Woodside, where he’d been the outcast, invisible among the privileged. Tomas approached the three primaries, his voice formal. “I am Tomas, and this is the novice, Henry. We seek permission to join your phalanx to Dinas, if that is your destination.”

“It is,” said the lead primary. “Tomas is an honorable name, but I’ve not heard of a Henry.”

“I hail from Dinas, though absent for cycles,” Tomas replied. “Henry is an out-plainer, seeking novice training in Dinas.”

“I am Aneurin, with primaries Hywel and Cadan. You and Henry are welcome. Join us for water.”

They drank from a shared flask, the water cool and faintly sweet, a ritual of trust. The phalanx’s novices and fledglings formed a half-circle facing the primaries, beckoning Henry to join. Tomas sat with the primaries, his ease a stark contrast to Henry’s nerves. The boys—Hapus, Diffuant, Talfryn, and others—peppered him with questions about out-plainer life, their curiosity warm and unguarded. Tomas had coached him enough to answer convincingly, spinning tales of solitary runs and distant camps under alien skies. Their friendliness disarmed him, and soon, he felt a camaraderie he’d never known, a warmth that soothed the scars of his Earth life.

Then, they sang. The melodies were pure, their voices weaving in haunting harmony, resonant with the plains’ ancient spirit. Henry didn’t know the words, but the songs stirred something deep, as if etched in his lumin. He hummed along, a blissful smile spreading, content among these radiant boys who accepted him without question. Talfryn, a quiet fledgling, taught him a refrain, his patience easing Henry’s hesitation.

The next day, the phalanx formed with laughter and playful jibes. Henry took a position between Hapus and Diffuant, their presence steadying him. Running was effortless, the primaries’ lumin guiding the group, though Henry found their control heavier than Tomas’s light touch. He wondered if these novices required more guidance, their training less advanced. Tomas ran alongside, his lumin separate, and Henry missed its familiar embrace, a quiet reminder of their growing distance.

The phalanx ran twenty-six hours, communicating effortlessly—private whispers, group chatter, or open calls, a natural extension of lumin. Henry bonded with Hapus, whose infectious humor sparked laughter with tales of misadventures, and Diffuant, whose serious but supportive nature offered guidance on lumin control. Talfryn joined them often, sharing stories of his mangeni upbringing, his quiet awe at the plains’ vastness mirroring Henry’s. Cliques existed, but unlike Woodside’s rigid hierarchy, they were fluid, playful, rooted in shared purpose. The one shadow was Henry’s inability to reach Tomas, whose lumin remained apart, an impassable barrier.

At gorffwys, the phalanx disbanded for rest, water, and discussion. The primaries led talks on the day’s run, plainsrunner history, and laws, inviting questions. Henry listened, absorbing tales of ancient runners, the mangeni’s mysteries, and the balance of lumin. Then, they sang, the melodies wrapping around him like a warm embrace, his favorite moment each day. He began learning the words, his voice tentative but growing bolder, a small claim to his new identity.

Henry’s happiness deepened, a stark contrast to his Earth life, where he’d been the ignored kid at the outcast table. These boys—kind, radiant, fierce—cared for him, their trust a gift he’d never known. He felt at home, yet Tomas’s growing distance gnawed at him. Each day, Tomas drifted further, sitting apart during gorffwys, his focus on the primaries or the horizon, as if already moving beyond the phalanx.

One gorffwys, Hywel raised the topic of nmblings, plains dwellers from southern settlements. “Nmblings form raiding parties,” he said, “ambushing small phalanxes. Large bands have been spotted scavenging the central plains, with unconfirmed attacks.”

Diffuant explained to Henry, “Nmblings process lumin but never erupt. They’re muscular, sturdy, unlike our swift grace. They crave our dense lumin, slaughtering plainsrunners to consume lumin-rich organs—a horrific act.”

“Are they dangerous?” Henry asked, unease creeping in.

“They’re slower, staying south to overwhelm small groups,” Diffuant said. “I’ve never seen one in over a cycle. Our phalanx is safe.”

The discussion ended, and they sang, Henry’s voice joining theirs, though his thoughts lingered on the nmblings’ threat. He noticed Tomas sitting with the primaries, deep in affable conversation, a shift from his recent isolation. Hope flickered—perhaps Tomas was reconnecting, a chance for them to bridge the gap. Henry clung to the thought, his heart aching for the closeness they’d once shared.

Henry drifted into a light sleep at gorffwys’s end, waking to the phalanx’s boisterous preparations. Scanning the group, his heart plummeted. *Where’s Tomas?*

Aneurin beckoned him. “Henry, are you happy with our phalanx?”

“Yes, Aneurin,” Henry said, his voice earnest. “I’ve never been happier.”

“We enjoy running with you,” Aneurin said. “You’re a fine addition. We’d like you to join us permanently.”

“I’d like that more than anything,” Henry replied, joy tinged with sorrow.

After a pause, he asked, “Where’s Tomas?”

“Tomas has an urgent matter to attend to,” Aneurin said.

“When will he return?”

“I don’t know, Henry. Perhaps he’ll meet us in Dinas for gwyl. It’s time to travel. Take your position. Tonight, we’ll drink water and sing to honor your joining.”

Heartbroken, Henry joined the phalanx, Tomas’s absence a wound that lumin couldn’t heal. He stood between Hapus and Diffuant, their laughter a faint comfort. As an out-plainer, he’d hoped to shed his outsider status, but without Tomas, he felt adrift, his identity uncertain. *Time for a run,* he thought, letting the lumin’s radiant surge carry him forward, a fleeting escape from his grief, the plains’ endless horizon both a promise and a void.