A Good Day

—Two years ago—

A blue star hangs in the sky, and behind it, a kaleidoscope of color is vaguely visible. Like dust thrown up by a passing caravan, the colors dance around the star, but never quite touch it. For something blocks their union, a translucent barrier, blue in color and always shifting. Always healing. It surrounds the star in a thin bubble, yet does not obscure its light in the slightest.

And below the blue star, this planet reveals its own barrier. Like a round waterfall reversed in its flow, a hole splits the sky, its path leading up and into the branches that make up the Praesi. Just the same as the one surrounding that star, millions of hair-like strands intermingle to create the barrier, each taking over the other as they constantly rebuild themselves.

Kyro shades his eyes from the blinding light of Sevi as he looks up at the blue stem, "Good day for war. Betor bless us," he smiles. Kyro is just over nine feet tall with long black hair tied in a ponytail, thick brows, narrow grey eyes, and pale blue skin. Thick, defined arms burst from his black sleeveless robe, tied closed by a cloth belt. The hem drapes over same color shorts, and calves rippling with muscle steady the Rajin man. He stands barefoot, pale bottoms of his feet firm against the soil.

Kyro lowers his eyes, raising a six-foot sword and sinking the tip in the dirt. Barbs stick out along it's sharp blade, and Rajin glyphs are engraved along the flat side. The blade is nearly as long as Kyro is tall, a symbol of the man's great strength.

Green fields and rising mountains surround the mix of dirt and stone he now stands on. Blades of grass tilt with the breeze, like lone waves gliding over a green ocean. The local wildlife are nowhere to be seen on this day. They know what is coming.

With his smile lingering, Kyro turns, leaving the sword in the ground behind him, the glyphs and jagged edges etched into the steel glistening in the light of that star. He faces three thousand Rajin men, their tight formation spanning miles across the battlefield. Soldiers. Some have violet skin, some crimson, and some the same blue as Kyro. Some carry spears, some swords, and some war hammers. All wear the same black cloth, and with it the pride of pride of a Rajin warrior.

Kyro looks over the men, and they all stare back, waiting. He meets as many gazes as he can, and eventually, his eyes drift to the two men just before him. His nephew, Mavyl, stands nearly as tall as Kyro himself, despite only being sixteen. He has blue skin, like all members of the family, and silver hair tied in a short ponytail, like Kyro himself. A long spear lays over his shoulder, the steel tip pointing to the sky behind him. Armor has never been so useless before a single man.

Beside Mavyl, a man rises three heads over nearly every Rajin present. His skin is violet, and few other Rajin men match the intimidation that bald head exudes. Ingen wears his uniform casually, the jacket open to expose his chiseled muscles littered with pale scars. One of his thick silver brows raise as Kyro smiles at him, "What do you think?" Ingen asks.

Kyro hums, crossing his arms with one hand rubbing his smooth chin, "There were six thousand last time..." he says, glancing up at Ingen, "...seven or eight thousand, perhaps. Unless they have finally learned their lesson, there will be no change in their strategy."

Mavyl grunts, lowering the butt of his spear to the cracked stone below, "Are they close? I'm tired of waiting," he complains, "The Utherians have invaded so many times now, yet they still choose to take their time."

Kyro smiles at his nephew, "Be patient, Mav. The signal will be given in time," he responds, looking up into the sky. A figure looms high above, it's misty form vaguely resembling a man with a flowing cloak covering its body. Under its hood, solid darkness takes the place of a head, "The Dax is early. Let's give it some Utherian souls, shall we?" Kyro says loud enough for most of the soldiers to hear

The soldiers in earshot grunt approvingly, and the gesture follows all the way to the back lines. Ingen looks up towards the stem as the whistle of the wind takes over again, "There it is," he mutters.

Two small boats appear from the wormhole in the sky, flying downward until they right themselves, zipping towards the waiting army. Rajin men occupy the boats, waving swords above their heads as they approach. Kyro grins, "Finally," he says, raising a hand above his head, "Archers!"

Following his command, the men at the front of the army step aside for the ones called to step up. Several soldiers appear from the lines, carrying massive iron bows on their backs. Another soldier follows each of them, large rod-like metal arrows held over their shoulders. Each arrow is as thick as a forearm, and the heads have jagged blades meant to tear through anything they meet. Including armor.

The bow-carrying soldiers heave the obtuse weapons over their shoulders, dust flying with a thud as metal meets dirt. The bows sit on the tip of their lower limbs, the only thing keeping them from tipping over being the men meant to use them. Before long, a long column of bows stretch before the army, large piles of arrows lying on the ground beside each.

Kyro walks until he is in front of the archers, grabbing his sword and twisting it in his hand. He turns to face the army, slipping a hand under his cloth belt and pulling a sliver of a coin-sized red crystal out. Kyro raises the crystal above his head and looks at the three thousand men before him, "Stones!" he bellows.

Just then, every soldier, including Ingen and Mavyl, and the archers follow Kyro's actions. Thousands of those red crystals are held in the air, and Kyro then lowers his own, crushing it to dust in his hand. He cups his palm to his mouth, swallowing the crystal dust along with every other soldier.

Kyro feels the tiny particles sliding down his throat, and winces. It always goes down rough without water. A moment later, and the man looks up to the sky, breathing out slowly. Kyro's senses heighten, allowing him to see, hear, and smell at a level he could never imitate without the stones. His muscles begin to throb with power, every fiber begging to be thrown into battle.

Looking at the rest of the men, Kyro can see that they are feeling the same. Ingen and Mavyl look back at him with thirst for blood in their eyes. Kyro waves them forward, and they follow his command. This is his team.

Other armies may appoint a general, a man that is most suited to leading others, but the Rajin do things differently. The army only follows the command of the strongest soldier, and after proving his strength in frequent spars, Kyro has earned, and kept this position for 8 years. With this, he has the privilege of being the first in line to the battle. There are many others, but none that interest him.

The grin on Kyro's face widens as he gazes at the two men before him. By the end of the battle, his cheeks always hurt from the involuntary smile, "You two know how this works. Stay close, and guard my back. I will handle the front," he says.

Ingen merely scoffs, waving a hand through the air. The violet-skinned man has heard those words an innumerable amount of times.

"Careful, Uncle," Mavyl responds with his own grin, "I've been getting better. One day I'll be the one leading."

Kyro throws his head back and laughs in response. He pats his nephew's shoulder, "I look forward to it, Mav," he says, tilting his head toward Ingen, "But You'll have to surpass your other uncle first," he laughs again. A fine goal for Mavyl, but also dangerous. Many have aimed to end Kyro's life to take his position.

Kyro steps back with those words, watching as Mavyl and Ingen exchange looks, the former raising a brow, and the ladder laughing with a taunting look in his eyes.

Kyro turns and looks up at the stem, grip tightening on his sword. Just in time, an armada of large ships pour from the hole in the sky, all with no sails or rudders. A colorful barrier like a bubble surrounds each ship, an Anima Shroud. The barriers all pop out of existence as the vessels leave the stem. The Utherians have always had a great number of Anima users in their ranks, and the army would not be here if not for them. Legions do not enter the branches without protection from the creatures that lurk within them, and only an Anima user and his Shroud can provide that.

Kyro raises an arm above his head as he focuses his gaze on the approaching ships, "Fire at will! Bring them down to our level!" he yells.

With that command, each archer drops to one knee behind their bows, knocking the thick steel arrows and drawing. A second later, hundreds of arrows zip through the sky with a whistle. Each arrow slams into the bottom of the ships, piercing through to the deck and finding Utherian flesh. Wooden shrapnel rains from the sky, along with limbs and blood.

Kyro watches as the closest ships crumble and begin to fall diagonally towards him and his army. Knowing what is to come, the ships farther back take the liberty of lowering themselves. Kyro's muscles pulse furiously, and he glances back at his two squad members, "Follow. We will not allow them to gain positioning," he says.