Vako no longer tastes his food, but he chews the cabbage dutifully, as if obedience could summon flavor. Headmaster Gorka’s voice echoes in his mind. Life is a series of sacrifices, each binding us closer to Leader.

 

“Is breakfast to your liking?” Mother asks, unaware of the procedure’s side effects. Henna serpents cover her sunken cheeks, but not the discomfort in her voice. She rises from the table, grimacing, and stands behind her only living son, dabbing at the puncture wounds on his lower back.

 

Since the injections began two weeks ago, Vako’s skin has taken on a rust red sheen. He scratches at his broadening shoulders and neck, to Mother's chagrin. She swats away his fingers, heeding the doctor’s words. No skin abrasions, or exposure to extreme heat.

 

“What’s not to like, Mother?” he asks, failing to notice her discomfort. The fuzz on Vako’s upper lip crawls towards hale, chubby cheeks — a far cry from his gaunt visage just 16 days removed. “The Fervor runs through my veins now, and today I become a Favored Son,” he says, slapping the table.

 

“The greatest of honors,” Mother responds in a flat voice. Her creaseless ceremonial robes, an homage to Vako’s selection, swish as she squats down, pouring water over the hearth’s embers. You are no ordinary broodmare, she tells herself. This time will be different. Leader blesses those whose paths are paved in anguish.

 

Vako squints at her bent spine and sagging shoulders. “Stop slouching, Mother. Only imperialists carry themselves without dignity,” he says, remembering the banned leaflet he'd once found beneath his deceased brother’s bed.

 

* * *

 

Hermitage’s polar region, and the lone city within, never see the sun. Beyond its domed communes, gravel paths wind through the city’s silent periphery. Crushed stone beneath Vako’s feet is his last link to the quarry's labor camp, just a few kilometers out. With each step comes the satisfying crunch of freedom — and favor.

 

The cold outside Vako’s exo-suit could kill in minutes, but he feels only warmth thanks to the Fervor flowing through his veins. Said to contain Leader’s own DNA, it’s given exclusively to the Favored Sons, His elite crack soldiers. Vako bows in deference to stoic, bronze statues of Leader at every intersection. They hold torches high, their dim flames guttering like fireflies in mourning.

 

Around him, one hundred other Favored Sons follow a security warden past greenhouses and towering factories, never straying from the path. To do so would not only violate Leader’s law, but also risk imperialist indoctrination. Leaflets drift down alleys lined with graffiti. Vako’s gaze strays towards one, but quickly self-corrects. Everyone knows the imperialists’ cowardice is eclipsed only by their lies.

 

Ahead, the Spindle rises into the heavens.

 

Vako’s breath catches. Inside is a cathedral-like structure; pylons intersecting dark, stained glass. The floor trembles, beneath which hydraulic machines wheeze and groan. An engineering feat worthy only of Leader’s intellect, Headmaster Gorka once boasted.

 

“None make this journey but Favored Sons,” a voice hisses across Vako’s suit comms, high and reverent. “Humble yourselves. Leader awaits.”

 

Vako’s heart slams against his ribcage. You’re worthy of his favor, he tells himself repeatedly, forcing truth into the words.

 

The Sons’ obsidian exo-suits shield them from the punishing ascent. Vako approaches a viewport, etched with entangled serpents. He recalls one of Headmaster Gorka's history lessons. When Leader arrived on Hermitage long ago, he encountered a many-headed hydra, ill-mannered and primitive. An imperialist. Leader’s friendly overtures were rebuffed and a great battle ensued. Taking on dragon form, Leader slew the beast and spread its teeth across the polar plain. From the scattering came a resilient people, made to withstand the harshest conditions. Us.

 

Vako cranes his neck towards the heavens above. Great green auroras crown the sky this time of year, commemorating Leader’s triumph over the hydra.

 

“The war is nearly over,” the voice says. “The imperialists’ defenses are shattered. They’re swine, grazing at the equator, fattening themselves for the slaughter. Show them mercy, and Leader will show you agony.”

 

Minutes later, the lift reaches its terminus, an orbital station just beyond Earth’s atmosphere. Vako’s suit guides him through its branching innards, eventually culminating in a dead-end.

 

“Ingest the hydra's teeth,” the voice commands. Vako's faceplate retracts. His suit retrieves a white capsule from a wall receptacle, depositing it on his outstretched tongue.

 

Euphoria envelops him. Doubt vanishes. Nothing, not his worst hunger pangs, nor the deaths of his brothers, can disrupt this feeling.

The floor opens. Darkness swallows him. Machinery latches, clicks. His suit is jostled, welded, transformed.

 

Fluorescent lighting activates, extending through a tube directly ahead. A spherical pod now encases Vako’s body.

 

A loud bang. Acceleration. The sound of his cheeks flapping. The tube's lighting blurs, then vanishes, as he's spit into more darkness. Nothing is certain in the directionless chaos of space, at least for the first few seconds. Something catches his eye. Many things. His black pod is one of dozens, falling back towards Hermitage.

 

Glinting specks, caught by the moon’s glow, cut across the void. Silent slugs tear into the swarm head-on, vaporizing Sons to Vako’s right and left.

 

Blue replaces black. Vako’s pod soon glows red, as does his suit. There’s an acrid odor, sizzling sounds. But Vako knows the Fervor is a blessing, molting who he once was, bringing to bear the dragon spirit beneath. Leader is closer than ever.

 

A domed cityscape, similar to Vako’s home, materializes below. Doubt takes root in his mind, metastasizing with the dizzying speed of his descent. A repressed memory surfaces: Leader is lying to you, read the leaflet Vako had found hidden under his brother’s bed. Impossible. Or is it?

 

The euphoria dissipates, replaced by blinding pain. Panic. The few remaining pods below him slam into the city, bubbles of light erasing the labors of men.

 

“Where is my favor!” gurgles Vako, his body a ticking time bomb. Leader’s response is always the same, an explosion heard only by ash in the wind.