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The InviVerse

Glossary with definitions and explinations at the end. Enjoy!

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In a world like ours, yet not like ours, three suns spun and twisted and danced in eternal cycles around one another. The largest of the three, a calm red giant, is known as Unin, the Young. Twan, the Prime, is a yellow sun; like ours, but not like ours. The oldest, and smallest, of the three is white-hot, and burns ever so faintly with blue. That is Erton, the Old.

In the middle space between these three Ctoris sits what -- from the outside -- appears to be little more than a large and oddly shaped hunk of rock. Fissures and cracks run rampant around its desolate surface. This is Thrae, the center of the InviVerse, though the Thraeans don’t know that. One such inhabitant could be found where none of the others wished to go: the tunnels near the deadly Surface: the Vens.

The Vens were oppressively bright and hot, being so near the surface, but Dalin didn’t really mind. It was the only place where he was guaranteed peaceful solitude, because Thraeans didn’t like to wander into the Vens. The heat of the three Ctoris would burn anyone to less than ash in seconds! No one was that stupid.

Well.

Almost no one.

Still, Dalin found the oppressive light and heat of the rough Vens to be refreshing. Especially after days spent within the Ytic’s cool lumyn-lit caverns. He lay on the rough ground, shirt tucked under his head like a pillow, feeling the distant blaze of Twan warm his skin. A hunk of round-edged refined lumyn lay on his bare chest, sucking up some of the Ctori's heat and converting it to its own pale blue light.

He stretched briefly, tucking his hands under his head, and closing his eyes. The blue lumyn pulsed cooly on his chest. It was small, not enough to make a whole lot of difference, but it was a cool familiar presence. Dalin let his thoughts wander, drifting somewhere along the borders of a dream, yet not quite crossing over into sleep. It was quite relaxing.

Lying there in his esro-leather pants, he probably would’ve looked quite odd to the very unlikely passerby. He looked like little more than a lanky youth with the typical Thraean translucent skin and wispy puff of gleaming hair of purest white, a white to put that of the fresh snow on Earth to shame. To most he would seem the scrawny, runner type. Most would be almost correct. He did run. Typically because he was late for something.

He wasn’t thinking about that though. His thoughts had no distinct shape or direction, and they brushed against one subject before moving on to another. Then the train of his thoughts made a stop that caused his eyes to snap open and a sense of shock and dread to settle over him.

He cursed, sitting up with such speed that the blood took a moment to catch up with his head, causing his world to swim dizzily around him. Then the dizziness cleared and he snatched his shirt off the floor and leapt to his feet.

He roughly pulled the shirt over his head, cursing all the while. He pulled his cronocrys out of his pocket, looking at the green glow. It was long past Half-Cycle. Dalin cursed again.

She’s going to plonning kill me! He thought. Though that wasn’t entirely accurate. Ruof wouldn’t kill him. She was too much like her mother for that.

She would make him feel like such a plonn that he’d wish she’d want to kill him.

Barely pausing to tuck his cronocrys away, Dalin started sprinting full tilt through the Vens. Typically, he would never do something so stupid and potentially fatal. Typically. But he was late enough already to throw caution to the xcarl.