The Heretic

High Noon
The distraught laughter of children plagued the room. The instigator of said laughter was the same lad who was being dragged out of the door by his ear by the teacher herself, his emerald green mane the last of him to vanish from sight.

"On top of the innumerable disruptions you've caused, your marks do not uphold to our standards," the principal beamed from behind his desk, "tell me, what good are you to this school?"

Home sweet home. The green haired boy was going to be seeing much more of it from now on. "They've practically thrown him out of school, Bogle! When will you find it in yourself to discipline your child?"

"No son of mine will be a mess; just give it some time. Hess, my love, Veno just has a harder time paying attention than most other children. Getting him a tutor to learn from home will help him focus more on his studies --and I happen to have just the man for the job."

"Yes, good! Excellent work, Veno," the tutor chimed from beside Veno on the couch, feather in hand, "you're showing a lot of promise. Your father is going to be very proud of you."

"Zabaco," came the voice of Veno's mother, "I need your help with something. Do you think you could give me a hand?"

Long periods of study. Long periods of silence. Long periods of time to himself. Where did the tutor keep running off too? Day by day, week by week, why was it that Veno was always left to himself? Why didn't his mother ever ask for his help with any of the chores?

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes, Zabaco!" One peek through the door changed everything.

"What is this? What do you mean my company belongs to you now?" Veno had never quite seen his father so angry before.

"You signed off on it, do you not remember?" Zabaco's grin instilled a fear within Veno's heart the likes of which he hadn't experienced ever before.

"Zabaco, you bastard! What have you been doing with my wife?!"

Confusion. Anger. Betrayal.

The home he had once called his, stolen. The mother he had once adored, taken. The life he had once known, forgotten.

The Heretic
Aboard the nimbus, a gravely wounded Veno awoke, startled under the night sky. His breath had betrayed him, for beads of sweat trickled to and from his frow. He looked about the ship with weak eyes, the sights of his defeated mate, Luhr, and that of his navigator, Erin, flashing before him.