"The blade is an extension of your own body. It is an appendage, not independent, but connected to all others. You must have strength when you use the blade. You must have balance. And you must have peace."
After reciting the oath, as he did every day, Urs picked up the heavy hilt of his energy sword. With his four digits, he stroked the hilt's lines and runes, noting the intricacy of the weapon. It was superior to any blade ever crafted by a Sanghelli. No, he thought, magnetically attaching the weapon to his belt, it is perfect.
Urs turned and inspected the dark purple room he used to house his equipment. In one corner stood the armor rack, now bare; on the left wall was a case filled with various weapons he had obtained over his short but respectable military career. He would need to look his finest that day, and would require only the energy sword as a sign of status and in case he needed to defend himself. He looked down at his heavy black armor and realized, after that day, he would never wear it again. Still, he had to look his finest at the ceremony, and what commanded more respect than the full military garb of a Special Operations Officer?
As he walked towards the door, he took one last glance around the room. He knew that in the same way he would never wear his Special Operations armor ever again, he would never return to his home. Sighing, he walked away from the door and locked it behind him.
Thel 'Vadam and Rtas 'Vadum stood above the kneeling figure of Urs like two wraiths, teeth sharp and gnarled. From a glass-domed ceiling, line shone in, giving the three Sanghelli warriors long shadows. Surrounding the floating platform on which they stood were rows upon rows of seats: warriors, scholars, councilors, and paupers alike had come to the Vadam Amphitheater to watch Urs become the new Arbiter.
Urs couldn't say he didn't like the attention.
Urs looked up at the two jaded warriors. Though they were at the most only a few units taller than he they looked like giants towering over him. In a way, they were. They had helped to save the galaxy while Urs had still been in basic training. Even now, they lead the hunt for the brutes, planning out battles on galactic scales while cooperating with the humans. How they tolerated the weak inhabitants of Earth, he had no idea.
"Urs 'Morvadumai," Rtas rumbled, an amplifier making his voice ten times louder, "have you brought your blade as proof of your skill and status?"
"Yes, Fleet Master," Urs replied, bowing down on one knee. Igniting his plasma blade, he placed the flat side against his palms and raised it for all to see. Urs was Rtas' third cousin, and he had met him on multiple occasions during and after the war.
"Thel 'Vadam, do you vouch for the boy's skill and willingly allow him to take up your mantle and hold it until such a time as he chooses to relinquish it?" Rtas turned to his long time friend and locked eyes with him. Though words were not exchanged, Urs knew that they were talking about him.
"Indeed I do, Fleet Master," Thel replied, bowing his head and nodding.
"So it shall be." Rtas turned to Urs. "Put down your blade, boy, and rise, as The Arbiter!" Urs obeyed and Rtas lifted his arm into the air. The crowd exploded in a loud chant: "Urs Morvadumai! Urs Morvadumai! Arbiter! Arbiter!"
After the ceremony, Urs was brought to the new Special Operations head quarters. Rtas had accompanied him, but Thel could not as he was now officially the Kaidon of Vadam province and had business to attend to. As the phantom they were flying approached the building, Urs could have sworn he saw pelicans and falcons coming to and leaving from the building. Could they really be letting humans enter one of the most important buildings on the planet?
As their phantom entered the hangar and began to land, Rtas nudged Urs with his shoulder,
"Yes, Fleet Master?" Standing next to him there, Urs realized that Rtas was shorter than he. It had been the platforms unsmooth surface that had created that illusion.
"You are the new Arbiter," the aging Fleet Master said, scowling at him, as if deciding whether or not to assist him or turn on him as soon as they exited the phantom. "That title has new weight in this bold age. It is both more and less of what it once was. You must tread carefully, or you run the risk of stepping on the wrong feet."
"Anything else, Fleet Master?" Urs stared Rtas dead in the eyes, trying not to look away from his hard scowl.
"Yes. Do nothing I or Thel would not do." At that moment, the phantom landed, and they exited through the side.
Urs followed R'tas deeper into the Special Operations headquarters. They traveled down a long route that twisted and bent like a serpent. The newly appointed Arbiter took in a breath of the musty air and realized, with disdain, that the halls reeked of human. He tried his best not to retch.
Finally, the two Sanghelli came to a door, visible only because of the cracks of light seeping in from the edges. R'tas rumbled in his throat and touched his left palm to a metal plate that bulged slightly out of the wall. For a second, the hallway was silent, save the shallow inhalations of the Fleet Master and the Arbiter. Then, a circle of light appeared at the center of the door, and it opened. "Enter, Urs Morvadumoi," R'tas nearly growled, gesturing with his left hand into the dark depths of the room the door led into. Urs nodded and obeyed.
The chamber Urs had stepped into was filled with dust. It permeated the air and brought on a few half-hearted coughs from Urs. R'tas followed behind Urs and ignored the stinging in his lungs and eyes that Urs was certain the Fleet Master was experiencing.
R'tas approached a console near the center of the room and pressed his hand to it. The dust suddenly disappeared and Urs heard the door slide shut, giving the room a suffocating feel to it, even though he could hear the air filters and C02 scrubbers at work, inhaling the dust and carbon dioxide, replacing it with breathable yet stale air, like a strange mechanical flower. R'tas pressed his other hand to the console and a panel slid open in the center of the room. Slowly, a half-cylinder floated upward, lifted by small anti-gravity generators inside the thing's framework.
R'tas turned to Urs and watched for his reaction grimly. A dim artificial light shone from within the cylinder, bathing R'tas in a ghastly glow. Urs was nervous- he could feel his two hearts thudding in his chest. Urs and growled replaced the nervous feeling he had with calm: it served no purpose other than to distract him.
Suddenly, the cylinder opened, the front of it floating away from the rest. Urs approached the contents of the cylinder with awe- they had surpassed anything he could have imagined.
Held within was opulent, pearl white armor, reminiscent of Rippa Moramee's. However, it was infinitely more complex and beautiful. Countless days must have been spent forging it for him: Forerunner runes decorated the armor's braces and shoulder pads. The helmet was a simple thing, with an opening for the face and segments of armor for the neck that allowed for motion and protection. The armor on the legs spoke of elegance, with rounded armor plates that contoured to the shape of the wearer and shin guards with blue lines running down them vertically. Emblazoned on the left breast of the armor was a circle with several runes inside, each meaning a different quality Urs should embody: Honor. Strength. Swiftness. Wisdom. Fortitude. Piety. What was most impressive about the circle was the single, massive rune in the center: when translated from Forerunner, it meant "Retrubition".
Urs outstretched a hand to the armor tentatively; then, with sudden vigor, he began to undress, ripping off his combat harness. It was of superior craftsmanship to anything available to most Sanghelli, an advantage of being a swordsman and a special-operations member; compared to the armor that had been crafted for him, it was nothing.
R'tas watched Urs hastily change into his new armor with vague interest glinting in his reptilian eyes. It had not been unexpected; the armor was a masterpiece, a beautiful combination of combat-effectiveness and deadly perfection. It was the armor of a warrior; the armor of a Sanghelli; the armor of an Arbiter.
Urs was quick to change and adorned the armor's helm a mere minute after he had stripped off his old combat harness. Urs shrugged, and felt the armor ripple and move with his musculature. Urs bent at the knee and felt the armor bent with him. It was obvious now that the armor had been meant for him; it was an extension of himself, his personality written out on his skin. "It is perfect," Urs stated excitedly. He quickly resented his statement: such a term disgraced armor as elegant and masterful as his.
"Indeed it is." R'tas replied gravely, walking past Urs to the far side of the room. "Now come. There is much to be done."