Darkness suited Dron.
He felt most at ease when there was no one from society to leer at him. No snickered words under anyone's breath.
No one to stare at his shameful markings. Just darkness and silence—he used to pray for the end of his days.
"Dron! Report!" Mark Chief yelled through the electroplated door. The vibrations rippled through the luminescent coloring on the walls and lit up the suffocating darkness.
"Ready." Dron barked back before he turned on his heel and clamped his arms to his sides.
The door slid open, and Mark Chief Tuliq walked in. His entire body filled up the remaining space in the barrack room Dron was more than ready to get out of.
It had been Dron's thirteenth military tour. He'd risen from a cadet to a Silver Mark Chief. One step from the pinnacle. Still the highest Dron would ever be. After all, he was hated.
All the reigning royals of Ustea all had the same ideas when it came to Dron: he was nothing more than a cursed lowborn. By all accounts, Dron knew that he should be grateful for the skills and the life that his military career afforded him. Yet there was a deep hatred inside of him for all those who looked down on him. A hatred and a fear all the same.
While his mother was alive, she told him not to buy into all this cursed nonsense. Told him that it was the opposite. Dron's mother tried to get him to believe that he was a shining beacon of luck.
Dron never thought his mother to be very smart, but part of him always wanted that so-called luck she claimed he had to be real.
So far in his dreary life, luck has managed to abandon him at every turn.
"I hear your tour is over at the next dayrise." Dron clenched his teeth but did not say a word. He was supposed to be able to leave the barracks that very night. It was just another way for the higher ups to make his life a living hell.
Mark Chief Tuliq glared at Dron. He waited for the feared alien to disrespect or push back against the Mark Chief.
Dron knew better than to do anything like that. What good would it do him? Arguing would get him nothing but whipped and ridiculed. Dron would stay another night in the darkness.
"You are correct, Mark Chief. I've only been readying my gear for the next sunrise. I'm ready for duty." Dron kept his eyes locked on a spot on the wall behind the Mark Chief.
"Good, there has been talk of a pack of wild focax near the camp latrines and such. You'll need to stand guard there." Mark Chief Tuliq sneered, still waiting for Dron to react. There was no reaction.
Latrine duty wasn't the worst that they could do to Dron. The worst that they could do to him would be to force him to stay on for another tour. Dron knew that hell would come soon enough.
He wasn't fit to be part of society; everyone feared him. He was meant for blood and fighting. He was meant to let his curse afflict Ustea's enemies.
"As you order, Mark Chief."
A clear look of disappointment crossed Mark Chief Tuliq. The leader expected Dron to speak up against his new unfair orders. But nothing in Dron's life had ever been fair.
"Get on with it then." Mark Chief Tuliq jerked his shoulder in the direction of the door to allow Dron to leave.
Dron nodded once, side-stepped and pressed a hand onto the panel so the door would slide open.
The arid air whipped across Dron's face as he walked out of the barracks. The few soldiers that congregated outside were silenced when they saw Dron walking out in the open.
As had become the custom, a round of hateful hisses and crude remarks floated in the sandy air.
"Cursed rat!"
"Foul devil."
The insults were always the same; still, no matter how much of a tough skin Dron seemed to have, every word sliced at him like a dagger. He hoped one day one would be sharp enough to pierce through his rotted, dead heart.
Dron continued on his journey through the camp until he made it to the outskirts, where the latrine and shit pits were located. It smelled of foulness he would rather not be near, but he wouldn't complain. Here, away from all the flames in the camp, he was welcomed by the darkness again.
Dron took watch near an old prickly tree. Most of the other soldiers stay away from them since it's said the thorns can cut straight through flesh, but Dron never shied away from the trees.
In fact, Dron found the trees oddly beautiful. The way the branches seemed to curl up in the mornings, reaching toward the old gods. How even in the worst of sandstorms the branches never seem to break but more so bend as if dancing with the fierceness whipping around it.
Dron felt like he could relate to the old prickly tree.
The night would be long. The first moon hadn't even started setting. He would be there for a long while. Dron stretched his neck from side to side and looked out on the horizon.
The rolling sandy hills called to him. His freedom was right there. If he'd only take a few steps. He bit the inside of his cheek to force his feet not to move.
He wouldn't give up. Not when he was so close.
It's true that he would more than likely have to serve another tour, but he would have at least six months off to be to himself.
He longed for that time. Time away from all the judging eyes. Time to be alone in his small home with the sundrizen flying above him.
For hours, Dron stood in the same spot. As one moon set, the other made its tracks along the sparkling sky.
Dron blinked slowly a few more times. He was getting sluggish. When he thought he would be released, he put off resting in an effort to get out faster.
As sleep threatened to take him, he regretted the decision.
Suddenly, all of his senses were on high alert. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and a rumble grew in his chest.
His ears perked up, and he could hear all the way to the other side of the camp.
He didn't focus on anything that any of the other soldiers were talking about; instead, he was more focused on what it was out in the distance that pulled his alpha senses to the surface.
Saliva pooled in his mouth as his lips pulled up into a curl. He crouched a little lower and tried to focus on the sand to find whatever it was that moved.
Finally, he saw his prey. All four of them.
It was the wretched focax that had been terrorizing the camp. The ones that Mark Chief had told Dron about.
Dron readied his steel dagger and took another step forward.
The pack of wild animals recognized the danger right away, but instead of running away, they focused on Dron.
It was a challenge.
One that made Dron's Alpha blood sizzle beneath his cursed skin.
Dron kept his eyes locked on the largest focax. If anything, Dron knew that would be the most trouble.
Drone wanted some trouble.
He took a step forward, and the ferocious beast snarled and snapped at him all the while hooting for the rest of his pack to fall in behind.
Dron could call for backup. He could yell out for some other soldiers to help him.
But why would he do that? Especially when he knew the closest any of the soilders behind would get to helping him would be to stand back while the beasts ripped at Dron's flesh.
No, Dron was more than happy to take on these focax.
In the flash of a star, the larger focax lunged in Dron's direction. The beast was fast, but Dron, with his alpha blood was faster. He skittered to the side and used his bare hand to shove the fanged monster back against the tree he'd just been leaning on.
The prickly thorns did their job and sliced through the large beast and left it whimpering on its side.
There was no time for Dron to look down on his prey, not when the rest of the pack was already on their hind legs, poised to jump at him.
The three of them lunged at Dron at the same time. They worked in perfect synchronization. One went for Dron's arm, the other two for his legs, as they tried to yank him down to the ground.
Dron yelled out in agony as the sharp teeth cut through his flesh, but he did not fall. Instead he used his free hand to grab hold of the knife that was sheathed at his side.
In one strong downward motion, Dron buried the blade deep into the first focax's skull. The crunch of the bone gave Dron a sense of pride and a little sadness.
He was sure that the skull would have been a great drinking chalice.
With two of the four beasts down, it was becoming less of a fight and more of a training exercise.
Dust plumed up. Snarls cut through the dark night. Laughter echoed from the soldiers behind him.
Before long, Dron is covered in new wounds and carrying three new focax pelts.
Dron walked through the camp, and just like before, the men there shut their mouths and simply glared at him as he passed.
Dron didn't parade the dead focax through the crowd for praise; he knew he would get none. He simply wanted to show the Mark Chief that his duty had been done.
Dron found his way back to his commander's tent.
"Mark Chief." Dron called out and stood back, waiting for Tuliq to come out.
"Boy, I should have you flogged for your disrespect. What gives you the—" Mark Chief Tuliq's jaw snapped shut when he saw the terrible state Dron was in. He was bleeding from nearly every limb. Entrails and dirt clung to Dron's greying skin.
"You've already killed them?" Mark Chief Tuliq questioned as he looked from Dron to the animals he was carrying on his broad shoulders.
"Isn't that what I was ordered to do?" Dron asked.
"It was, but no one could have gotten through that savage pack as quickly as you have done. Truly, this campaign will crave a fighter like you once you leave. Maybe I could convince you to sign up for another tour." Mark Chief Tuliq raised his eyebrow, expecting Dron to jump at the opportunity.
"No." Dron answered quickly. Too quickly.
Rage settled on Mark Chief's face. "You forget your place."
"I do not. I know I am nothing but a soldier. A weapon for the council to use as they see fit, and I have followed my orders. Now I'm due my reprieve."
"You aren't due the air that fills your cursed lungs." Mark Chief snarled before he snatched the dead focax carcasses before he jerked his shoulder, dismissing Dron away once again.
Dron turned on his heels and walked back to his small hut. On his way there he heard the snickers and the foul words from the surrounding men.
"Coward."
"Cursed monster."
It was an insult Dron heard before, but it never stopped getting under his tarnished skin. It wasn't the first time Dron had single handedly destroyed a threat to his fellow men. Still, they saw him as nothing more than a blight, a curse.
Yes, the darkness was better.
At least in the darkness, Dron knew there was no one there to see his shame.