The Keepers of Azera ( Book 1 of the Keepers Trilogy)

Chapter One

First off, even though we are on a foreign planet, many of us have Earth names. It's been that way for a couple hundred years, and I'm not sure why. 

Of course, there are a few with old Azeran names. Like Baya and Masan (pronounced Ma-son). But I digress, and the story hasn't even started. 

I am a Keeper. A Time Keeper, actually. When I was a year old, I was picked to join this elite army because I had such a high intelligence level. As I am not done with training, I'm stuck, underground, with about nineteen other Keepers, five of which shouldn't even be here. And one should be here, but then came the incident. 

For the longest time, I was the only person in my age group who heard about the incident-the disappearance of a Keeper and the suicide of his Guardian, Baya- and the Trainers and Guardians know it. But like the others, I don't know exactly what happened. Simon was an intelligent person, how could he go missing? But I suspect that his disappearance wasn't an accident.

Every Keeper has a necklace. No two are the same. The emblem hanging off of it represents our power. Mine is a clock, which means I have the power to control time itself. I get flash-backs and premonitions, and the clearer the premonition, the quicker it comes to fruition. I can delay it, but I can't change it, and they're almost never good. Thankfully they don't come as often. Flashbacks, on the other hand, happen at least every other day. Sometimes I can recall information on events that I never experienced, sometimes they just come. I can also travel in tiny increments back and forth in time. I can only go forward in time a few days at most, backwards a couple weeks, and only to places that I have or will experience.

Simon had a swirl on his, representing hypnosis. He could've easily hypnotized his way out. It can't work on Keepers, but it can work on Regulars-those without powers. Most Azerans don't. However, Trainers-those who teach Keepers-can Block parts of a power, and I'm not allowed to see anything involving Simon after the incident. 

Alright, intro out of the way, let's begin the story.

It's almost three o'clock on a Rest day. My Guardian James and I have just sat down to play a game of cards. James is antsy, like he's expecting something. 

"You alright?" I ask. 

"Waiting for an annou-" he begins, but the PA system cuts him off. He winks at me. 

"All Keepers and Guardians who wish to visit the surface," drones Matilda, the Head Trainer, "Report to Level One. I repeat, any Keepers and Guardians wishing to visit the surface, please report to level One." 

"Let's go," James says. Surprisingly, he sounds a little anxious. 

We both stand up and make our way to Level One. There are four levels in the training base. Level One is closest to the surface, and usually off-limits to the Keepers, unless they need to talk to a Trainer or they're arriving for the first time. Level Two is recreation, Level Three is where all the dorms are, and Level Four is where all our Training takes place.

Level One is extremely drab and dusty. My arm brushes against a chair, causing dust to fly up, making me cough. "Well, at least we're out now," I mutter.

James shrugs and brushes the hair out of his face. He's not a bad-looking guy, with a square jaw covered with stubble and intelligent brown eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. His brown hair is just long enough to be constantly messy. Most Azerans have an olive skin tone and brown hair and eyes, but those who come from the North, like my mum, have a paler tone and blonde hair and blue or grey eyes. Rarely a child is picked from there, but a girl in my group is a Northerner.

Just then, the door at the top of the stairs leading into Level One open and through that square we get our first glimpse of the sky in eight years. It's not the light blue that I remember, but a dirty red and orange. I glance at James, who's biting his lip and twisting his fingers. There's murmuring, whispers around us, trying to figure out what happened. 

James is the first to move to the stairs that descended after the door was opened. I follow quickly behind, and slowly so do the others.

Wind picks up red dust and flings in our faces. My hair and robe whip around with the dust. I was too young to remember Azera, but I'm positive it didn't look like this, didn't look this ruined.

As I stare at the smoldering remains of the capital in the distance, the smoke rising from the heart of it adding to the dirty sky, I suddenly realize in a flashback: we weren't in lock down because of the incident, after all.

We were kept in the facility because of this. What we thought was thunder was a fight.

We had lived under a war without even knowing it.