Dron nearly smiled as he passed through the second gate that led to his home.
He'd spent more than forty moon cycles on this last deployment, and he had been looking forward to finally being on his own. Both suns were high in the sky; to most it would be a dreary day. Too hot for people to go out, but Dron wouldn't want to be anywhere else besides where he was at that moment.
He lifted his chin up to the sky before he closed his eyes and let the warmth burn the weathered skin on his face.
He breathed in deeply; the dry air filled his chest.
Dron readjusted his pack on his shoulder before he took another step. It had been months since he'd seen the inside of his home. Months marching and fighting in the great war that never seemed to end.
Last count, the war between the Thraqen people and the rebellious villagers from Skoq had been going on for at least a decade. Every time it seemed as if there would be a cease-fire, someone or something happened to bolster hostilities all over again.
War was Dron's life. He was good at it. One of the most decorated soldiers in all the military. It was the only reason he was able to afford the small slice of luxury he called his home.
Dron stood in front of the large, dark alloy that was the front door and waited for the security system to scan his presence. A second later a dull thud vibrated the door, and it swung open. It beckoned him.
It took everything in him not to run in and jump straight into his bed. There were other things for Dron to do before he could relax. He dropped his bag in the corner, and instantly the automatic cleaner zoomed over and grabbed it. The beeps and hums of the machine would be the only company Dron would have while he was home.
Dron slowly walked through the large house.
When he'd first decided to build in the nearly secluded section of the city, he wondered if building a structure so large would draw unwanted attention. Worried that thieves or vandals would see his property and the fact that he was hardly ever home as an invitation to destroy what he had. Thankfully, in all the times that he'd been away, when he came home, nothing had ever seemed out of place.
Dron made his way through the kitchen. The same singular cup still settled upside down on the counter. The eating utensils still untouched in their small cubicles.
Dron had spent a long while decorating and arranging his space so that it would give him the most peace when he came home. The metal that spanned the entire place was darker. It was two levels. The main level was encased in metal, as were most houses, but the top floor was all clear and accessible. If he wanted, Dron could press one button, and all the walls on the top floor would retreat into the floor, leaving nothing but the beams to hold the roof up.
Dron knew the importance of being secure, but he also wanted to be free. If there was anywhere in the world he could be, it was at his home.
He made his rounds through the house, satisfied that everything was as it should be.
Finally, when he opened his door to his room, he nearly fainted in relief. There would be no more eyes on him tonight. No hurtful whispers. No more fighting.
At least not until he slept. Even in his dreams, Dron couldn't get away from his tormentors.
He stripped off his clothes, folded them up, and then pressed his palm to the far wall to open up the laundry chute. He dropped the clothes in, and they whooshed down to the basement, where the other domestic bots would wash and press them for him.
Sleep threatened to take Dron where he stood. He couldn't remember a time when he'd ever been so fatigued. He didn't know if it was because of the endless patrolling he'd been doing the past few months or if it was due to the lack of movement now that he was home. Still, it felt like he would die if he didn't crawl into his bed.
Dron groaned in relief as he pulled the thin cover back from his bed and slid in. He closed his eyes again and waited for sleep to take him away.
The hum of his cleaner bot lulled him like the sweetest song. Dron knew that nothing would change when he woke the next day, but at least he could pretend.
The very edges of his consciousness started to darken.
A loud thudding noise caused Dron's eyes to spring open. He popped up in bed like a spring and looked around.
He must've been dreaming. There was no way that he just….
The loud thudding sounded again.
"Kreth!" Dron cursed out loud as he ripped the covers off his body and put his feet on the floor. He yanked himself out of the bed and stormed in the direction of the door.
Dron swore to himself, whoever was at the door would feel the brunt of his wrath. Dron ripped the door open and clamped his jaw shut the second he'd gotten sight of who was standing there.
It was a royal courier.
"High praise, Dron, son of Drexia." The royal courier jerked his head down once, but that was the extent of his reverence for Dron.
A cold sweat broke out on Dron's skin, even though both of the suns were still high in the sky.
There was only one reason for the royal courier to have made a trip to the outskirts of the city.
Dron was being selected.
"Yes?" Dron questioned, subtly he hoped that the royal courier would simply ask him for directions or if Dron had seen another member of society.
Dron's heart fell the moment he watched the courier reach into his bag and pull out the golden scroll and held it out for Dron to take.
"You must be mistaken." Dron tried to back away.
"I'm afraid not. You are due to be tested."
Dron knew his time was coming back around. It had already been more than four years since his last selection, but he'd hoped his service in the military would give him a little extra time.
He should've known better than to think something good would happen to him.
"So be it." Dron reached out to take the scroll, but just before he could grasp it in his hand, it slipped from the courier's fingers and fell to the ground.
"Sorry, that was unintentional." The courier stepped back; it was clear he hadn't wanted to get too close to Dron.
Dron sighed and leaned down to get the parchment before it was blown away by the strong midday winds. It never failed to amaze him how others could be so prejudiced just because of what his skin looked like. They called him cursed, and the darkened marks were the proof.
Once the scroll was safely in Dron's hand, the courier backstepped. "You have been served." He announced just as he turned and nearly ran off the property.
It had been so long since Dron was last served for selection. So long since he had to endure that hell. He grumbled as he turned to walk back into his home.
He could only hope that this selection would be as short as all the others he'd been forced to endure.