“What do they think?” I ask Tasa, as we sit in front of the Unseen.

She turns to me. My heart jumps every time she does that. Her dark eyes are stunningly beautiful and they have seen realities I can only hope to experience. But she isn’t smiling, not about this.

“They all know of it,” she says, “They talk about it hushed tones. They try not to say anything in front of me. But it repels them. It is savage and dangerous and untamed. It frightens them more fundamentally than any other force.”

I am drawn to her words. Pulled in by them. Every syllable, although I have heard them countless times before. Her lips seem to pull me into the excitement that surrounds her life. She is, of course, talking about the Unseen. It is savage and dangerous and untamed. I am frightened of it, of course. But I am not repelled by it. No, instead I sit, day after day, year after year, and admire it.

I admire that which I cannot see.

My name is Yacob Malkaius and I am fourteen years old. I have spent eleven of those years watching the Unseen. The other three were spent, I am sure, wanting to watch the Unseen.

Mine is a fascination I cannot ignore.

The Unseen is an invisible mass hovering, suspended by quantum gravitational forces. It is a mass, a weight, an unbelievable force that pulls things towards itself. To walk by the Unseen, to sit before the Unseen, is to feel reality bent; pulled inwards. Curved away from its natural path. The Unseen has no interaction with electromagnetic forces. It cannot be seen; it bends no light. But it can be felt.

It can always be felt.

That is why the Unseen rests in our people’s throne room. It is a reminder of what sets our people apart. It pulls at us. It pulls at our kings. It tells us of the savagery of the universe and the courage of those who would tame it. And as the prince of our people, I am meant to tame it. I am meant, above all, to stand and sit and move in its presence. I am to feel its energy, internalize its distortions and understand the power that it represents. It is only with that deep, ingrained, appreciation that I can be King.

And so, when the sun shines through the high glass windows of the palace throne room, I am there, feeling the Unseen. When there is darkness or storm, I am there. And it is there; an ominous bulk, constantly reminding me of what sets our people apart.

In the universe we inhabit, there are two kinds of people.

The first are the planetaries. Settled peoples who farm and mine vast resources from planetary masses. Planetaries are safe and strong and wealthy – at least as compared to others. When their people move across the stars, they do it in generational fleets so massive they can feel like planets themselves. It can take a thousand years, or two, for them to cross from one world to another. A thousand years, or two, for them to reach another home, another star, another node in the network of human reality. They can muster overwhelming force in defense of their homes, but they do not like to be distracted by war. When they are forced to travel, to spend generations to attack their enemies, they do so with the overwhelming ferocity of a lion awakened.

But planetaries do not stand alone. There is another group. We call them Sun Divers. They live amongst the stars. They have no homes, no place. All they have is community. Unlike the planetaries, they do not travel in great fleets. No, they are marauding masses, forever tied to the Unseen.

The first of the Sun Divers was a mathematician. She called herself Haythama, after the great medieval Islamic polymath. Like many others, she was challenged by the great mystery of our universe. 96% of the mass energy of the universe, a huge proportion, was Unseen. In her time, they called it Dark Energy and Dark Matter. Haythama synthesized these two ideas and proposed that the Unseen acted as a positive gravitational force when encountering normal matter, but an antigravitational force when encountering its own kind. It formed halos around galaxies and it powered the exponential expansion of the universe all while adding tremendous power to the gravitational pull of galaxies. It was only in stars, amidst the literally massive masses of normal matter, that its resistance to itself could be overcome.

Haythama went further than that simple proposal, though. She theorized that all the Unseen was actually one mass. One quantum reality that knit the entire universe into a single Unseen, single dimensional, point. Wherever the Unseen could be found, and it could be found most everywhere, it was set apart only by its directional speed and its gravitational spin. Almost every point in the universe could be defined by these two things alone. They, more than a position in the space-time continuum of normal matter, were the fingerprint of eternity.

In Haythama’s theory, the core of every star was a mass of the Unseen. And, theoretically at least, those who could travel through the outer layers of a sun and could reach that core – and fit within it – could instantly travel to any point in the universe. All it required was that their own spin and direction match that of their destination.

Among some, Haythama’s theories were more than mathematical conjecture. They were almost religious in their pursuit of her ideas. Tens of thousands died, or at least disappeared, in the vain attempt to Sun Dive. In small ships protected by quantum electromagnetic and gravitation shields, they would shoot through the corona and then the surface of stars. They would dive downwards in a frantic race against the elements – hoping their ships could survive until they reached the Unseen core. And then, they would spin, hoping somehow to emerge someplace else. And perhaps they succeeded. But for 134 years after Haythama’s theories were first proposed, not a single Sun Diver returned.

And then Tudun the Great came home.

It was Tudun who marked the true birth of the Sun Divers. A clan and then a tribe and then a civilization of traders and raiders. A people who lived amongst the stars and called no planet their home. A people willing to race against the powers of a sun in order to dive into eternity.

In time, the Sun Divers learned to tame the Unseen. Their ramshackle travelling colonies would gather and control it through the quantum gravitational fields that suspend the Unseen in our throne room. But the masses they gathered were far greater than ours. They were as large as those in the midst of stars. Ships large enough for entire families could spin through them and emerge, instantly, in any star in the Universe. The tremendous risks remained, of course. Like crossing a great desert, they would need to feel where the water would be. Their sense of navigation, of spin, would have to be perfect for them to survive.

Of course, it often was. Their entire civilization grew up with the Unseen in their midst. From birth, they felt that spin in every subatomic particle of their bodies.

The Sun Divers were the great blessing, and the great curse, of humanity. It was they alone who could practically knit the human universe together. They could trade across infinity; and they could raid across infinity. Many a planet would realize only too late that a fleet of Sun Divers had emerged from their own Sun. They would realize too late to protect their settlements, their wealth and their people.

And then there is our people. We are the descendants of the Sun Divers. But we live on a planet. We have a home. We have a palace and great cities and farms and mines. We even have a mass of the Unseen. But it isn’t large enough for even the smallest ship to pass through. Instead, it hovers in our palace, a reminder of where we’ve come from and of who, despite all the trappings of planetary life, we truly are. We are taught to Sun Dive. But like Karate in a Japan that had been at peace for 300 years, it is simply pro-forma. It is a risk, a rite all our princes must undergo in their transition from childhood to Kingship. So, we must feel the Unseen and know it. We must be able to pass our final exam. And then, unless there is war, all but our ambassadors are done with it. We never travel again.

My own exam is to come on my 16th birthday, 417 days from now. So far, I have had 4,328 days in the presence of the Unseen. I hope it will be enough.

Tasa is an Ambassador. She is only 17, but she plunges into our star and visits the worlds of others. She visits the Planetaries. She is beautiful and cultured and educated, but she experiences their revulsion at our savagery. And yes, she is rugged and fearless and brutal. Nonetheless, when she visits the Sun Divers, she experiences their revulsion at our wealth and sedentary ways.

To the Planetaries, the Sun Divers are like aliens. They are raw and adventurous and so distant in their reality that they cannot truly be held to account for their actions. They are like a force of nature, not a class of men. And for the Sun Divers, much the same is true. The Planetaries are like a crop, waited to be picked. Sometimes, you take only a flower, and you bring the plant water and fertilizer. But sometimes you uproot the whole plant and harvest the entirety of its reality. The Planetaries, in the eyes of the Sun Divers, are a crop – not a class of men.

But us? Who would put a 16-year-old in such mortal danger just for the sake of maintaining a vestigial characteristic of a civilization that has grown beyond its dark past? In the eyes of the Planetaries, we are human – but twisted and evil and backward. We reject, it seems, the values on which they have built their reality.

And in the eyes of the Sun Divers? What Sun Diver would act as if they embrace the powers of the universe, only to build palaces and live lives of wealth, comfort and luxury? We are only pretending to be men, and in so doing we seem to be cursing the Sun Divers for their violence and rapaciousness.

I suppose both have their truths.

Tasa has been my tutor for longer than she’s been an Ambassador. But ever since her first Dive just over a year ago, I haven’t been able to talk to Tasa about much other than diving and the nature of other worlds. I’ve met Sun Divers, but I’ve always been curious about other Planetaries. We can only read about them in books or perhaps see images of their cities in paintings. They are so far away from us that they may as well be science fiction. But not to Tasa. Not to the woman I think I’ll love forever.

“What’s it like?” I ask.

We are talking, as we often do, about throwing ourselves into the Unseen.

“It is like Death,” she says, “You rush into the star at near relativistic speeds. The best quantum shields in the universe can barely protect you. There is heat and other energies I can’t begin to describe. Then the universe begins to crush you and then, if you are lucky, you spin just right. There is no computer that can do it. You have to take the controls, manually and just feel where you need to be. A moment later, not even a moment, you are shooting out of another star, rocketing towards a planet that has no idea if you are friend or foe.”

She doesn’t say it, but Ambassadors tend to only manage three trips between the stars before they disappear forever. Most die on their first attempt. Tasa, in one short year, has travelled more than 20 times.

I know every word of her description. And I know I have 417 days until I experience it myself.

I am frightened. Terrified.

And yet I cannot wait. And I cannot but hope that she survives long enough to see me Dive and join her in that oh so rare experience.

I find myself resting my hand on Tasa’s. She doesn’t pull away. But even the warmth of her fingertips is not enough to pull my attention from the Unseen.

Math, though, math is enough. Eventually, we rise from the Unseen and head to the library.

As much as I might feel the spin of the Unseen, I must implicitly understand the calculations of Haythama. Tasa is my tutor, and a mathematician almost without parallel among our people. It is her job, if she lives long enough, to ensure I travel and I return. Only then can I be the King of our people.

Of course, our people will survive even if I don’t. I have an older brother. He isn’t drawn to the Unseen. He has rejected the Test. He is 22 and he has never travelled into the void. He’ll never be King, but he could be Regent as my replacement is raised up from childhood. He has all the gifts of administration. He has studied management and civil engineering and philosophy and politics and history and more. He knows far more of all of this than I do. I know the Kingdom would be in most capable hands with him.

But I know, despite all the skills and knowledge that I lack, that I am meant to be King.

Because I am the one who will dive into the Sun.

Our Math studies go by uneventfully. Then there is dinner and as the sun sets on our capital, there is sleep. My room is one of the closest to the Unseen. Even in sleep I have to feel its pull. Tasa, a mere ambassador (and tutor), has quarters outside the palace grounds. I go to sleep as I always do. Counting down. When I awake, it will be 416 days until my Trial.

Except it isn’t. I am awoken in the middle of night when I feel a hand on my shoulder and a whispered voice.

“Hsh…” I open my eyes.

Tasa is there? She’s holding her finger to her lips.

“What?” I try to mime with my mouth. She whispers it then, “A coup. Your brother is staging a coup.”

I can’t believe the words coming from her mouth. My brother?

“He’s got the army on his side. And the Civil Service. They like him and he’s decided to seize power for himself. I think the people will follow.”

I’m numb, uncertain what to do. And then she adds the final warning. “He’s killed your father and his men are coming, now, to kill you.”

I don’t know what to do. “Run,” she says. “Your ship is in the hanger. Get there as fast you can and run.”

“Where?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter. Just anywhere but here.”

It is not my Trial, but the time for my Dive has come.

I race through darkened hallways. Tasa moves ahead of me, checking every corridor for assassins. And then I emerge in the hanger. My ship is guarded by two men. I have learned to fight. I use my sidearm to disable them. As they are only following their military commander, my weapon is set to stun. I do not leave them dead. And then I climb the small ladder that leads up the side of my ship and I throw open the thin canopy and throw myself in. The ship itself is a tiny needle, seemingly unable to withstand the rigors of space, much less a star. With a pulse from the quantum gravitational drives, I am airborne and away. I dash upwards, accelerating as quickly as my body can survive. I loop around our planet, then another, then our sun – faster and faster and faster. The calculations of the gravitational wells rush through my head, guiding me on this unforeseen journey.

And then I plunge towards our Sun. I draw closer and closer to the heat of the corona. A message pops up on my shielded computer, but I ignore it. I am set on my path now, there is no avoiding my destination. I watch the gauges. I have full power to the quantum shields. Temperature and electromagnetic radiation levels are still normal.

Where should I go?

I decide on a planet, one Tasa has told me about. She’ll know I’ll go there, and she’ll follow if she can. And they should offer me refuge; our own people are no threat to them. I’ve studied the spin of my destination in our library. I internalize it, gathering it into every aspect of my being. And then I plunge into the corona and then through the surface of the star. The temperature shoots up. The star seems to want to crush me to mere particles. My vision goes white. I grip the controls, desperately trying to bring the ship into alignment with the forces I feel within myself. And then I realize, I am there. It all feels right. A moment later, I emerge from another star.

As my vision begins to clear, I wonder about the people I’ll meet. And then I see the notification on my computer. It is probably something routine, but during the long process of deceleration, I have time to make that sure that is so.

It is not routine. It is Tasa. She’s in a darkened room. Her face is bruised and bloodied. She looks like she’s trying to be defiant but cannot quite manage it. I realize in shock that they’ve broken her. That Tasa, fearless Tasa who has travelled through the Unseen 20 times, is near breaking.

“They want me to tell them where you went,” she whispers, “I promised I’d ask you to come back.”

Of course, my brother cannot allow a true King to survive.

“But I just wanted to talk to you, one last time.”

It takes a moment, but I understand what she’s saying. She isn’t going to survive. They won’t let her. And she wants me to run, and keep running, forever. I see a hand reach out and slap her. Her head is thrown to the side. I recognize the hand. The hand of my own brother. The hand of the usurper. The killer of my father. The coward.

And then the transmission cuts out.

I reengage my drive. I push my ship forward. I need to keep moving. But I know in my bones that I cannot abandon Tasa. I cannot abandon my Kingdom. I cannot abandon my people.

I repeat what I had done before. I know the position of these planets almost as well as my own. And then, once again, I am plunging towards a star. But where will I go? If I emerge from my own star, they will be waiting. No great courage is needed to mount a battleship and shoot a single Sun Diver out of the sky. They’ll kill me.

I draw closer to the star. Towards the corona. My speed is incredible, my course is unchangeable. All I can do is spin, spin at the very last moment and choose my destination.

I enter the corona. The temperature of my ship was already high from the previous voyage. The pressures are even more incredible. I feel my skin scalding. But I know I am drawing close to the core. And then, near the very last instant, I realize what I must do. I touch my sidearm, ensuring that it is there. Then I throw open the canopy of my ship, twist myself into space, curl myself into the smallest form I can manage and align myself with that Unseen mass I know better than any other. I can only hope I am small enough to travel through it.

And in the millisecond before I am consumed, I arrive. I literally fly into the throne room. The mass pulls me back, slows me down, brings me to a rough halt. There is no quantum drive to resist it. My weapon is drawn. I flick it to lethal force. I’m ready to kill. But standing in front of me is Tasa. She’s smiling, unharmed.

It is clear that she’s been waiting for me.

“What?” I ask, suddenly overwhelmed with confusion.

It is my father, also unharmed, who steps forward.

“Yacob,” he says, “The Trial is not a test of whether you have the courage to Dive into the Sun. It is not some vestigial rite of a people gone soft. No, the Trial is a test of whether you will risk everything… everything! to protect your people. That is the test of Kingship.”

My brother is the next to step forward. He is 22 and I am fourteen. But he steps forward, bends his knee, lowers his head and announces, “Yacob, my brother, it will an honor to serve you.”