The Forgotten Land of Myria

It must’ve been in the last few years of the plague, just before the wipeout was to be executed. Soaring through the sky, a pair of satellites sought the underground barriers and from a distance, I could sense the squad of steel birds carrying the missile that would (at least they thought it would) put an end to the destructive pandemic.

That’s the way they saw it. On the other hand, normal non-ignorant humans (an almost extinct species nowadays), saw it as the dissipation of an entire nation, suffering under an irreversible pandemic, resulting in the death of all its citizens against their own will. Once again, an example of the most repulsive behavior of the brainless human (the predominant species). Selfishness. Favoritism. Prejudice. The reluctance to take on their neighbor’s burden. Cowardice. The unwillingness to sacrifice any part of themselves, or take a risk, to extend a hand for those in need. All of these behaviors crammed into one missile that would get rid of their “problem”. It’s easier, right? Sentencing million lives to death without giving them the right of self-defense? From what I know, that goes against everything that society ever fought for. How worthless.

My eyes raced through the crowd of miserable people. The Nieles-47 pandemic caused its victims to slowly dissolve rendering the body into a prison of pain. The virus that caused this was deadlier than I could have ever imagined. I could see people doubled over in agony as it overcame them. Yes, it was forty years ago when the world met such events that would change our history forever.

After walking through a valley where bodies lay dead, I came across a middle-aged somewhat feeble man. It was the Messenger. Kneeling face down on the ground, he gestured towards the heavens. His hands reflected a source of light that began to heat up everything around him. As he lifted his head, fierce winds swooped through his thick dry hair and ripped his garments, revealing the scar on his chest. His face drew the expression of wrath and power, but at the same time, the deep peace of a newborn baby wrapped tightly in his father’s embrace.

His eyes were fiery yellow, almost flame-like. They beamed with the reflection of both rage and calm. His hands, now producing a flaming substance, like a blue fire, grasped the Triscepter. The scepter was clothed in purple and gold, interlaced with emeralds and stones, with three sharp ends that glowed bright blue. He lifted the Triscepter and with overpowering might, struck the ground. Bursts of magma shot up and were disintegrated by the compressed power around the forming crater. The land around him slid apart as the crater continued to sink. A loud rumble shook everything loose. Trees that stood near the phenomenon were knocked down, but to my awe he stood his ground. The crust of land around the crater was torn apart and sank under a body of water that had begun to rise. Soon the furious winds, bursts of magma, and beams of light came to an abrupt halt as a crack ran to the core of the crater where the Messenger was standing. He raced away climbing out just as the crack blew open. A stream of crystal clear water spurted out. Today I can see it as bright and vivid as it was then. The water mixed with the blue substance in the Messenger’s hands until it became a glittering thick oil. It gushed on along with the water, as the stream, overflowing with life, filled the crater and gave birth to the Fountain.

The Messenger filled a cylindrical glass flask with some of the anointed water and attached the glass container to his scepter. The entire rod glowed with the blue blaze that had created the oil. He slowly picked himself up, shook off the dirt and ashes that covered him, and set out boldly toward the peak of Mount Torak. Nearing the summit, it became more visible. The sky was covered in red clouds. The Messenger set foot on the peak of Torak gazing upon the valleys, hills, and small islands that were about to be destroyed. He saw all the people and living creatures that were crying out for something to save them.

Meanwhile, the steel birds were a few hundred feet away. The missile was about to be released. The Messenger raised the Triscepter and struck it against the ground again, this time with the flask shooting out a blue flame from the tips of the scepter. The conflagrations were building a force field around the entire area. All the islands within the radius were being clouded by the blaze shooting out of the Messenger’s scepter. A high-pitched emission came from a distance. The missile had just left the cockpit and was heading towards land. While it darted through the air, the Messenger aimed the Triscepter towards it. A light ray struck the missile, but it wasn’t enough. His muscles tightened as he strained to destroy the death bomb but only a few scraps were torn away. The missile neared the Messenger who, in a desperate act, deflected it, crash landing it into the water. The impact tore through the force field as the missile fizzled. Nevertheless, such energy delivered strong waves and the islands began to drift. I could hear the cries of the citizens, who despite suffering from the disease, didn’t have a single clue as to what was going on.

“Look out!” a desperate villager yelled as a boulder split in half, its top half sliding off and smashing into one of the villages. From the commander of the Cessna AT-8′s point of view, the missile had struck. The squad flew away securing the mission as completed. After the last Cessna was out of sight, the Messenger lifted one of his hands and made a slight gesture seizing the explosion in the water as the missile slowly deactivated. As he looked around, he saw that the impact had actually destroyed most of the area. There were only a few shocked survivors, trying to understand what had just happened. The clouds began to clear away and a grin slid over his face. The turn of events was just around the corner. He then lowered his hands and descended from Mount Torak to aid the survivors and explain the events that had just occurred.

After the bombing, the Commonlanders had presumed that the entire area of the Auckland Islands had in fact been wiped out, putting an end to the disease. With that in mind, they disregarded that the area had ever existed and left it to be forgotten. The rest of the world also agreed to leave the satellite’s underground barriers that blocked out the area affected by the missile. That way, no human from outside would be able to enter it, mostly to keep the nuclear waste and remains of the disease from leaking out. It was fenced off from the rest of the world. Segregated.

They were partly correct. A lot of it really had been destroyed due to the missile’s impact in the water. The damage did kill thousands. But there were survivors. There were still pieces of destroyed land that remained and could be reconstructed.

The force field formed by the Messenger, having been torn, ripped into specks of dust carrying the substance in his flask. The oil, created through the Messenger’s hands, was called Myrrh. It’s anointing carried a new form of life for the few remaining survivors. It didn’t just hold the cure for such a deadly disease. It held a promise. The creation of a new world that would experience things that any normal human would think to be fantasy. A whole society, apart from the rest of the world. A new society. The Forgotten Land of Myria. A land that would never be discovered due to the barriers placed to separate it from the rest of the planet. Not until now.

As for the Messenger, it is said he was never seen again.