UNTITLED: Book One

DAY 101

An art is to an artist

Away from the lies

A way to the truth

“Fifty years ago, on this day, we defeated the Dark State. It’s here, in this very spot, where we defeated… The Hero.”

Deafening boos erupt from the massive crowd—a million strong, with visible rage in their eyes, spanning across a vast green island in the middle of the ocean. Sound pods zoom around the perimeter of the masses as they continue screaming and spitting curses at the mention of the Dark State’s hero—edging closer to being a mob.

But, just as they’re ready to boil over, the speaker raises their hand and the masses immediately go silent as if under a spell—hypnotized. It’s eery. So silent now that you could almost hear a pen drop nearly halfway to the back. Some shuffling, a quick cough, then a baby crying—then calmed.

The black-clad speaker stands behind a podium, floating in front of a statue. The statue is the same height as eight people stacked on one another’s shoulders. The War Cry emblazoned on its base, depicting the famous ending scene of the Dark War.

A crying man kneeling over the slain body of the Dark State’s hero. One hand to cover his face as he cries, one dagger in the Hero’s chest, and the second dagger in his other hand. A memorial wall with the names of the fallen next to it.

The stage is set on an unnaturally flat island in the middle of the ocean. It’s a massive, green field as large as a medium-sized city. It’s the only other place with solid ground that’s within a visible distance of their land’s beacon of hope, the infamous floating city, high above the clouds, above the infinite ocean. Currently, the main headquarters of Solaris.

The speaker chose the spot in front of the commemorative statue because it was the island of their last stand in their fight for freedom. It was also the only place they could gather so many people near the headquarters since access to the floating city was prohibited to the people. An unfortunate, but necessary precaution.

The floating city was not actually the speaker’s city despite what the people thought. While they alone had complete control over it—and it was exclusive to only Solaris and the beneficiaries that qualified, the floating city was here long before them. All of them. Even the Dark State.

Still, with all the speaker has done to protect it: all the blood, the lives lost, the tough choices, and all the pain and sorrow—while they can’t claim it as theirs to own, they can say without a doubt that it is their home. It mustn’t ever fall and because its secrets are far too dangerous, it should never be in the wrong hands. Not in the Dark State’s, the colonies’, the people’s—hell, not even Solaris’s. It will be protected until its new protector rises.

The Protector. The savior of their land. The title given to the speaker during their rise in the Dark Era. Immortalized when they defeated The Hero—the Dark State’s champion and war leader.

The Dark State gave that title to their soldier who was powerful enough to fend off entire armies and conquer entire lands by themselves. The Hero’s physical capabilities defy logic and their willpower knew no bounds. The Hero he defeated.

The Protector watches now, eyes panning the crowd, letting the now-silent intensity of the masses rebuild. There is no wind today. The ocean is calm. The world is waiting, so he continues his speech:

{

“We’ve all seen this famous statue. I’m on my knees crying. I’m in pain, bleeding over The Hero’s body with the final scene of war behind me. Crying, in gratitude and relief… Or so you’d think… See, when their Hero fell, on this very spot, for fifty years you thought it was relief. But I wasn’t thinking about what it meant then. I wasn’t cheering—no, no. Even as the enemy retreated, my guard was up for whatever fight came next because I had spent sooo, so long…fighting. Just fighting. And running. And fighting. Then running and fighting. Again and again. So much so, that even when the war was over I was looking over my shoulder for the next one.”

}

“I wasn’t convinced. I WASN’T. Convinced! My guard, always up. Even amongst…allies.”

Despite their attempts to maintain the silence the crowd’s restlessness can be felt and shuffling heard at the mention of the last word. Their emotions fast approaching with every word spoken by their Protector, like a dam ready to explode.

{

“Allies, that came together for a cause. Allies from the colonies far and wide. Allies… that were always at odds, came together to defeat a common enemy.”

}

“We had formed, an alliance… The… Alliance.”

The dam breaks. Boos erupt again. At first, not as sure as when the Hero was mentioned, but soon the crowd-effect takes over and the boos grow louder across the masses in a powerful wave. The Protector lets it go longer this time before raising their hand again. And as soon as he does, another wave silence hushes over the crowd, silencing them yet again.

The Alliance was always a pain point for their land. Their land, which was the youngest, and richest in resources. Their land which was the most powerful outside of the Dark State. Their land which was furthest from the Dark State, with the colonies filling in the gaps in between them and their sworn enemy. Their land, which all the colonies fled to as their last line of defense from a war that they started. It was their home.

It was the only land most of its people had no blood-relations that could be immediately traced back to the Dark State—a point of pride. Especially while all the old colonies were essentially disgruntled former citizens of the Dark State that parted ways, still practicing all of the same customs. Some of them even having family that still lives there too.

The people of their land, the land under The Protector and Solaris, it was meant to be punishment. Being the hypocrites that the colonies were, when they had disgruntled citizens of their own, they decided to ship them off to this supposed wasteland.

They avoided war with their own banished citizens by selling them on the idea that they would be furthest from the reach of the Dark State. The colonies thought they were sparing their own resources, avoiding overpopulation, war, famine, etc. Basically all the problems that caused them to leave the Dark State; they did not realize all of the secrets and abundance that were hidden here.

Naturally, the colonies turned out to be poor sports about it but the war with the Dark State happened before the infighting could boil over into a war of their own. That happened, and a lot of other foul play. Everyone here, they had their grievances and they were pissed.

The Protector pans his head across the crowd. Their masses reflecting in his glasses. The people, now more focused than ever, gaze intensely at the Protector. Their burning eyes showing exactly how they feel about The Alliance. The Protector capitalizes.

“Yes. Our… ‘Allies’. Our allies… Al lies. All- The Alliance, that is. No matter how much I say it, it just doesn’t sound right, does it? After all, we defeated the Dark State together, didn’t we? In a war we didn’t want, for a fight we didn’t start, a part of an alliance we didn’t need. We were young and naïve. Still, with our ‘Allies’, we fought the Dark State, together. Yet, I’m still NOT convinced. Not at all.”

He begins to use more dramatic hand gestures as he speaks, working the crowd’s emotions with his performance like a baker kneading dough:

{

“Not when, we have one ally that abandoned us mid-fight, still a part of the council—controlling our rights. Not when, another ally raises import taxes on the crops we need to survive. Because the soil—OUR soil—was destroyed while we sacrificed our lives! To save. their. forces! On OUR land! NOT WHEN! We have another, ‘ally’, monopolizing the channels we use for travel! They call it a security measure! But, we’re the only ones they limit passing? Suffer famine? I’M NOT CONVINCED! I’M NOT! And we’re not even talking about the Dark State! But this all seems familiar. Doesn’t it?”

He lets that thought sink in for a bit before he continues, “Our people always stand together. We are young, military strong, and resource-rich. Whereas the allied colonies, similar to the Dark State, are from the old. We knew this. They clash, but they think just alike. Their fright and face shows us who they truly are.”

They wish to hold us and control us, but the battle was fought here. Now their air smells like fear. Of the Dark State, of war, of us who won. I’ll fight, for our freedom, the only war we want…”

}

The Protector trails off into a pause. He lifts his head up toward the sky. A breath. A release.

“Freedom. That’s our fight… Look, I know you all feel exactly as I do so I’ll just get to the point. The Alliance is failing because our allies want to be greedy, selfish, and arrogant. I know it is not missed on you that we are the only ones of The Alliance that is not a former member of the Dark State—the irony of all this. They ignore who we are, but remember what we’re capable of, only to treat us like the Dark State. And, at the same time that the foundation of our alliance begins to crack, the safety of our home is also threatened. Less so, by these crippled colonies that insult us, desperate for any taste of power. But more so, our peace is threatened by the one person that has the power to threaten it.”

Rather than boos it’s a confused fear that fills the air as they are collectively taken aback by what they think he’s trying to say. Frozen in fear, their empowerment hanging by a thread.

There is, NO way. No way at all. Their collective doubt and growing fear can be felt across the island. The idea that once again, they may possibly have to face-

“-The Dark State’s… Hero”, the Protector announces.

The people’s anxiousness slowly graduates into a growing panic as questions race through their minds. HOW? The Hero was defeated? Another has risen? In such a short amount of time?

The Protector allows just enough time for the realization to set in before delivering the final blow.

“Yes, the Dark State, is back. They have a new hero. You might be wondering, how? They were defeated? And we know that with the conditions it takes to become The Hero of the Dark State, a full century should have passed before another could rise up. Shouldn’t we have had enough time to prepare? Simply put, no. No, because the Dark State has been trying to create more than one hero for centuries now and they finally made a breakthrough. They were able to significantly decrease the time it takes for another to rise. And now it’s only a matter of time before they succeed in making more than one. So that’s why I have beat them to it.”

The crowd’s panic dies down. Yet again, they find themselves in confusion. The Protector takes another pause and uses this time to watch the crowd’s confusion with satisfaction. He straightens his posture.

A grin spreads across their face like a crack spreads across glass window. His tone cold, more intentional now. “Unlike our precious Old Guard, I started our New Wave Program for the sake of our children, making them beneficiaries of purpose in a world that wished them abandoned. All the orphans that resulted from the war, made to become beneficiaries of purpose and given the power to pursue it.

Like its name, we aim to usher in a new wave of humanity. One where everyone is strong enough to defend from darkness. Where everyone is a hero. But you may have heard rumors. Whispers. That the true purpose of the centers, where these youth are developed—what many of you call… Factories.”

He lets this resonate, with a tone of bitterness, before continuing, “That their true purpose is to build, for me, a personal army.”

His eyes narrow on the crowd. His intensity burning through them with the heat like that of a large fire.

“That I’ve trapped them and forced them to become warriors. To fight. And because of this, I hear that I have…graduated. From the honor of being your, ‘Protector’, to…a new title, The Warden.”

More resentment not-so-subtly peeks its way out through his last words as he stares down the crowd. No one dares to make a noise now. A different type of silence—deeper, like when you cross paths with a deadly animal during a hike.

In the fifty years since the great war, their land has enjoyed a great peace that has led to forgetfulness and complacency—a form of death, the Warden felt. But he never forgot. He didn’t cheer the end of the war because he knew they would never be free as long as they couldn’t defend themselves against external threats like the Dark State’s Heroes.

They had to be removed, root and stem. So, he put together an army of youth. Their own heroes. Collecting and raising orphans, since the end of the war, trained to each be individually strong enough to put up a fight, if even for a few seconds, with a Dark State Hero. Their best even having the potential to be as strong as a Hero, if not stronger one day. Potential. That’s what he gave them all. Helped them access, rather. See, the Hero was the closest thing to perfection in the eyes of humanity. That’s why they died. They were limited to that. His heroes, however, have infinite potential, and that’s what makes them perfect. After all, perfection isn’t being flawless, but the infinite ability to overcome them.

The Old Guard that fought along side him, were old. They were rushed attempts using Dark State technology and so, although they always hold a special place in his heart, he knew they weren’t enough. When it came to the Old Guard and the New Wave, dozens of old ones couldn’t even beat one kid. It was a sad thing for him. To see the Old Guard not only be forgotten, but become so obsolete. They were his brothers and sisters during their darkest times. But they had to move on towards the future if they wanted to win.

It was a struggle at first. Despite there being so many orphans at the end of the war, they were just kids after all. Hundreds of thousands of them. Now, his Children of the Sun are few in number because of the many challenges they faced along the way—something the Protector swore to correct in their honor. But, those that remain from that time now make up a more focused elite force to defend them. All four hundred of them.

—

Raising these orphans for more than just charitable purposes was old news. Everyone had long suspected Solaris of this anyway. Some—few—protested and eventually were silenced. Not by any authority or individuals, but by peace. Their land was simply too bountiful in resources. More than enough to go around, for most people at least.

A few cities were not given Solaris’s resources. Zero shares in the abundance in exchange for autonomy. But, despite their vague protests and demonstrations against Solaris—even informally stripping their land’s greatest hero of his title as a way of punishment, everyone ultimately turned a blind eye. Everyone ultimately trusted in their savior, or left the responsibility to him, even at the cost of their morality.

This is war. Perhaps, they haven’t forgotten? Or perhaps, they fear losing their comfort more than anything now. With death no longer on their heels everyday, showered in relative comfort, uncertainty took its place. Either way, it worked.

Now, bonded together in their collective guilt and fear, they wait in anticipation for their next emotional high—vindication. They await the Warden to say the word that will set them free. With all the emotional swings they’ve had in this brief span, they await their next fix. So, say the word Warden. Say it.

“Heroes. The Dark State has their ‘Hero’, but now we have ‘Heroes’. Let me be your Protector again. But it’s no longer just me. It’s all of us. Our Children of the Sun. The Protectorate.”

The Warden turns around, and with a gesture of his hand towards the city in the sky, he directs the people’s attention to the five incoming youth speeding towards them across the ocean in v-formation. The best of the Protectorate, on their own individual platforms—like floating trophies. Gliding directly over the masses, heads shooting up as each platform passes. They make a show of it and travel from the back up to the front of the crowd where the Warden stands behind his podium.

When they reach the front, their platforms turn them around to face everyone. Organized by rank from #5 to #1—in proud display, with the No.1 at the center. They are The Five. The strongest of all the Protectorate. Their heroes.

The crowd focuses on One standing at attention with her hands behind her back. Despite her youth, it’s her towering height, strong yet lean physique, regal yet functional uniform, and piercing eyes that tell the masses everything they need to know. The Protectorate is the real deal.

Tears flow from the eyes of those in the crowd old enough to remember the war, watching her floating up there in proud display. Remembering the Hero and all their deadly glory. Now they had one of their own. Seeing the striking resemblance in physique, aura, posture. All of it.

Before today, no one had ever seen a beneficiary of the development center before they turned 18 years old. Especially this “New Wave” whose development, for the last twenty years, they had heard so many rumors about. But seeing her floating there now, anyone could see that she is strong, very strong. The other four had buzzed haircuts while her straight, jet-black hair draped down to her knees like a silk cape. It was clear she was their leader. The best of them.

No.1 holds her stare. It’s deeper than their silence. She watches them for a moment. Their victory. Their peace. Their resources and security. Their beacon in the sky. They had it all and still lacked certainty.

That’s because they could only have it one way. Give the people what they want. Say the one thing.

So she does. She addresses them in a powerful, yet steady voice. Her confidence her own:

{

“The flame of the Dark State reignites from the embers of our burning Alliance. Lit by our new dawn, it attracts the insects and then the darkness—alike in desperation for our light we’ve projected. So our light, we’ll protect it. We have enemies on all sides—this fight, it was destined. It’s just us again… as it should’ve been. Back to claim it all this time, we won’t just defend. After all, we could never coexist, us and them.”

}

That’s war.

That’s vindication.

The crowd erupts.

The thunderous drum strikes once…