Everlasting Promises
"Love Transcends Lifetimes"
“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.”
~ ANATOLE FRANCE
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Chapter One
Reunion & Melancholy
Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!
Darkness surrounds him. Shortly, a small glint of light outlines the objects of his room.
Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!
That annoying clock is too loud for such an early morning, he thinks. The television blinks on, and two news anchors carry on with the news as if they were waiting for this cue.
Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!
“Alright alright!” he says to himself leaning over his pillow and slamming his hand on the snooze button. The sound of silence is deafening. The muted TV image brightens the stuffy room, and faint sunlight fights to intrude through the wooden blinds above the foot of his bed. He sits up and looks to his right. Just beside the TV console, a rectangular standing mirror reflects his sleepy image. In the darkened room, it is impossible to clearly grasp a visible image of what he looks like. Following a routine, he yawns, wipes his eyes, goes to the bathroom, and returns with a toothbrush in his mouth. The news has changed to the weather. The forecaster predicts a sunny but dry day, and then moves onto interplanetary weather for close-by planets. Placing a shirt over his bare top, he changes his pajama pants for a pair of jeans and leather brown boots. Later, as he steps outside of his house, he takes a carefree gaze at the sky. An orange sun radiates above, silhouetting crumbled debris of a dark gray moon-like object torn asunder into multiple chunks. In the eastern direction of the sky, a small image of a neighboring planet can be seen reflecting light from the sun. Just another day, the young man thinks.
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The date is August 14th, 2787. On this day five years ago, the universe as all of humanity knew, was on the brink of extinction. Trillions of lives were saved by the courage and valor of a unique group of individuals who risked their lives to save their worlds. Banding together, they fought a comrade who had fallen to dark temptations. Realized as a dangerous threat to the lifespan of mankind, the group ignored protocol and murdered him in a final onslaught. The universe was saved from an impending doom and a villainous threat was thwarted; or so the story goes, in the books. The fact is, the real story was much more complex than that. The absolute truth remains a hidden secret between the saviors of the universe. On this day, every year, a memorial ceremony and time of mourning is observed on every planet by everybody. They call this day, “The Day of the Fallen,” a day lived in infamy, for those who died valiantly fighting for the greater good, the innocent bystanders, and the Traitor, Shin Kugametsu-Fenrir.
In a world where greater evil no longer exists, and peace has settled in, the people of the Sol Universe have moved on to live better, safer lives. Rogues and criminals continue to run rampant; however, there has been no sign or report of any malicious individual or group orchestrating destruction. The world continues revolving, and with it, carrying the survivors of the war’s finale known as, “The Cataclysm.”
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{Cue Theme: Unjust Life}
The fresh crisp morning air floods the young man’s senses. Exiting the small neighborhood he lives in, he arrives at the Capital of Regna. Zephyr: Capital of planet Regna, and the Capital of the Universe. It is a central location for all tourists to visit, and the headquarters to the group responsible for saving the world. Upon entering through the Western Gate, he arrives in the Bazaar of the marketplace. A large widespread open market region dedicated to the many thrills and sales of vendors visiting from outside worlds. The streets are littered with people of difference races and species, but above all, pickpockets and ne’er-do-wells occupy a majority of these streets. Throughout the past five years, the attitudes of the people of Zephyr and no doubt in other worlds as well, have soured. People are stingy, they are frugal, and merchants have raised the prices of their wares substantially. Times are hard, and reconstruction has had slow progress, yet the people get by somehow. It is an era where the people have lost many valuable resources, and must strive to maintain their heads above water. The universe is suffering from a terrible depression, all thanks to, once ruler of Zephyr, Shin Fenrir.
“Hey, you!” a ruffian shouts as he shoves his foot against the young man’s back. His white shirt is soiled dirty by the sandy dirt of the ground. He loses his balance and falls forward, almost bumping an innocent woman nearby to the ground with him. He catches himself with his knees and hands, and turns his head back to see who assaulted him. The next thing he sees are stars, darkness, pain; a numbing pain that starts slow and gradually increases. He staggers forward onto the ground, assaulted by a stranger who has struck him square in the face with a meaty fist. “Taken by surprise,” he thinks, “What are the chances, and today I thought it was going to be a good day.”
He sits up to regain his sight but is forcibly lifted off his feet as the rough looking male picks him up and observes him. Two lackeys remain a bit distant but sneer in his direction. “Common thugs…or perhaps normal people that have been thrust into this role due to harsh times,” he thinks.
“This is one of those guys from the Wanted posters a few years ago! During the Cataclysm! What the Hell do you think you’re doing in a place like this? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to our world?!” his outrage is overtly open and loud. Several people in the bazaar begin to take notice. And then, the unimaginable occurs. In a crowded place, and not an officer or guard are seen to break up this encounter.
A steel pipe is handed to the rough looking man from the trio, and he begins to swing at the young man. He could run, or perhaps retaliate. It isn’t wrong to fight back to protect oneself. He considers his options, but is struck with the pipe at his left ribcage. His breath skips and he loses his air. He doubles over and gags, the pain excruciating. The other two thugs rush over and latch onto the young man’s arms, holding him open for attack. The ruffian smiles pleased that he has the upper hand and discards the pipe for his fists. The young man suffers countless blows, as his body starts to hang limp in the two thug’s arms. He says nothing, he does nothing. No reactions other than painful blurts when struck incredibly hard to a weak spot. His eyes examine the man assaulting him. He sees his rage, his sadness, his soul. The people of the bazaar watch in horror as the beating continues, yet no one offers any help. The pain begins to numb, the feeling of his entire body breaking apart is extinguished by the sudden lack of feeling. As quickly as it has started, the assault ends, and the thugs slowly walk away. The leader remains and plants a foot to the young man’s beaten back, towering over him as he lays weak and slightly motionless on the ground. He spits on the revealed side of his face, and then takes his leave. His self proclaimed justice wanes by the excess of physical torture he administers. He leaves satisfied at his own morbid self indulgence of beating someone up.
“Is this what I will have to endure for the rest of my life?” the young man asks himself. He slowly gets up and drags himself to a nearby wall, where his labored breathing breaks in and out. His body is bruised and beaten, his clothes are damaged, and his face is broken in several spots. Blood streams down from his chest and his forehead, and his arms tremble as he fixes his hair, his nose, and his clothes. The people continue on their business, while the rest remain watching. Some smile and agree with the thugs, and others turn a blind eye. His right eye stings with searing pain….his scarred eye. His right hand unconsciously lifts and rubs the scars with his soiled fingers.
“This is just another day. In the world you left for us,” the young man says to nobody in particular. He latches onto his side with his arms, and shuffles off the wall towards the royal estates in the highest level of the Capital. Avoiding the eye contact of every person he passes, he drags on, without emotion, without care, without a purpose. He is a defeated man, who was once full of life and energy. He is now a victim to the times. For he is a victim to circumstance; a lofty reward for being a follower of the Traitor, five years ago.
Shin's Writing Desk
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