Waking up is always a challenge, ever since the new Cycle of Sleep took the domain, sloth had become the Vice of all within the world of Siklek. Quirinus woke cursing the Cycles, getting a little pinch in retaliation from the Cycle of Curses. Mumbling about the unfairness of the world he lives in, Quirinus made his way to the small room that his family considered the living and dining space. “Morning Quinn, I hope that Sleep didn’t bother you for too long! Though, judging by your hair he must’ve had quite a grip on you” his mother cheerfully greeted, already prepared with a buffet of a breakfast.
“Yeah yeah, good morning and all that. I’ll fix my hair later. Any idea what’s on the agenda?” As he spoke, the words seemed to hang in the air for a moment before fading into the air. “I see the Cycle of Speech is playing games again” a gruff voice spoke from behind the counter. “All these Cycles, always changing, always something to be toyed with. If I manage to get my hands on them, just one, things’d be different. They’d be good.” Quirinus breathed as he looked out into the fog outside the window. “What’s the point of running a world when all you’re gonna do is let it go to shit.”
“Quinn, we spoke about this. Our life may not be the grandest or most pleasant, but we survive. We live and we make do with what we have. Your father works, I work, and you work.”
“I know mom, but sometimes I just wish I could see inside their heads, know what makes them let us live like animals, fighting for scraps.”
Taking his cue, Quirinus’ father chimed in “Speaking of scraps, you’d better get moving Quinn.”
With a nod, he grabbed his pack and started to make his way out. Although not considered big, Quirinus was strong, the time spent running and climbing in the space outside their house and the years of work since he was twelve had worked his muscles. Walking out the door, he grabbed his goggles and mask, better to be safe with the rising pollution in their sphere. Every few years, a new sphere is built, and every year the rot, decay and pollution rises. Some believe it a curse upon the Cycles for taking the power of the earth, others say it’s a rogue Cycle, trying to reach from the bottom spheres up to the top, the home of the Cycles. Every time the sphere rises, a new name for the Cycles’ home is given. Utopia, the Tower, Arcadia, Spiral, so many names, another nudge at the promise of prosperity, guiding the hopefuls towards betterment. This new addition, Quirinus had seen, would be called Skyline, named so for its touch on the planet’s curve.
Stepping outside, mask over his face, goggles protecting the eyes, Quirinus grabbed the makeshift staff from outside the door, fashioned from a fallen limb of the ever rotting trees. Looking around through slightly stained glass, Quirinus found the path he would need to take. As a scavenger, he would pick through the hodgepodge sphere. The environment isn’t kind, with the toxic air and the artificial light, courtesy of the Cycle of Light.
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“At least one Cycle could do their job right, if only the Cycle of Brightness would pay more attention to the lower spheres.” Quirinus thought to himself, taking in the low light of the space around him, allowing his eyes to adjust from the bright candlelight in the house to the dusk light of the outer world. In the dim light he could make out the lining of the forest that surrounded his house. Not a true forest, for the environment had been twisted by the ever changing whims of the Cycles. Once one of the ever praised spheres of the Cycles, the outline of grand parks and the shine of polished marble paving could be seen through the ever growing corruption. Trees with bark akin to stone, with deep purple veins littered the landscape. The only sign that they were in fact still living was from the leaves that would still grow on them. There had been a rumor that had been passed around Quirinus’ sphere, aptly named Another Man’s Treasure, that the higher the sphere you climbed to, the greener and more lively the environment would be. But of course, to climb to a higher sphere, you have to have the wealth, the power, or be challenging a Cycle to be allowed to ascend. The higher you went, the more affluent and important you were to the Cycles. Anyone worth anything had long left Another Man’s Treasure, only the scavengers, recyclers and explorers were left. Not too low down, the sphere being somewhere in the middle of the newest sphere and the rot, talk of what the lower spheres looked like from people that ascended had Quirinus thanking the Cycles that there was still some life left in his sphere. Creatures that vaguely looked like animals or people, but were simply walking husks, plants that were reminiscent of stone and the ground where dirt and stone had been was little more than semi solid mush.
He heard a crack, sharp and sudden. Wary, Quirinus looked around, his surroundings a mixture of greys, sickly purples and dying greens. His eyes spotted it, lurching, it’s presence being little more than the particles in the air. Quirinus knew though, that although it felt little more than a shadow, the creature could pursue him with the speed of rapid rivers and the viscousness that would rend his flesh. This one appeared to be animal like, perhaps once a wolf or large dog, and with practiced movements he hid himself. Living in a dying world was bad, exploring it was another task entirely. Quirinus was one such explorer, having taken the job of scavenger in his 17th year. He had been taught the world, taught of the various methods to help hide himself when scavenging for pieces of value that he could later sell. He used this training now, hiding himself among the dying trees and barren ground.
He watched as the creature shambled, slow now but would be quick as lightning should it sense him. He calmed his breath, each slower than the last. It slowly made its way toward the sphere’s center, the place they all seemed to be heading to and Quirinus started moving towards the unexplored path that had been created that day.