Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, and months turn into years. Every day is filled with a moment of dread – the idea that something could happen kept everyone on edge as each plane became acutely aware of the dangers that could be around the corner, yet nothing happened. No, it is not that nothing is happening, it is that everything is beginning to turn humanities way. The Gales of Gan’la have faded, the fumes of Fael have retreated, the Tunnel of Tretriah has opened up to reveal one long, easy-to-use path, and Cliffs of Chzmlz has a safe and natural staircase of stones that appeared out of nowhere. No longer is traveling an impossibility for most residents. No longer do we need guides and teams to move across and the planes, they are still the same. Every day felt like a blessing – no monster, no dangers, it is easy to travel and transport ourselves. Every threat, gone. What’s more, large mines of Dreg were found. Currency flooded into banks; we were at peace. Dreg farm tools were made, along with Dreg carts and eventually, houses. Not just wealthy ones anymore, anyone could have a Dreg house for barely anything. We have no more issues. No more threats. We are set up to have the peace we so desperately desired – that we so desperately fought for. Years pass and eventually, we no longer wake up in shock, knowing that danger could be just around the corner. We started accepting these changes as a blessing. Such is what I was told. Such is society now. This is not our world. Our world is dangerous, deadly, and cannot be tamed. If everything is receding, there has to be a reason. Something is coming, yet no matter how much effort I put into reminding people of this fact, nothing happens.
Years pass and eventually, I am let go from the guards. The guards have not disbanded, but my unique role is no longer necessary. I reminder of a cruel past is all I was, and thus my discrimination was assured. Guards would stay away from me. I would sit down at a table and everyone nearby would leave. Guards that I once considered friends wouldn’t even look in my direction. They looked at me with fear, with anguish, with every emotion that they used to experience the moment their eyes opened. Humanities scapegoat, huh? I suppose everyone needs someone to blame. There are no words, just a letter that tells me that I’ll be picked up soon. Upon leaving, I am given a large pouch of Dreg coins. An extraordinary amount but from what I have heard, Dreg is no longer worth what it once was. Dreg inflation, they’re calling it. I got my dreg collar removed and I left the barracks. A Dreg cart being pulled by horses picks me up, and I am taken to a city in the plane of potential and given a Dreg house for free. This might be a utopia for some, but this house… everything – this is wrong. It makes me feel uneasy to the core. I can’t stay in the house for long – I quickly leave and walk around the neighborhood.
It is nice, there are children playing in the streets, stores, and bustling squares all within a 20-minute walk from my home. Earrings, rings, bracelets, watches, and even buttons made from Dreg cover almost every person. Wearing Dreg has become common fashion, huh? Something that was so coveted that a single spec of it used to be enough for a week’s worth of food is now being accidentally left on the ground. This is just another day for them. Another day for this neighborhood. Humanity has grown fat and lazy as peace takes over. Yet people continue to work, to collect more dreg. I go to a stall that is cooking skewers. A simple meal, yet it costs 50 Dreg. Such a meal used to be 2. The food is nice. Tasty, yet lacks… soul. Everything is so peaceful, yet my heart cannot stop racing. I have dreg, but at this price, I will need to find more work. A society that has everything it would ever need, yet I need to find work before my funds disappear.
What can I do? My whole life has revolved around working as a guard. I can fight, but what use is that? I can be a guard, but who would someone need guarding from? Nature is peaceful. Nature is no longer fighting humanity at every given turn, should the world not be at peace? Should we not be able to support each other now? My skill set seems quite useless, perhaps I can learn how to bake? My mum used to be an amazing baker. We kept telling her to open a bakery, but she would just smile, shake her head and say that it was her love of us and the family that made her bread so delicious. I wonder how you would have liked this world.
I keep walking and come across a large building with signs and prices of different food items. I go inside and it is stocked head to toe in goods. There were markets before but this… this is so much more. So much larger. I can get anything and everything here. It is… incredible. I walk around and grab ingredients, clothing, everything you would need to fill out a kitchen, wood, a blanket, a pillow, a pencil, and a notebook. Everything you need to happily live – everything I once fought for. The people serving me smile happily as they give me the price. I pay it – it is thousands of dreg for everything, but it is enough to live and thrive. The walk home is quick and I put everything away. Flour, water, eggs, salt, pepper, and a few more ingredients, all eventually combine together to make a beautiful loaf of bread. Such is the recipe from my mum. I cook a feast; the chopping of vegetables is the percussion as the sizzling of meat euphorically fills the room with song. The bread comes out perfectly and I finally sit down to enjoy a meal. I got used to being alone from my time as a guard and on the road, yet this is different. No matter how relaxed I am, there is that sense of uneasiness.
Time passes yet again. Every day is the same process – walk, buy, cook, write, sleep, repeat. The uneasiness starts to fade into… emptiness. What am I here for? What am I alive for? There are people playing outside, chatting and enjoying life. It is everything I wanted the world to be and yet, I feel so empty. No, who am I to complain? The world could have been destroyed, yet my actions somehow saved it. Aye, that I can smile and drink to. I walk to bed with a wobble and sway to my step and close my eyes.
BANG
What’s that? I stand up with a slight headache. Damn, I'm getting old. I light a candle and walk into my living room – there are three people standing there. Hooded with their faces covered. They are holding… my Dreg pouch! Shit!
Stolen story; please report.
“Hey! What are you doing?!”
They spin around, shocked.
“Shit, the drunk man is awake?”
“Drunk? I am not drunk – anyway, what are you doing? Trying to rob me?”
The three people look at each other and let out a quiet giggle.
“Yes, yes we are. Now you just go back to sleep and nothing bad will have to happen.”
“Bad? What do you-”
One of them pulls out a pocketknife that shines in the candlelight. A Dreg pocketknife. They… each have one.
“You… do you know what that knife is made from? Why do you have one – how do you have one?”
“Are… you an idiot? Nah, you must still be drunk” he let out a laugh, “Everyone worth their salt has one of these, you damn drunkard. Now, I won’t tell you again. Go back to your room and things won’t get dangerous for you.”
I drop to my knees. Everyone worth their salt? “W… why are you robbing me?”
One of the robbers’ sighs “Ya know, I feel kinda bad now. We need the Dreg, simple as that. Stay there if you want, you sad drunk excuse for a man.”
Why? Why does anyone need to resort to crime? Fuck, I can’t bring myself to fight. Against Dreg blades, I would stand little chance. No matter how good a fighter, one cut and you could lose a leg, arm or worse, your life. I stay sitting, watching my Dreg being taken. They leave, chatting about what they’ll buy with it. Food, jewelry, expensive clothes – this is fun for them. I can’t sleep.
The next day comes around and I pick up the pieces of my broken house. In the sun, I can see they took more than I thought. My food, my pans, everything save for my notebooks. Fuck, they even took the pens. I cry. I leave the house and look around. I get it, no matter what’s happened, no matter the freedom people have, they are still slaves to Dreg. Still slaves to society. I move away from the bustling streets of people working their lives away in an endless grind of work, spending everything they earned on useless items only to sleep, wake up, and work again. I make my way down side roads, and alleyways, away from sight and there it is. People with dreg pocketknives chatting. Gangs. Criminals. I need to know why. Why do they do this in such a peaceful world.
I am quickly stopped by a group of people, each armed with a knife. “Whatchu doing out here, man? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“That is because I haven’t been here before.”
“Haha, funny. Now tell me why you are on our streets, or you’ll be kicked out with a warning you won’t forget.”
I look over this individual. Tall and muscular, covered in cuts and wounds from previous battles. “You used to hunt monsters, huh?”
“Indeed, a fucking terrible industry. Now answer me.”
“I want to know why. Why commit crimes? We have everything we need. Food, supplies, houses – everything. There are no monsters, and you can get to other planes easily. Why?”
Now I have the attention of the entire gang. Dozens of people stare at me in disbelief, anger, and a palpable annoyance.
“What are you, a fucking guard? Why? Fuck it, you came here to ask a stupid question so ill give you the answer and then you better leave before we beat the shit out of you for being such an idiot.” He takes a deep breath, “it is simple, because we don’t have anything else to fucking do, and everything is expensive. I used to make 10 Dreg a kill, and that was enough for a few days. I had quite a saving – a solid thousand Dreg to my name. I was looking at a small house. Then this fucking shit happened and that is useless. Everything is expensive and you know what, we do have everything. We can supply this world a thousand times over for free yet nothing is. Nothing is free. We are fighters, so we fight. We fought other people and have claimed this street. This is our place, our place where the fucking governing bodies can stay the fuck away from. We will never be slaves to them.” The rest of the gang nod along with smirks, “Our skills are useless in this fucking world, but without monsters, everyone is secretly at war with each other. Businesses chain their employees with wages barely large enough for them to survive in order to grow at a stupidly fast rate, so they can take over every other competitor and become the only one. The rich are now untouchable and just get richer and richer. There are people with houses that are filled to the brim with dreg. We train our lives to fight and protect, to kill monsters so others can survive and this is how we are treated. Like rats. Like monsters ourselves – so we now take what is rightfully ours. That is why. Besides, Dreg weapons are common now. You are a fool to not have one. You have your answer, now scram.”
I see. I walk through the alleys and roads. I wind and weave without focus – I went through so much pain and agony to protect a world that does not want to protect itself? Those people smiling, I get it now. I make my way to a store and look inside; the workers’ eyes are exhausted and clinging to life. People walk around in clothing that would cost more than carts or even houses for what? A crude display of wealth. My stomach rumbles, I have no food. No Dreg. No hope. All I can do is go home, drink water, and sleep.
The more freedom we get, the crueler we become. No longer is it overt, it is hidden behind smiles and guises of aid. We could help, but we don’t. Nature’s cruelty might have left the world, but it has not left our hearts. Humanity is corrupt from within.
Every night I can hear him telling this to me like a bedtime story. He should be wrong, yet I cannot see the faults. I keep looking around and I can see it: violence. Useless violence, and the people who could stop it instead make a profit. Any movement to remove Dreg knives is swiftly shot down – only Dreg can beat Dreg, so how can someone stay safe if they aren’t armed? Every debate devolves into an argument where neither side cares about the truth and instead just wants to be right. Each time a hand is extended, the other side chops it off. With each word spoken, more die. More starve – for what? For pride? For legacy? What idiocy. Years roll by and this world is truly corrupt. Each day makes me miss fearing for my life that much more – at least there was normalcy there. Something for humanity to rally behind. Everyone is able to get around the world so easily and should be closer than ever, but instead, there is a deep valley between each person. For the sake of hoarding Dreg, we have become monsters. Aye, ‘we’, for I have become a criminal. I drink, fight, steal, and torment. I have become the exact person I once fought against. I have seen so much death and destruction, so many horrors committed by one person to another. Peace, huh? No, this is war.
Years roll on and one day I am walking home and see a large painted message. I can barely make out the words they were done in such a hurry. I try to walk past it, but something deep in my stomach stirs. I need to read this. I turn and the stirring sensation becomes a pit of despair.
“Langnet’s road has opened.”
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