“Cease.”
The fleets of the two realms came to a halt at Bellerophon’s word; their gunfire stopped roaring silently into the cosmic void. Before the magnificent white orb of Selena, the soldiers of Earth, Venus, and Mars knelt before their rightful ruler.
With a face devoid of any emotion, the newly-crowned Bellerophon approached his former lover. She, who had loved him since their youths, stared back at him—the King of Man whose own humanity was robbed off him the moment he entered the Lunar Gates.
Shayla ignored the welling tears at the edges of her eyes, clutching the dagger tight within her now-calloused fingers. Her dear Bellerophon was no more—consumed by the wills and memories of his thousand ancestors—yet she couldn’t bring herself to bring an end to the fate he endures. As Shayla drowns in hesitation, however, the man speaks his final words. Not as the King of All Mankind, but as the humble Bellerophon.
“Our ways now part here, my dear Shayla, for every meeting entails farewell. Though, like every melody, and every elegy, the song we played will not whimper into nothingness. Somewhere else, here or light-years away across the universe. Somewhen else; tomorrow, eons from now, or perhaps in another life. I cannot guarantee it, but the universe’s pattern demands us—to someday… meet again.”
-◃⬥▹-
Alea’s surroundings came back to her as she finally drew her attention away from the last pages. Her hands slowly ceased to quiver, and she calmly set the book down on the wooden table. The sounds of chattering crowds that surrounded her hadn’t fully come back to hear, and the glass of iced tea she’d ordered half an hour prior remained untouched. She’d calmed herself down, she thought, yet the face she wore was a mix of a dozen emotions, mostly of confusion and disbelief, but also of sorrowful relief.
She finally read the book that she’d wanted to read for a long time, yet it didn’t satisfy her. Perhaps the critics were right, she thought. Perhaps her father’s words rang true.
Without the need to look or glance aside, the girl sitting next to her already knew the expression she had: the same one the former had when she, too, finished the book.
“How’s it? Disgustingly bad? Abhorrently confusing?” She asked, taking a sip of her third glass of tea.
“It’s not like that, In.” Alea twisted her lips stiffly, her thoughts still trying to process what she’d just read. Every aspect of it she’s considered, printed words she’d read and circumstances she knew alike. No use; she still couldn’t figure out why those final sentences turned out the way they did.
“Couldn’t put it into words?” Ina remarked, directly on the bullseye. “Am still curious about your opinion, though, so no need to review it sensibly. Surely someone so well-acquainted with books such as you will have a take that’d be… interesting, to say the least.”
She took a final glance at the book’s front. Revival over the Lunar Gates were the words printed in large white font, contrasting the dark bluish-gray colors of the cover. The author’s name was printed on the side, nowhere found on the front. His name was once revered with admiration, yet now only said with loathing and contempt.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Khalil Ali. The book Alea just read was his unexpected final outing.
Alea kept staring at those same words, letting her thoughts aimlessly guess. The one who wrote the book had returned her long-lost love of reading, yet the ending she had just read was devoid of a writer’s loving devotion. Still—somehow, the words she’d read were not loveless either.
“The plot’s obviously screwed over, Ina, that’s one thing you’re right about... No matter how much sugar I coat it with, I can’t find a word that can describe how horrid that ending was. Sudden? Anticlimactic? God, I just don’t know anymore.”
“Right? I mean, the way he writes-”
“Prose.” Alea corrected. “It’s called prose.”
Ina paused for a moment, clearing her throat. “Right, prose. His ‘prose’ is still the same as before, so it’s not like he died and a different guy completed the story for him. But it’s also unlike Khalil’s style to just unambiguously end his books like that!”
The two schoolgirls simultaneously sighed, and both started to let their thoughts aimlessly wander.
“Aleaaaa…” Ina again starts to lament, “Crappy books with even crappier endings are typical, but this is Khalil Ali we’re talking about! How can he be so cruel and give us this wedgie of a cliffhanger?! You also want to know what happens to Shayla and Bellerophon, don’t you?!”
Alea took a sip of her glass of tea. Stale, she thought. She’d wanted it more bitter.
“I do want to know, In. But it’s not like we can ask Khalil directly for it.” A solemn smile formed on her face.
Ina squeezed the sides of her head, “Aargh, you’re right!”
“God, if only he’s man enough to not write anonymously, then I can at least break into his home and force him to write a proper ending.” And somehow, it suddenly clicked for Alea. “I want Shayla to chase after Bellerophon and tell him that he doesn’t need to—“
Forced. That was it. The one and only Khalil Ali had no other choice but to do what he did–to write what he’d written.
It all made sense in her head, and all started to drown in the newly-formed tempest of her thoughts. To her, that’s the only conclusion. Alea pictured it vividly in her head—the mighty Khalil Ali, gagged and bound in chains, screaming silently into the shadowy void. An unheard plea that somewhere out there, someone would finally get what he meant and make things right for him.
Then I’ll do it for him, she thought. I’ll make it right.
“…and Shayla will give birth to three beautiful golden-haired children exactly like their father, and they’ll live happily ever–“
“Ina!” Alea hammered the table with her two hands, standing up. Her eyes were sharp and full of fire as she stared her friend down.
“Ye-yeah? Okay, I’ll stop with the–“
“Last week, who did you lend my laptop to?” Alea’s lips turned, forming a genuine smile this time. “Quick, tell me!”
Ina stumbled over her words, confused. “Uh… Huh?? Erm, Patrick? Yeah, Patrick from the Student Council! Y’know, the nerd with the glasses who–”
Alea now knew her target, and she took off without saying a single word. A hasty escape, she parted the crowd in her way as she ran to the student council office. Her eyes were bright, practically shining—a stark contrast to the solemn look she had when she’d finally finished the book.
I’ll do it, she kept telling herself. In her mind, she was the only one who got it out of the hundreds of thousands who’d read it, so she was the only one worthy enough to finish what Khalil Ali had started. And for the first time in Alea’s life, she has found her flame.
She wished for nothing else, but to create. If any, she only wished to prove her father wrong.
If she can’t do it, she thought,
then I’ll make him come out and do it for me.