I often wonder what the Suryi would have thought of our wars. Would they have approved or condemned them? Would they have forgiven our sins—for is it not a sin to kill one of our own?

I do not pretend to believe that our gods were kind. They were not. But it is comforting to think of them as somewhat caring, even if I suspect this not to be the case. Why would superior beings waste any time with us, after all?

And yet, I still strive to be my best, to be worthy of their blessings, to please them... because, then, maybe, when they return from their long sleep, they will explain what I so wish to understand.

I remember the days before they walked this earth. Those were troubled times. When all we had were questions, with so little hope. They were well beyond our reach, but still they gave us purpose—or, at least, gave some of us purpose. Just to know that they were there, that they existed, was enough to stoke that flame of hope.

Others, who often mocked our beliefs, found hope elsewhere.

Some searched for decades—I pity those with no faith—until they turned their gazes to the stars.

Our people cannot leave this world. It is a proven fact. We do not know why. Perhaps it is something in our genes, but it is part of our curse. Undeniably. Some may see an irony—or an inconsistency—in this, as it is well known that our ancestors came from elsewhere.

Because of that, we have had to use human agents to attain our goals.

They are not as effective, or reliable, but they serve their purpose.

There is power in the stars. A power we cannot ignore. It is a matter of common sense. If we do not harness it ourselves, it will—sooner or later—become the tool of our destruction... most likely in the hands of those same humans.

That thought is not one pleasing to our people.

We like to remain in control.

And that is difficult to do when you are locked in a cage.

Those are not MY beliefs, but many of our people think in such terms.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

It is an odd thing to find oneself at the crossroads of conflicting views and have to embrace them all—some by conviction, others by necessity.

I felt trapped, and I hated every minute. I swore to myself, often enough, that, someday, I would find a way out.

By Xian! Was I expected to remain a pawn for however many more centuries I had left to atone for my sins?

That would not do.

***

As he climbed aboard the ship, Michael wondered who it belonged to and why they wanted to steal the journal.

There were those, of course, who wanted to stop him from finding the city of the gods—as evidenced by the ambush he’d fallen into recently... but those were usually fanatics who lived in the poorest parts of the city. He doubted any of them could have afforded a boat like this.

He hid behind some barrels and watched as the bag containing the leaflets was taken into a cabin at the front of the deck.

“Hey! You!”

He froze as the voice behind him called out. There were footsteps and a hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him to his feet. He was spun around and found himself facing a burly, sour-looking man with a mustache and beard.

“What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be snooping around! Who are you?”

At a loss for words, he took a step back but hit against a barrel. He gulped.

“Cat caught your tongue? Fine. Come with me. Captain’ll sort you out, that he will!”

He grabbed Michael’s arm and pulled on it roughly, dragging him toward that same cabin where the leaflets had been taken.

The man knocked on the door, then opened it after a voice inside yelled: “Come in!”

“Found us a stowaway, Captain.”

The Captain was a large man with long black hair and a nasty scar under his bottom lip. He jumped out of his chair—which was a feat for one of his corpulence—and barked:

“You fool! That’s Vyndrowski! How did he—” his eyes darted to meet Michael’s gaze, “—how did you get on board?”

At first intimidated by the two men, Michael now felt more annoyed than fearful.

“You have something that belongs to me,” he snapped. “I just came to take it back.”

The Captain stared at him, then snorted. “You are mistaken. Those papers do not belong to you. Not anymore, anyway.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” growled the large man, “but we were commissioned to retrieve them. They must now be delivered to our client. The real question is what shall we do with you?”

Michael’s mind did not register the last words as he was still processing all the other information that had just been dumped on him.

Until now, he had believed only fanatics could have wanted to sabotage his quest. But this was an entirely different kind of madness. He also noted that never had there been any request from these people that he stop looking for the city. Could they be trying to find its location as well? Did he have competition? Could these be treasure hunters?

The Captain paced back and forth. The bearded sailor held Michael firmly while he waited for commands.

“By Thuyn! This was not part of the plan. We’ll let the client handle it. Lock the man up, Grubbs. We’ll deliver him with the journal and be done with it.”

“Aye aye, Captain!”

The bearded sailor grinned as he dragged Michael out and down, into the depths of the ship.