Part One: Inverting Order

Prologue

Bright lights, a searing pain, that was it. The most he could remember of the incident that ruined his life.

It was raining gently that night, as Michael Mewdon made his way through the streets thronged with people. Everything was quite, silent but for the rain, as it made its way down the panes of glass, onto hard concrete below, coats and umbrellas a bizarre patchwork of shades black and grey flecks of colour interspersed among the number. But even amid the myriad of passers-by he was alone. A December night when the snow had turned to rain seeming to lament the woe he felt inside. A walking corpse, ragged brown hair, dull eyes a haggard form clutching a satchel with a broken strap to his side. He was detestable.

The rain wouldn’t stop, it came beating down like it always did, what was the point in continuing like this, a life where each day mimicked the last. Nothing would change, nothing could change, dragging him into the depths of despair, boredom clung about him clawing at the corners of his mind, like an itch that wouldn’t leave no matter how much he scratched. He was weary he just wanted to return home to read his books, stories of adventure and fantasy, mangas, web fictions anything to sate the burning desire to escape his world even for a moment. If only he could die… If only he wasn’t too much of a coward to die.

Then it came rumbling through the street throwing aside the patchwork canvass of city goers. The rain was mixed with blood, the glaring lights and beating sounds, a sea of blood and bodies scattered like the leaves of an autumn tree, shed with disregard for where they might fall.

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The Blaring light, the howling sounds, cold rain, hot blood, sensation given in an instant and snatched away before it’s passing. A pain beyond measure that flowed through him, like life itself the only thing he knew in that instant was pain.

He’d gotten his wish, lying there tired alone, half dead, hooked up to life support no way out, incapable of so much as moving a muscle, even conscious thought seemed beyond his limitation. He did not know how long he’d remained there, had anyone grieved for him. He couldn’t tell because he couldn’t think. Yes he’d gotten what he wished for, someone who desired neither to live nor die, caught on the borders between the two. Life no more than death.

Realising this he had the first true thought he’d ever known. From the moment he was born, grey eyes that looked on a grey world, and saw nothing but the shadows that surrounded him seemed filled with life one final time. The dull life he’d led, had wanted to change. But had only played by the rules set before him, by societies rule, where you bowed your head and pretended you didn’t exist only to serve some greater purpose you could never catch more than a glimpse of. He could have escaped if he wanted to, the fight would have been hard but he could have escaped, could have been or done anything he so desired but in the end it turned out like this. He was lying there dead with no hope for the future, when a single desire hit him full force.

Live!

His eyes bulged in his head, his chest clenching as he tried to move… For his vain efforts Michael Mewdon died, in hospital twelve forty-five Am, the sun beyond his window breaking the clouds and covering his fragile form, as doctors and nurses rushed in, to remove his body so that the next patient could enter.

Of course that wasn’t the end of the story, for something interesting had taken count of Michael, had seen the fragile soul in its final struggle and saved it. For what, that being did not yet know.

What would happen next, fate could not dictate, the laws of nature would tremble, reality succumb to the might of this grand delusion. A hero would be born to overturn order and rein in chaos, to bring love and joy, to fight a bloody war, without reason, without thought, to bring down consequence, and like no other burn past the days of sun and let wonder itself be the light upon his brow.

Behold the life of Sol.