A humongous set of white tiles ran together seamlessly to form a wide floor of the building reflecting the hanging lights, and the room was running with the sounds of clicks and flashes of the cameras.
Tables, lifted above them all, carried the ancient furniture of ancient carvings. And there, sat a group of eleven. Leaning to the front, looking, observing, wishing, under the quiet pretense of their arrogant nose.
“As a fellow Ghost-6,” Max’s voice announced through the room. Leaning onto the baby pillars of the grounded stand, his head was lifted, looking back at the eleven figures of high standings.
His tall, young stand had a face hidden, partly, with a mask. Small, burnt and hiding his left eye, under which was a visible, talking mouth, which continued.
“The highest members of society, lawfully and in terms of prowess. I would like to propose something to the members of the Ghost union, for the betterment of the society of us Sapiens.”
“I want the role of the supreme head of Space troops, and I,”
Holding a hand to his chest, he did a suave turn to the shimmering cameras.
“I will lead the troops to outer space. And I know I can do it.”
Lowering his only visible eye, or perhaps it was both of them, as no one could see. He stuck his gaze hanging between the masses and union, watching the polished, white walls of Ghost union — looking through his left eye, hidden under a burnt mask.
He sounded, “You know it’s not my feelings. Or I would have died, bursting.”
As his words roamed in the brimming yet empty hall. Their large impact turned the whole palace voiceless.
Perhaps, in a long time witnessing the birth of a new Ghost-6, this was a way for silent celebration.
Or, just a wonder at the witness of a figure which will from now, hold the powers of the planet and apparently, space.
The cameras turned silent, words only clashing with the breaths of life, and the faces of the eleven, ancient, and established Ghost-6s, witnessed changes of emotions, in years and years and years of time.
Clap Clap Clap.
Three sounds of claps, deliberate, commanding, yet somehow subservient. The veteran hands of this Ghost-6 having lived for more than four centuries, didn’t falter, yet his voice, and thoughts were ready to be run down by this flaming young man.
His fixed chair wouldn’t move, but he lifted himself up, standing on the podium of supreme jurisdiction, and continued in a voice, turned mellow by dying life force, and rampaging emotions, which had an history of emerging more and more, as the Ghost-6s would reach the end of their lives.
“I am standing up. Today. On this joyous occasion, hundred and fourteen years later witnessing the birth of the most powerful Ghost-6.”
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The cameras rolled onto his presence, and, the ambience opened even the ears of the walls, to hear, and not miss.
“I have lived long, and won’t live much. I know that. And about the imminent break needed in explorations to space for preservation of the very life source of our civilization. I was well… I can’t say, or I’ll die.”
The quiet, yet over-arching presences of the Ghost-6s, all hummed a silent nod of appreciation, or perhaps factual acknowledgement or something deeper, to this emotional truth. As the old being continued, not wanting a stop.
“Perhaps it won’t make a difference, as I might fall this decade itself.”
“The time is of essence here. And I have led enough. I would like to give this young man the position I hold of the Supreme head of Outer space explorations. And would request all fellow Ghost-6s to put into action, immediately.”
Under the quiet witness of Max’s green right eye, and the very silent look of the white lights of the cameras, the words reverberated, and lips of the boy, still standing on the aloof, grounded stand, amidst the high chairs and grounded cameras, curled up in accomplishment.
His figure zoomed to a turn back — to the rolling cameras. And witnessed the masses, the look, and standing of their young leader’s majestic appearance.
A high-end jacket, and a face with a hiding eye, yet a face, hard not to look. The baby mask rested like a patch, a cute one, and down rested a blooming smile, as if it was always meant to be there.
“I,” he spoke up, his voice demanding attention. Not through force… not with that charming smile.
“The new member of the Ghost-6, and the about-to-be or I guess, just-became Supreme head of space explorations, would like to speak to you all, to pull your life together, and celebrate.”
With a genuine smirk plastered on his face, gave him the look of that prince they would want to surrender to.
His voice continued to bounce, not in the air, but the hearts of the witnessing, watching, and tired Sapiens
“We are struggling our dear citizens, no need to overthink. The situations are dire, but don’t forget, the Ghost-6s are called Creators for a reason. Just enjoy a bit. You guys have suffered along.”
Still, in that charming look, too charming. Dazzling, for the weakened hearts of the whole civilization, he swayed his hand in the air, with an almost bouncing frequency, and his smile ever so blooming.
He conjured a barrage of firecrackers, lining up in variegated colors, shivering with a look for release, which reflected the eyes of every being present in the room.
With a swish of his hand, they lunged up, and up in the air, reaching to the tops of those high arcs, and raised chandeliers, and burst in a beautiful shower, of awakening delight.
In the hearts, they could feel in the hearts.
The hardened, the softened, the weakened, the strong, all spoke nothing, and only the smile of their charming prince, Max, was ever so slightly, increasing, and increasing.
“Let’s not disturb the decorum of this ancient union.”
Max spoke up, addressing the camera, and the people behind them — holding them, watching them. Yet his face switched to look at the podium, smiling, and bowed a slight nod of appreciation and respect.
His young blooming smile under full display, he lifted himself up off the stand, over the people, along the lengths of hanging chandeliers, and shouted a delightful declaration, under the sounds of firecrackers still going off by the potency of this young Creator.
“Move along, guys.”
And he flew out of the ancient hall decked with richness of the portraits of Ghost-6s, and scent of lingering sweats of hard history.
This was expectantly a clear fly of celebration and freedom. Just a moment to forget the imminent dangers, and pressure which had to be built, for exploration —the necessity for life of this society.