Takei was AA299. He was Japanese and the last of an ancient line. He was not what people thought. He remained silent out of necessity, not choice. He had no tongue. On rare occasions he uttered sounds, incoherent noises, sometimes in his sleep. Some mistook this for talking, because that’s what they wanted to believe; that they’d witnessed the rarity of Takei’s speech. Then they’d make up lies for what he’d said. It was never anything degrading. Usually it was something high and lofty, once again because that was their impression of him . . . as some sort of monk. He wasn’t.

They didn’t understand, but then very few people ever had. No one did anymore. Not even the other ancients, but that was by design. So was the loss of his tongue. It had been cut out to keep the silence. He was no monk but felt as isolated as one. He was of direct lineage to the prophecies. He didn’t simply believe them, he lived them. People didn’t often speak of the prophecies, but when they did they saw them as some disembodied entity having no source, no beginning. Everything had a beginning. The prophecies hadn’t come about through immaculate conception.

Yet there was an inherent problem with this philosophy. For the most part, no ancient has ever been able to foretell the future more than a week prior and even that was extremely rare. Takei was the only exception, but even he could foresee no more than a month ahead. If that was true then how did the prophecies come about? Though they were vague they foretold the future four, maybe five centuries before they were supposed to happen. Still, those who believed in the prophecies did so on faith. They didn’t make sense, but no explanation was necessary for the devout.

These were the Futurists and their fold was broad. Few still adhered to the firstborn prophecy, but there were others held in high esteem as doctrine. Strange that. Many of the prophecies held as irrefutable hinged directly upon the firstborn prophecy being true. Yet the Futurists fell prey to many of the inconsistencies that plagued far older religions. That’s exactly what the Futurists were . . . a religion formed around the prophecies. They denied this, but that couldn’t change the truth of it.

There was no need for labels. The prophecies weren’t grounded in spiritualism or myth. They were real; a gift from the Atra, much like the gas that forever altered the very structure of humankind into humatrankind. So then it was clear to him, and should’ve been to everyone else, that the only ones who could’ve foreseen the prophecies were not human, humatran or ancients. No. They were simply Atra. Every last Atra was now dead . . . at least in this galaxy. Who could know what else was out there in the infinite depths of space.

However, they left their legacy in the only way they knew how . . . through death. The prophecies were not foreseen by anyone native to this planet, but they were known to a few who were not. Just as very few now believed in the firstborn prophecy, very few Atra believed in the prophecies, or rather that the prophecies had anything to do with Earth or its inhabitants. They were, after all, vague as anything that far-flung would be. Even among the Atra many interpretations were considered, but it was sacrilege to even think they hinged directly upon humanity. That all would be forever lost if not intertwined with that primitive race.

How could Takei know all this? Because he’d lived it. As the story went, the last of the devout Humanist Atra transferred the visions that became known as the prophecies to the first humatran, Hasi Marada, his grandfather. In an attempt to kill him for a crime he did not commit, he was forced to actually drink the dug up liquefied remains of an Atra. This was back in 2280.

No one knew what would happen to him, but thought it would be fun to find out. He’d begun hyperventilating and his would-be murderers left him for dead, but he wasn’t dying. He was simply changing. Mere days after the transformation was complete the influx of visions began. It was far too much for such a simple mind to absorb and he fell into a coma the likes of which none on Earth had ever before witnessed. Still he did not die. Instead he used telepathy to speak directly into the fragile human mind of his wife, Hymi, who was pregnant.

The thoughts were destroying her mind as well, even though none were of the prophecies. They were simply instructions on where to give birth. That’s all that remained. Every thought Hymi had ever had, everything she’d ever known, was summarily replaced by this all-powerful bit of information and how to fulfill it. She wasn’t trapped in her mind like Hasi. This singular goal had become her entire purpose for living and whether she knew it or not, she would die immediately after it had been brought to completion. This meant she would die during or after childbirth.

This wouldn’t have been what Hymi wanted, but this was not a task in which she possessed a choice. She was driven by another force, one that wasn’t human or humatran. Hasi was simply the middle man, or woman as the case may be. She was the only vessel through which the message could be relayed. The Atra’s powerful thoughts first had to be diluted, or weakened. Maybe condensed was the right word. No human mind could contain it directly from the source. They wouldn’t go mad. They would die, instantly.

That begged the question of how humans ever won the Atra war? The answer was simple, but no one, not even today, wanted to hear it. They didn’t. Some Atra died as martyrs to the cause and the rest left for reasons unknown. Yet they left devastation in their wake. To promote the only thing they had left, hope, humans claimed this as a victory. It was not. The whole planet should’ve been wiped clean, but it was not. Maybe there was an intergalactic price to pay for the genocide of Earth. Maybe they felt obligated to adhere to their own unfathomable religions. It could’ve been any of a million reasons, most of which mere humans simply couldn’t comprehend. Neither could Takei, though he did try.

Still, a select few Atra remained on Earth, hidden after the “war” was over. These probably were just that . . . selected. Takei couldn’t imagine a race as powerful as the Atra leaving anything to chance, but it was more than this. A human could pay close attention to detail, but an Atra could retain every intricate detail for thousands of possible futures over the course of a century. Beyond this things began to break down into trivialities and nonsense. In other words, the far distant future remained largely unknowable even to the Atra, but they knew bits and pieces. It was these bits and pieces that became prophecy.

Takei knew of only one Atra, but the race remained a mystery to all others. This was the same Atra that basically lobotomized his grandfather and grandmother. It was the last of the devout Humanists. It had a name. It was long, but Takei would never forget it . . . Tryndyosyscellymys, as translated into English. That was Tryndyosyscellymys, the prophet, but only by human standards. For the sake of comprehension, Takei shortened it to Tryn.

By human standards, Tryn belonged to a race called the Atra. This belief was allowed for the ease of transition. Not even Takei knew what the Atra called themselves, but he knew it wasn’t Atra. The reality of the situation was simple . . . none of humanity, not even humatrans, could know this. It wasn’t because Tryn didn’t want to tell us. It did, but it couldn’t. Our simple humatran brains couldn’t handle it. The mere translation of its name contained baggage that required over 15% of Hasi’s mental capacity.

Takei knew that Tryn thought it a mistake to tell its name for this reason. If only because there was so much other information both pertinent and relevant to the future of Earth it could’ve given instead. Tryn was a Humanist and believed in the intermingled future of the species so completely that it wanted to give a bit of personality, if only a name. It was its way of introducing itself, of saying hello; I am more than my message. I am real and I exist. For that Takei was grateful, but perhaps that’s because he didn’t have to be lobotomized to receive it.

Either way, the Atra did what it did. More to the point, it did what the future required. More likely, just as ancients today, Tryn probably chose a future out of many choices, but even this was merely a beginning. Countless things could go wrong over the course of time, but then that was a humatran thinking on a humatran level of intelligence. Tryn could anticipate all such occurrences with pinpoint accuracy for well over 100 years and then another 100 with near to the same. It wasn’t something Takei could comprehend.

Tryn adjusted the future to its liking by speaking through Hasi to Hymi. She had no choice but to obey, so she did. Battles with the Atra had occurred all over the planet during the war. An Atra had died on Japanese soil. Well, more than one had, but Hymi was guided to one in particular. Whether it was special or simply the closest, Takei couldn’t know. It had died on the Shiono Cape, between the towns of Tanabe and Shingu. Just 50 or so miles to the north lay Osaka, which was where Hasi and Hymi lived. Of course, the Atra died long ago by human standards. That was back in 2214, one year before the Atra war ended.

Hymi made her trek in 2281, 66 years after the Atra war ended. The Atra remains had just begun forming into a seed, which was necessary for what was to come next. Hymi arrived at Shiono Cape a catatonic zombie by all the accounts of those who’d seen her, but that didn’t matter. They thought she was crazy for traveling to the middle of nowhere when nearly at her due date, but that didn’t matter either. She knew nothing else.

Without any help from people, hospital or drugs, Hymi gave birth atop the Atra’s final resting place. A grave would be the wrong words, because there was none. No headstone existed or other memory of its passing aside from nature’s bounty. Seemingly because of the birth, flowers and grass grew there and nowhere else on the whole of the cape, or at least not anywhere near as vibrant. Those few who’d seen the spot or cared considered it a miracle, though they didn’t know why.

Perhaps the natural birth killed Hymi, but she would’ve died even if in a hospital. Her sole purpose in life had been fulfilled. There was nothing else but death. The baby would’ve died too, but she was found by a couple visiting the cape. They were on their honeymoon and had overheard Hymi’s birthing pains. They were in shock but overjoyed at the miracle baby and took her to be their own, telling no one where she’d come from. This was not luck. This was not chance. This was foretold.

Their names were lost to time, but they’d named the baby girl Maru. She was the first second generation humatran. She was born as what would become known as a seed hunter and an ancient, because being born over the death of an Atra was required. It was a powerful place and a birth in its immediate vicinity would gain the child a fraction of the abilities the original Atra once possessed. This was seen as the humatran birthright, but that definition was lost to time because it didn’t remain accurate. Regular humatrans did not possess abilities, but for now Maru was the first to be born one and so the definition fit.

The still comatose humatran, Hasi Marada knew of Maru. It was the name he’d given his daughter along with her family name, Marada, which was to be hidden from her surrogate parents. Hasi retained this briefest gift of choice from Tryn and had chosen it. He knew Hymi bore a girl, and sent the slightest of telepathic suggestions to the new bride that found her. But not to the husband. It was too much as it was. Just the same as with Hymi, direct contact with a human would lobotomize till death. The mere suggestion would also bring death, but it would take time . . . about seven to eight human years.

So the naming of his little girl had served as a delayed death sentence for Maru’s surrogate mother. He couldn’t very well send the suggestion to both parents. Maru needed at least one parent, but not even this was his choice. Only the name was, because that would not directly affect the future. The young bride’s premature death would, but that too had been preordained by the Atra. Maru would be well taken care of.

Though Maru would never physically meet Hasi, her real father, she would know who he was in time through telepathic means, being able to hold the information as a humatran. Bit by bit she learned the truth of who she was and what happened so long before her birth. Yet she was learning a version of the Atra war called the truth and no one wanted to hear that. She was also learning about the distant future and slowly memorizing prophecies she wasn’t allowed to share. She was absorbing information no other mind native to the planet could process. She was using her brain to its full capacity, but she was bred for this and could handle the load.

Not even her father could boast this. Hasi had very little actual control. He served primarily as a conduit and lived to observe. Though he remained comatose, his range of vision was vast. He could see more things than most anyone on the planet, but his connection to this mortal coil was limited. His mind was connected to his body, which was being fed year after endless year by machines.

He was 57 years old and his health was understandably in poor condition. Maru was only six. Her surrogate mother was also in poor health. The tumor had been growing ever since Maru had first gotten her name, but she was worried about other things. Like how her six year old daughter knew of her real mother, much less that she was dead or how. She’d never been told that or even taught anything about death. Little Maru even said her name was Hymi, which her surrogate only knew from going through her things after her death. She knew other things too . . . impossible things.

She seemed to be a prodigy, but knew things before they happened. It was only simple things like how she was going to find money that day. Of course, she wasn’t to be believed. She must’ve stolen it. Then she knew things about the past. She knew specific events of the Atra war that ended a generation before she’d been born. There was something wrong with her child. It went beyond chronic lies, because some were the undeniable truth. It was terrifying.

As bad as this was, the truth was worse. She’d heard a scant few reports from around the globe of people who’d been exposed to the ruptured Atra “seeds” and how those who survived were “different”. Of course, it didn’t mean much to her because it was obvious Maru hadn’t been exposed to the Atra gas. It didn’t start making sense until she’d heard a tiny bit of seemingly unimportant trivia. Wherever the Atra seeds grew, all types of botanical plant life flourished as if they’d come straight out of the Garden of Eden. The lush grass and flowers around Maru’s birthplace had been unmistakable.

From that, Maru’s surrogate mother had begun to see her daughter as little more than a freak of nature. The love she’d once had was shriveling up in perfect time with her bitterness at the fact she was going to die young. It was undeniable now. She’d seen doctor after doctor over the years and they’d all told her different things. Some actually believed they knew what they were talking about and others lied straight to her face so they wouldn’t appear incompetent. A few told her the truth, which was that they just didn’t know why she’d gotten her tumor or why it wasn’t going into remission despite all modern medicine had to offer, as trivial as that was so soon after the war.

Near the end, one doctor told her the truth and she believed him. She didn’t have a tumor at all. It was just the closest ailment anyone could come up with. Certain parts of her brain were just shutting down and he didn’t know why. Yet she knew why. Maru was killing her. She was draining the life out of her, just like she’d drained the life out of her birth mother. She had Atra blood running through her veins. She wasn’t even human. Well, that part was true.

The doctor couldn’t tell her how much time she had left because he’d never seen such a thing before, but his guess was months, maybe weeks. He was wrong. She only had days left, but she didn’t know that. She’d already begun her plans to get rid of Maru, unbeknownst to her husband, who still loved the sinister little half breed. She’d become bedridden before finalizing them. Such was fate, not luck.

The day before she died, Maru told her when she would die . . . down to the minute. Then she told her hateful surrogate mother she knew exactly what she was planning and proved it with private details no one else knew. Then she told her it wasn’t going to work. She’d lost the ability to speak, but her eyes grew wide in recognition. Then she told her the truth about her condition, which instilled fear and sped up the whole process. Soon after, she died. It was accurate to the predicted minute, which would’ve come later without the admission of truth.

These things were told with an innocence of knowing, but not of how or why. The pieces were fitting into place and little Maru understood many things, but the puzzle was far from complete. She was only eight years old. It was this degree of innocence that allowed her surrogate father’s love to remain, despite the fear that sometimes threatened to emerge. Regardless of what she was, he’d loved her too much to lose her now. After all, she was all he had now. He raised her in secret of what she could do.

That became infinitely harder when she turned ten. It was then he realized she could read his thoughts, but not just his . . . everybody's. It was hard to hide things in school. Little things slipped out and her classmates soon saw her as a freak, but their thoughts were much, much worse. She began acting out because of them. Her surrogate father was forced to remove her from school, which was not a good thing in Japan, but it couldn’t be helped. Maru went into home school where things calmed down somewhat.

She was still learning impossible things from Tryn through her father, but the Atra never gave her more than she could handle. This was all well and good, but by now it’s conduit, Hasi, was dying. Time was running out, but it wasn’t really. There was nothing that happened without being foreseen and anticipated. Hasi simply marked stage one of Maru’s training. He was her father and that familial bond helped to ease her early transition, but there were other humatrans now who could serve as conduits.

Hasi Marada died in 2291, shortly before his daughter’s eleventh birthday. Of course, she’d known and there had been a time of mourning, which was unexplainable to everyone else. More than this there was a day’s delay in adapting Maru’s new conduit. That felt like an eternal void. She didn’t really know Tryn and she never really would, but she felt as if she did. The temporary loss of that connection, which had always been there like her invisible friend, was nearly unbearable for her. The Atra was the only one who truly understood her and she loved it more than she’d ever loved anyone else.

Then the new conduit had successfully survived the transition and contact resumed. She barely knew the difference. Sure, her father had named her, but that was it. Everything else came directly from Tryn through him. So it wasn’t her father that Maru had gotten to know. It was the Atra. The conduit was simply a necessary thing she’d learned to deal with.

With the new conduit, Maru’s real training began. Tryn began feeding her the prophecies and everything of importance that came between them. From here her headaches began. There was a reason for this. The Atra explained she wasn’t the final prophet. Though Maru was the most advanced humatran on the face of the planet, she still hadn’t evolved enough to survive all he had to teach her. There had to be another. There had to be . . . she would have a son.

With this revelation came the expected anger and rebellious tendencies. At the predicted time Maru also received the firstborn prophecy and others like it. These were not as clear as the rest, but hinted at the future devastation should they not come to pass. She didn’t care as much as she wanted to. That wasn’t her life or even the life of her son, who hadn’t even been thought of. She wouldn’t be around to witness any of it. She’d be dust. Why should she care? Still, she did.

She found these things out at the age of 12, but she also saw her first glimpses of Akyhyto, her future love. Though not as powerful, he’d been trained by Tryn as well through a different conduit. This meant he would understand her the way no one else had or even could. That was the open faced lure. It was what it was and it wasn’t hidden. There were benefits, but the Atra also made it clear their son would become the prophet who could retain everything. The two most powerful humatran minds on the face of the planet would couple and conceive on the hallowed ground of an Atra seed. She’d gotten glimpses of this event, but more to the point, she’d felt bits of it. Not that she could know, but the Atra told her no two humans had ever felt the pleasure they would feel that night. Tryn never lied. It served as strong motivation.

Then when the time was right, Maru would give birth over one, the same as her mother had. Unlike her mother, who had been little more than a moveable vessel, Maru would survive. She found out she was receiving most of the prophecies, but that which she couldn’t hold fell to Akyhyto. Together all the prophecies would merge into one mind . . . their son’s mind. The process would eventually kill her. She would die young. The Atra did not lie about this. It gave her the option to know when or not to. Maru opted not to know, which it had already known would be her choice . . . a wise one. It also promised no such vision would slip accidentally into her mind. Tryn had the power to prevent such things with lesser minds than its own.

So she grew and learned. The headaches slowly grew worse and graduated into the occasional nose bleed, but she was told things could’ve been worse. The Atra had prevented much of her pain and would free her completely on the night of her coupling with Akyhyto. She asked why he didn’t just free her completely all the time. The answer was simple . . . pain was an outlet. Without it death would come sooner. Not only this, but Tryn was very old and dying. This was a shocking revelation, but not so much as first thought. The Atra was well over AA6,000, and death for such a race came slowly by human standards. It would take another 67 years to die. Maru and Akyhyto would both die before it did and it would have some valuable time to share with their son, the prophet.

Knowledge would expand and did. They’d both learned about AA and EA and DOE and the shape of the future. Hell, one of the early prophecies was the global rupture that would change everything. It was clear and concise. It would occur on June 9th, 2318 at 2:56 P.M. Maru did not know when she would die, but she knew she wouldn’t live to see that date. She didn’t regret it. Worldwide chaos would ensue for decades afterwards as the planet adjusted to the sudden change. Even so, it wasn’t or wouldn’t be sudden. The rupture would happen 103 years after the end of the Atra war, which as of Maru‘s 14th birthday was only 23 years away. It would only seem sudden to those who couldn’t see the signs, refused to see the signs, misinterpreted them or were just plain ignorant. Yet that comprised most of the human population.

The knowledge was going to kill Akyhyto too. A sad thing, but he’d die later than her. His mind couldn’t hold as much as hers, but then it wasn’t. She’d gotten the brunt of the burden because she could handle it. He’d just taken up the slack, but he’d still die from it. She didn’t know whether or not he’d live to see the rupture, but she hoped not. This was the man she already loved, even though she’d never actually met him. She knew he felt the same. For the sake of the moment, the Atra kept the day they’d meet a secret. It was through the Atra they grew to know and love one another, which was an unfortunate necessity. Neither would’ve had time enough for a traditional romance.

They could also see well into their son’s life. He would live for centuries through something called the youthing. From this Maru wanted to know why she and Akyhyto couldn’t do the same. They were told they could, but it wouldn’t change the date of their death. The damage to their minds was irreversible regardless of age. Murder would change other things, however. That future was known. They would’ve been found and sentenced to death. It didn’t matter. Their future had no signs of youthing. Once again, that was only because Tryn told them both about the other grim future. The Atra was adapting and writing the future whenever and wherever it could, but this too was prophesied. Nothing, not one thing, fell to chance until at least 150 years into the future.

Then they finally met. Maru was 16 and Akyhyto was 14. Maru was surprised by his age, but understood. She’d come first. She was the more powerful mind. She was the one the Atra was currently devoted to. From the moment they’d met Tryn reduced both of their pains to the bare minimum so they could better enjoy one another. There was very little courtship. They knew and loved one another years before they’d even met. Regardless of what she was, Maru’s surrogate father wanted only what was best for her and knew better than to deny her this glimpse at happiness.

Less than a month later their intimate night together came and the Atra guided them both to the sacred place where Maru had been born at Shiono Cape. If anything the grassy knoll had expanded. The power of the place grew as the seed grew. They both knew at once the unfathomable power their son would be instilled with from their being here. They wanted this. They wanted each other and there was no better place than on Shiono Cape. It was meant to be. Not everything that was foretold was welcome. This was.

The night was indescribable. Tryn told them both long ago that what they felt this night would exceed the greatest passion any human had ever experienced throughout all of their history on Earth. Not that they’d anything to compare it to, but as far as they both could tell, the Atra hadn’t lied. Hell, it had even temporarily blocked its connection to their respective conduits for the duration of the night. There was a noticeable void for this, but they’d done an admirable job of filling it with one another.

The Atra kept its word and completely nullified their pain for the night. Because of it, they made love the whole night through. Over and over and over again, lying to themselves by saying they just wanted to be sure the pregnancy worked. Of course it would work. It was preordained. They stayed because they wanted to, because they loved each other and because they’d deserved it. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

By morning they found the world was in revolt unlike ever before. Their “kind” was being persecuted, tortured and murdered. They were not safe. Tryn told them as much, but they’d already known. They’d both seen it. They both knew nothing could touch them, but that was only if they followed certain precautionary measures. Divine intervention failed to come to those who didn’t first help themselves. Not that the Atra was divine. It was just an example that good things must be earned, even if foretold.

That included the pains of moving, which wasn’t an easy thing by any means. Maru’s surrogate father truly did love her and she’d learned to love him back. For the sake of her night with Akyhyto she’d pretended this night wouldn’t come, but she knew it would. She knew the end result. She and Akyhyto would escape, but her father would not. He’d be tried for their crimes and killed in their stead. Taking him with them would result in all of them dying. This was the last night she would ever see him alive and the knowledge of it hurt immensely. The worst part was he didn’t know and she couldn’t tell him. He kept promising her he’d be alright over and over again. He wouldn’t be.

Maru was comforted by Akyhyto and even Tryn in its own way, but pain was pain and it didn’t just go away because certain important people (or entities) sympathized. She now understood the importance of the future and her responsibility to it. As much as she often wanted to, she couldn’t avoid it. Neither could Akyhyto. That was life and it would end in death. That had to be o.k. and it had to be accepted at face value. She said her final tearful goodbyes to the only father she’d ever really known and took one last glimpse before turning that final corner.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The next morning she’d read about her father’s death online. She knew it would come soon. She even knew how it was done and by who. She knew everything about it, but couldn’t DO anything. Revenge would get them both killed. Keeping any contacts with either of their previous lives would get them both killed. It was the helplessness that ate away at both their souls.

Still, time passed and they’d settled into their new lives. Maru’s pains were worse now because they’d been joined by all the discomforts that went hand in hand with pregnancy. That and she was still learning. Tryn told her she’d keep learning until the day she died, because all she knew would be passed onto her son, who would be named Takei Marada. That didn’t make a whole lot of sense because the Atra also told her Takei’s mind would be the first that didn’t need a conduit for it to speak through. Be that as it may, Tryn told them it would have less to say because as slow as they believed it to be, it was still dying. Memories and prophecies alike were being lost, which was the whole purpose for the transfer that was happening with them both right now.

Akyhyto found a job as a commercial fisherman as predicted. It was a dangerous job, but not so much when you knew every little thing that was going to happen beforehand and it paid well. However, it took him away from Maru for long stretches of time. Of course, they both knew she’d be fine, but that didn’t mean it would be easy. Living a prophesied life had its own pitfalls, such as knowing bad things were going to happen and still letting them, because intervention resulted in worse horrors. Some she could prevent, but she always knew which ones were which. For most there was nothing she could do as the alternate choices were either no better or put her or her family in direct danger. It made her feel more helpless than any human had ever felt. That and the loneliness, the pain and the pregnancy brought on depression, but she’d seen that coming too and was helpless to prevent it.

She tried to fight back with the knowledge that Akyhyto would be safe and savored every spare moment with him. Yet his own foresight couldn’t preempt exhaustion. It was understandable with a job like his, but that certainly didn’t make life any easier. At least she’d always known ahead of time so she never planned something big on a night she knew nothing would come together. She wasn’t sure whether that helped or not, but it staved off disappointment. Or did it? Foreknowledge that things wouldn’t work out never made them easier to handle.

Their marriage may have been on shaky ground had they actually been married. They weren’t. Tryn didn’t require it and they hadn’t wanted it. They’d always said they didn’t need a piece of paper to justify their love. They had many reasons to love each other, but sentiments like that made their love grow all the more. This in turn made life easier to deal with, but that didn’t mean it was easy.

Even if they had married, Maru never would’ve forgotten her family name of Marada. It was necessary to hide it, because hiding it helped to hide them. She hadn’t wanted it anyway. She proudly bore her surrogate father’s last name of Shojo. Legally she was Maru Shojo, but this too had to be hidden. Her father’s surname was known and could be traced. So though they hadn’t married, Maru was now known by Akyhyto’s family name of Tensei . . . Maru Tensei. It was a family name that had yet to see trouble. It was safe but it wouldn‘t stay that way. Because of this Tryn never wanted her to forget her original and true surname, Marada, even though for the same reasons of safety, their son was to bear the last name of Tensei. She was told in time he would reclaim the name of Marada, so that he would never forget his roots. This would be necessary. It would be one of the answers he would seek and the knowledge of it would help to keep him focused on the long, arduous task that lay ahead. Yet first, he had to be born.

Of course, the act of being born was a monumental task in and of itself. Not that this wasn’t already known to everyone, but seemingly unbeknownst to many looking back on the ancient times of their parents, all mothers and fathers, human or otherwise, had their own joys, hardships, tragedies and lives lived during the nine months or so before they took their first breath of outside air. Such were the joys of pregnancy and the fathers suffered in their own way. Maru’s pregnancy was quickened, due to the nature of what she was, but since moving, it was easy to lie and say she was further along than she actually was.

During this time their relationship took a turn for the worse. Their love never faltered, but more was needed. Love was the glue that bound them, but where was the engine that made them run? Their life resembled a vehicle that held together, despite its age, but was without wheels. Repetition invited complacency and complacency ended in stagnation.

So it was that they were saved through the cohesiveness of tragedy. Everything they’d known was headed towards destruction . . . everything humatran. Endless persecution and death failed to slow the steady procession of evolution. The continual efforts of humankind to obliterate all the Atra seeds had backfired dramatically. One seed at a time, it resulted in the untimely rupture of Atra gas into the atmosphere. It was a precursor to the Global Rupture and they were unknowingly helping it along. So far it changed little, but those in the direct vicinity inhaled it. Then one of two things happened. They either died shortly afterwards or their specific genetic makeup allowed them to evolve into humatrans.

General knowledge had advanced enough for humanity to know what these aberrations now were, which was everything they’d feared, hated and zealously fought against. Many were fanatics to the cause of humanity who’d now been converted to the evil they’d fought against. This didn’t bode well for them on a psychological scale. Many couldn’t cope with what they now were. The fear of it dug deep into their souls. It was the irrefutable knowledge that their own bodies had more than changed. The very fact they’d been able to was damning evidence they were not wholly human in the first place, or so many believed. Most humans saw it as a divine blessing to the soul, as a heavenly redemption, if the accursed Atra gas should kill them. It proved they were completely human and unchangeable.

Those who’d survived the transformation were traitors to humanity even though they’d never known it and couldn’t have. Any who survived were hunted down and killed. These outcasts often suffered a psychotic break and ended their own lives before anyone else had a chance to. Often whole groups of people were altered from a single rupture. The survivors sometimes turned on each other seconds after they realized what happened. This usually ended in DOE. This was how the pain of youthing and DOE became mainstream knowledge.

This was tearing families apart all over the world. It was war all over again, but undeclared and against the mere phantoms of the past. It was a delayed Atran parting gift that was both undeniable and unavoidable. It was spreading as more and more seeds germinated. Of course, all this was known, but each passing year expanded the problem. There were even a few scant reports of humatrans being created from rain after enough of the gas had permeated the clouds. This was rare and temporary, but the results for those it changed was permanent and often times they didn’t even know they’d evolved. It was only discovered after the unexplainable deaths that followed a rainstorm for those who couldn’t adapt. Suddenly rain was feared everywhere. Soon after so was snow.

There was no way to fight against such a thing, so humanity’s rage was taken out on those who’d been “infected”. There was no cure besides death, but they were fine with that. At least until their own loved ones started to change. Then it became harder to pull the trigger. Sometimes they couldn't. Sometimes the humatrans were hidden and protected, just like the Jews had been during WWII. Just as Maru’s surrogate father had done not so long ago.

Yet both her fathers were gone now and the threat had increased. It multiplied exponentially year by year by year and all over the planet. No one knew Maru and Akyhyto were humatran, but it wouldn’t be long before they figured it out. There’d been too many coincidences where dangers onboard the fishing boat had been avoided by calling in sick or staying in the bathroom too long. Sometimes saving others from dangers that hadn’t even existed until minutes later caused suspicions.

Of course, only those who’d been born in the direct vicinity of an Atra seed had abilities. No other humatrans showed any obvious signs of change, aside from a foreboding sixth sense, which couldn’t be explained as anything other than acute intuition. To counter, humanity organized a test and it wasn’t of the blood. It was far simpler. Humans knew all about the youthing by now, as well as the pains that accompanied it. They simply had people step on, or otherwise kill an insect. If something like a stomachache followed then they were humatran and killed as quickly as possible, as if they radiated death. Of course there were false positives . . . humans who were sick at the time of the test. These coincidences were rare and almost never known to be the accidents they really were. The reason was simple. Many humatrans didn’t know they were humatrans. Most of those who did, didn’t know killing an insect would make any difference. They thought it had to be a person who was killed, or at least an animal. How could an insect matter? The simple answer was because it was alive and had youth to give.

Global militaries performed these tests, which in the beginning were confined to the few cities that remained or had been rebuilt and other larger populations. Slowly, that was expanding outward to smaller towns and villages. The Japanese army had already declared martial law over a year ago and would soon advance to Akyhyto’s fishing village of Shingu.

This represented a real, but future danger and would’ve ended both their lives had they not known about it, but they did. It meant they had to move and come up with a believable excuse for doing so because questions would inevitably be asked and they didn’t need to arouse any more suspicion than they already had, even though they already knew they’d be fine.

Foreknowledge was often a good thing, but moving again was not. Especially seeing how Maru was pregnant and would soon give birth. Most expectant mothers would worry themselves stupid with the danger of losing their baby because of travel, but not Maru. She knew that Tryn would never let anything happen to Takei and that trust went well beyond the limited range of her visions.

The weeks passed in subtle anticipation, trying hard not to reveal they would be leaving to anyone. With no obvious signs or immediate danger they both knew moving day was fast approaching. There were however hints of dread. More than rumors floated around about the military’s arrival. It was now scheduled as if on tour. Not that it mattered. It was all a ruse. It was always a ruse for each and every town they visited. They would give a date and then observe just who exactly was worried about it. These would be their prime targets for testing. Then they would arrive significantly earlier than planned. Though correctly scheduled within military ranks this date was never released to the public.

The surprise “attack” didn’t surprise Maru or Akyhyto. They both knew well in advance the precise minute the military would arrive. Naturally they had to appear unconcerned, but also somehow manage to convince everyone they knew that they were moving for other reasons. With the suspicion that already existed this was not an easy thing. In fact, it was impossible. Some could be convinced of the lie, but not all could. Tryn would’ve told them had it been avoidable.

Rumors would invariably leak out and betrayal from “friends” was inevitable, even from ones Akyhyto had saved from certain death. The fear the expectant couple might not actually be human overrode all other concerns. The general belief was they’d betrayed the human race simply by being humatan and they’d endangered the entire town by moving there, so regardless of whatever good deeds they’d done, all bets were now off.

So the goal became one of delay and beyond that of where best to hide next. Obviously the best place to go was somewhere the military had already been because they wouldn’t double back on themselves without cause. It was a problematic thing because the general public was up in arms with the upheaval of awareness. Everyone knew about humatrans, but in the smaller towns it was just something that happened far away to other people. The military’s imminent arrival brought everything much closer to home. This meant the easiest place to go would be anywhere the military hadn’t yet visited, but that would only delay the inevitable.

Not only that, but this event would eventually brand Akyhyto’s good name of Tensei as humatran. This meant they couldn’t rely on his family for support. They were alone aside from the Atra who flawlessly and endlessly guided them. That’s what they relied on now because neither of the couple’s visions allowed them to see more than a few weeks ahead. They needed long term safety and Tryn was in the business of protecting the future which meant protecting them.

So it guided them to Tanabe, a town that was generally sympathetic to humatrans. The military had already been there and many humatrans had been successfully hidden, preventing their testing. It wasn’t too far away and it was close to Shiono Cape and the Atra seed. Such luck didn’t exist. It was planned, they were told, decades before the Atra war. Here they were safe. It wouldn’t last. Nothing ever did. Even so, they would have many good years in Tanabe, which would become Takei’s home, the first of hundreds. First he had to be born and that day was fast approaching.

All relationship issues paled in comparison to the impending knowledge of Takei’s birth. They had both foreseen it at the same time, which was exactly 34 days before the event would take place. Nearly all of their visions were vivid and felt real. This one was no exception. Even the birthing pains had felt real, even though Tryn had significantly reduced them to prevent the baby’s growth. It was in fact what had woken her. It had woken them both. Visions didn’t always occur when sleeping, but this one had. This was followed by a sudden disappointment. The vision felt more than real. Like most, it felt as if it were happening right then and they’d woken up to Maru still being pregnant. The disappointment soon passed for the knowledge of what would soon happen.

Not that they hadn’t already been planning for it, but their preparation for Takei’s arrival had hastened with an exact date . . . March 6th of 2298. The knowledge had unified them to a single purpose as they’d been once before. This preparation didn’t mean painting a baby room. It meant travel plans and taking time off of work for it. The birth would not take place in Tanabe. Though, it would be somewhere close by and familiar. It would be someplace special. It would be where Maru was born and Takei was conceived . . . on Shiono Cape.

There were basic necessities, but they’d already been provided for at minimal cost. Everything had been arranged. The Atra even lessened Maru’s pain during the final week with the knowledge that the birth would be easier than expected.

Then the time came for them to leave. There were no problems as they drove past the snowy fields. They foresaw none so none occurred. Avoidance was the key, but there was nothing to avoid. It was as if Tryn had cleared their path. They’d passed a few cars but the road wasn’t well traveled even during the summer. They knew things would be different when they arrived. The exact spot would be hidden by snow. They also knew that wouldn’t make any difference. They would be guided to the place, not by foreknowledge, but something else. They weren’t guided as much as drawn to the place. It was the same feeling they had when they’d made love. It wasn’t possible for them to not find it. They could’ve done so blindfolded.

It seemed suicide giving birth outside in the cold and on the snow, but they’d prepared with all they’d need. Among other things, they’d brought a tent and a portable space heater. No anesthesia was needed. The Atra would take care of that far better than modern medicine could. They wouldn’t need anything else a hospital could provide. No such things were present during their foresight and Tryn made it clear none would be needed. It said Takei would be healthier than most human babies born in hospitals. It said the Atra part of humatrans bled out most Earthborn pathogens and other such impurities that most humans suffered from on occasion. They knew it was true. Throughout their lives, both Maru and Akyhyto had been sick only once or twice.

Basically all they needed was warmth and that was provided. They’d even brushed away the snow and found something miraculous that had not been seen in either of their visions . . . green grass! It was still growing! Despite the snow! Through the snow! This grass no longer needed the sun. It was fed from another source entirely. If either of them bothered to think about it, they’d realize how terrifying that truly was. The other source was death.

It was death that fed their existence and it was death they were feeding their baby, fresh from birth. Just like mommy. Just like daddy. It was all because of Tryn, who was feeding them all prophecies to save the future. These prophecies were literally killing them. This was a future that was supposed to be saved by death. So how did that not equate to “the future was death”? It was a two-sided coin. It was a tradeoff. Death brought life, through youth, just as animals were killed for food. Someone or something had to die to grant life. It was all the same idea. It was just done a different way. It wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t evil. It was just different and came with a higher price tag.

Then it happened . . . nothing out of the ordinary. Everything predicted, but it was far from an ordinary day. It was the birth of the prophet Takei. It was foretold as one of the prophecies. It was the first prophecy. Maru and Akyhyto both knew it. They also knew that in honor of it, Tryn had ceased all learning of future events for the day. There was too much to learn. Every single day counted. There was a price to pay for missing even one. The future died a little. It became a little more unpredictable and a little less stable. It was a little less sure the events that needed to unfold actually would, so that the future could be saved. Even so, this day was different. This was a day the Atra deemed a price worth paying. It was a day worthy of the fraction of future that may now be forever lost. It was a day in honor of the prophet who would foretell all else that was to come.

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Yet Takei had never seen himself as all that special or that worthy. What he had, what he’d been given at birth wasn’t a blessing as much as a curse. At the very least it was a nearly unbearable burden. At least his mother and his father had each other. Who did he have? He had no one. He was called the wandering monk. His own long life sacrificed for the purpose of serving the future. Why? Because no one else on the face of the planet could hold the information he’d stored away in his brain. He’d been bred for just this one thing. His brain was reserved as a reservoir for the future and it was at full capacity. There was even some missing. He hadn’t gotten all of it. Some of the future had indeed been forever lost. He’d gotten enough, though. At least he believed he had.

What it all boiled down to was simple. He and the future were one. What was left for him? What was left for a life that resembled anything normal? He’d tried to find a soul mate and from time to time he believed he had. Yet nothing ever worked out because too much of his personality, of himself, had been squeezed out in favor of the future. Tryn knew this would be the cost, but for the sake of the future deemed it a price worth paying. He, himself, hadn’t been asked or consulted. He hadn’t been included in this decision in any way.

Sometimes he wondered if his mother, Maru, would’ve even bothered with the future had she known how dead inside it had made him. Would she have continued down the path the Atra had chosen for her? Who could say? She was what she was just the same as him. She had no choice. The Atra never gave anyone a choice. It had chosen the future it thought best for their planet and stuck to it, regardless of who had to suffer for it. Even so, everyone suffers. Had it chosen a different path, different people would’ve suffered this curse. Someone had to. So, he was preordained to be the one who had to do it . . . and bear the heavy cost.

Did anyone else even know what it was like to know every place you went, every step you took, even every breath you breathed was preordained. This included his attempts to run away from this burden. To abandon his responsibilities and let the future fend for itself. Even those had been foretold. Was there nothing he could ever do that was new? Not even one original thought? What was left of him if everything was known? Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t known how utterly devoid of living, his life would be. Perhaps if he didn’t know there wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel. Not for him anyway. He’d rather die than sacrifice every day to predictability.

Of course it wasn’t. Well it was. What he meant to say was there were gaps. Too much time had passed; too many centuries. There was too much that wasn’t known. Not for sure anyway. It was what he had lived for and the reason he hadn’t committed suicide long before now. It was the hope for a life that couldn’t be known. Only it wasn’t true. The missing pieces were for the future of the planet. Or for the people who lived on it. Not for him. He still received foresights into his own life every day. Of course, he could choose the future he wanted from the choices available and he did, but it never mattered. His choices still set the course for the future events that had already been foretold. He just didn’t know it until they happened. He thought he was free, but he wasn’t. His chains had never been unshackled. They’d just become invisible.

Even now, his meeting with the firstborn was foretold. He supposed he could’ve just taken a different path and walked away, but Tryn had set a failsafe in place for every wayward choice. Every other path led to death. Maybe that hadn’t been because of the Atra. Maybe that was future guidance, though he wouldn’t call it divine. Nothing about his life warranted that lofty description. Tryn had little control over things this far beyond its sight. Just bits and pieces that it hoped would form a whole. It was the reason why every day of learning had counted. Little was certain nowadays. What was known relied solely on what he could see of his own life.

Takei had finally graduated from merely seeing and predicting future events to actually living them. Of course, he’d always had his personal future, but it rarely connected with the prophecies. It was now and needed to. He, himself, was the key. He hadn’t known it. His mother hadn’t known it. The Atra hadn’t even known it. He was the guidance to connect the dots. He was the strand connecting the bits to the pieces; connecting an unpredicted future to that which had been foretold. Nothing could be known by the Atra this far ahead, but he saw events unfolding in crystal clear specifics for literally a month ahead. There was no other choice but for him to be a direct part of the future. He couldn’t guide it if he wasn’t a part of it . . . not anymore and he was happy for the change.

He saw this now . . . or had before. Today wasn’t the first day he’d been a direct part of the prophecies. No. He’d intermingled in critical, but seemingly unimportant events for well over fifty years now. Meeting the firstborn was simply the next step. He’d foreseen that the one who guided him needed guidance. The blind leading the blind, but then that wasn’t her purpose. The one named Meraine did have a part to play, but that wasn’t it. She thought it was and berated herself for failing at it. Even the ancient Wferium thought that guidance was Meraine’s destiny. No. That was his job. Hers was protection.

Wferium knew very little about Takei. No ancient knew much at all about the prophet. That wasn’t by chance. He and his actions were shielded from the foresight of all ancients. Not entirely, of course. They may see him from time to time, but they never knew who he really was or of his importance. Perhaps this could be explained if the future was a living breathing thing, but it wasn’t. Tryn could’ve provided the shield, but it was long since dead. There was no explaining it. It’s just the way things were.

Takei was an enigma. The shield was the reason why no one talked about where the prophecies came from. No one knew but the prophet, though his actions were known and often caused significant ripple effects. For the most part they were regarded as fact and over time molded into a religion of sorts. It seemed such an honorable thing, but it wasn’t. Perhaps belief was, but religion warped everything into its own image. It became a thing unto itself that changed with the wind and punished everyone it could for not believing the lies it called truth. There were many things the Futurists had misinterpreted. Not that it mattered. Theirs was a wayward devotion to the prophecies. They played little to no part in fulfilling them. In fact, the largest part they’d ever played was in tutoring and then subsequently abandoning the protector, Meraine.

Yet he couldn’t enlighten them. This mysterious shield was part of the reason he always felt so very alone. What could he share that could be believed; that would fail to alienate? There wasn’t anyone else in existence who could understand. It was a miracle any ancient could find a soul mate with whom they could be completely honest. He would’ve said the same for his mother and father, but that was destiny. Foretold luck, which wasn’t really luck at all. Where was the miracle in that? Even so, it didn’t make what they had any less special and Takei was envious. He knew most everything about his future from birth and none of it included a significant other. No. He was married to the future and in that all important bond no love existed. The future didn’t know how to love or hate or anything else and he loathed it for the torturous sentence it had so carefully placed upon him.

It didn’t help that it was a life sentence. He envied his parents their love, but he also envied them their deaths. Hadn’t he lived long enough? Hadn’t he done enough? Apparently he hadn’t. He was now living his most important years. He existed now as the future’s link, the future’s guide. Without him, everything he’d lived for would be lost to time. Every sacrifice anyone had ever made for his sake would all be in vain. It was true, on countless occasions, he could’ve taken the many paths that led to death, whether directly or slowly, but he had his obligations.

In reality, duty had nothing to do with it. No. It was all about fear. Fear of the afterlife. Even he couldn’t know what came next. If he’d chosen death, he wondered if anyone could ever compare to the utter and complete loss he would be inflicting upon the planet. No maniacal dictator the history of the world had ever known could come close. Of course, he couldn’t know just exactly what the far-flung future held, but ancients had a sense of things and he had a sense of insurmountable loss if he failed.

That’s what it was all about for him . . . the fear of that loss. Not even that, or rather more so, he feared retribution for it all, whether it be divine, hellish or otherwise. Perhaps the Atra would have to reserve a special place in the afterlife just for him and his crimes to the universe. He could only imagine that place would be called the afterdeath . . . a place where death truly was eternal. Perhaps by grisly murder as well . . . murder eternal.

It was all too much to bear. Even the mere threat of it was overwhelming. Of course, some welcome death. Actually, many welcome death, but then their crimes were only a fraction of a fraction compared to what his would be. He would welcome death too, if he had that luxury, but he didn’t. So he would have to live and keep on wading through a torture with no end. He would serve the future in whatever way the heartless mistress saw fit.

Right now that meant meeting the precursor of another prophecy . . . the enigmatic firstborn prophecy. His name was Jason Jacobi, though by all rights it should’ve been Jason Tdena. Who knew? Maybe it one day would be. That wasn’t something Takei could see. Either it wasn’t time for that foresight or it wasn’t of any real importance. Or it simply never changed. Takei had changed his own surname back to its original, Marada, but their situations were completely different and so were their reasons. Either way, the boy would soon learn of the name Tdena and their sordid history. It was his birthright. Beyond that, he simply had a right to know. Not that rights mattered. After all, didn’t Takei have the right to die? Yet the future required Jason to know where he came from.

Everyone should know their roots whether they approve of them or not. It helps them to define who they are. Takei already knew Jason wouldn’t believe it right away. When he finally did he wouldn’t embrace it, but then if Takei had such a past he wouldn’t have either. For all his troubles, Takei’s past was full of love, but then it needed to be. It prepared him for his own difficult future. So did the trials of humanity. In Takei’s early years he and his parents were hunted continuously. That all ended with the rupture. After that everyone either died or evolved into humatrans. There weren’t any humans left.

Not that Jason hadn’t been loved, but it was a reluctant love that evolved into a tough love. It was a preparation of sorts, just like Takei had endured, but different. Takei had never been sheltered from who he was, what he was or what he was destined to do. He’d been encouraged endlessly to accept his role in the future by his mother, his father and even for a time from Tryn. The Atra would die, but Takei would have 64 years with it in his head, pumping him full of whatever vestiges of future knowledge had yet to be learned.

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Far from encouraged, Jason was hidden from the truth. He couldn’t be encouraged either way without the knowledge of choice. That would be remedied, he thought from Wferium, but he thought she was dead when she was still alive and now she really was dead. Either way, he never really knew who she was and she didn’t know enough to enlighten him if she had the chance. Had she lived and had a chance to teach him, she could’ve told him all about his own past and the basics of who and what he was. After all, Wferium was his aunt, but she knew precious little about what he was supposed to do. For her it was all guesswork. She snatched him up and told him things his father didn’t want him knowing. Of course, she unlocked him too, but that was all base curiosity. Despite her fierce devotion, she couldn’t tell him where to go or what to do because she just didn’t know.

Sarafyn could’ve taught him more because he knew more. He’d studied what there was to know of the firstborn prophecy, but only so he could get a solid grasp on how to destroy it. Sarafyn was a powerful ancient but not even he could do such a thing. He certainly wasn’t going to tell his son about any of it. Meraine could’ve told Jason much of his heritage and some of what he was supposed to do, but she knew little more than Wferium and just about as much as Sarafyn. Either way it wasn’t her role to play.

No. The only one who could guide him now was Takei himself. He knew enough of this future to know death would’ve followed Jason if Takei hadn’t followed him. It was something of a changing of the guard for Takei. The firstborn prophecy was one of the last. When it was over he would welcome death with open arms, no matter what lay in store for him. Yet for now he must persevere because his role was more direct and critical than ever before. Takei didn’t know all the details of what Jason was to do or what would come of it either, but he knew that it was vitally important. Beyond feelings, as far as hard facts were concerned, no one else on the face of the planet knew more than Takei.

Then there was Xavier . . . the tag-along who was let to do so. It wasn’t so simple because nothing in Takei’s life ever was. Xavier was to play a part in the firstborn prophecy as well, but then so was the woman, Carmen. Some could speculate that time had already come and gone, but she wasn’t done. As much as Takei would’ve liked it, the future hadn’t seen the last of Sarafyn, either. He could see Takei, even now, but to him he was just a man. The shield was well in place, just as it had been since his birth. To Sarafyn Takei’s only significance was that he would soon be in his son’s company. Of course, that made him worthy of death in Sarafyn’s book, but death had other plans. As great an ancient as Jason’s father was, he had no idea what or who he would soon be dealing with.

END

Please continue the story with Murder Eternal: Fate Unknown (Book Two)!  It can be found here on Royal Road as well!