"Happiness comes from a perception of life. Life is a pursuit of singular moments, experiences and sacrifices. It is the limitations of this perception that make those moments possible. For such a limitation a sacrifice must be made, a sacrifice towards a perception of death."
Raanu was the boy who read these words out-loud to his mom and dad. He was in the hospital bed when he read aloud the last speech bubble in his comic book stack. He had read the entire series of Silver Swordsman, knew every adventure as though they were his own. His parents had denied him comic books, especially violent and strange ones like Silver Swordsman. They didn't understand the giant robots and mutants and suicidal immortals of the future. It was all very frightening and disturbing content and they had not let him have such stories.
That had changed when they discovered he had a rare malignancy in his heart that would result in his death within months. Raanu was not afraid. He told his parents that since he was going to die it would make sense to let him read comic books, even Silver Swordsman. In fact, it was the Silver Swordsman comics he was most interested in.
The stories began with the boy Raanu sitting by the water with his friend: a giant robot named Unit Three-Sixteen. Raanu was the youngest human on the planet, or one of the youngest. In the future everyone lived forever and it was rare for new people to be born. New people, children, were especially interesting and cared for by the other immortals. Thus, in a world attended by some mere hundreds of giant robots with super powers, Raanu was accompanied by his very own, personal giant robot.
He asked the robot about things like war and death, things that had become obsolete before the advent of the giant robots. In all of its wisdom it could do no more than define such things. Then people came to where Raanu and the giant robot were sitting. Across the water was a temple that controlled the flow of energy in their world. Energy generated by human emotions. As long as the world had existed in tranquility and harmony there was no pain or suffering of any kind.
Raanu and his giant robot watched as the people went into the temple and used its power to obliterate themselves. The lethean energies flowed outward and corrupted the giant robots. Only Unit Three-Sixteen was unaffected, because of its exact proximity when it all started. Unit Three-Sixteen was hit the hardest with the blast of awful energy and was knocked out by it and left with its emotitronics intact, more-or-less. The others of its race did not fare so well. The other empathicals rampaged and the horror escalated as they fed on the new and horrible energy from the humans.
It was Raanu who stood up to the machines and he died a hero. His sacrifice and courage activated Unit Three-Sixteen. The surviving humans made a weapon for the last of their defenders. Thus it became Silver Swordsman, as it did what had to be done. Of the entire giant race, only one remained, for that one had killed all of its own kind in defense of the humans. And for its efforts it became a symbol of oppression and destruction, as it now stood in place of all of its kind.
That was just the first issue of Silver Swordsman. His parents had originally confiscated it and forbade him to read any more. He was an obedient child and did not defy his mother or father. Even when his thoughts made him daydream of the story, he wished away his imaginings, and focused on schoolwork.
At night when his parents left the hospital he would lay awake and thank God he was dying. He no longer had to eat his vegetables, he no longer had to do any schoolwork and he got to read all of the Silver Swordsman comics. His parents hated the books he was reading but he loved them and so they allowed it.
As he dreamed: he went to the places he had seen in the stories. So vivid and full of color and detail. The amount of adventure and action was almost overwhelming. There were many passages with strange ideas in them, the thoughts and musings of the characters, so that he often had to ask his father what was meant.
At first, his father was very guarded about speculating on the meaning of the aggregate of concepts that the books frequently struggled with. Characters had very strange ideas about death, gratitude, love, time, regret, courage, justice, perseverance, immortality, healing, warfare and truth. In short, the heroes rejected the common understanding of all of these things and replaced them with strange new definitions.
Raanu's father, Mukherjee, was a philosophical man. On one hand he put his business first so that he could provide for his family. Otherwise, Mukherjee valued wisdom and understanding and was willing to ruminate to discover the truth about something.
He paid attention to his son's understanding of the characters and their world. In the context of the stories, everything they believed made perfect sense. To his son the characters appealed for a more careful perception of one's own life. To enter the world of Silver Swordsman was to realize that life is so precious and that the struggle to survive is what appraises the value of one's life.
After one hundred and thirty one issues the series ended. It ended with the last humans standing on the precipice of the universe in the path of an implacable force. Death was certain for the characters and Silver Swordsman. They had battled all throughout the stories against increasingly impossible adversaries. Then, as the quest neared completion, it was certain that all would be obliterated anyway, in the end.
It was confusing and scary and disturbing. The entire comic book series was, in fact, quite depressing. One by one the heroes all fell against enemies that could not be defeated. Even Silver Swordsman could barely stand against the villains and was usually beaten down rather than victorious.
Mukherjee asked the man at the comic book store about Silver Swordsman comics. What he was told made it all the more frightening. The reason the comics had ended was because the lead writer was now deceased. He was diagnosed with a rare malignancy in his heart and he had walked out into a cold Christmas night and sat down in the frost to die. This was all known to the guy at the comic book store, yet the comics themselves held a unique status among fans.
Silver Swordsman comics were already rare at the time they were published. Mukherjee had to pay a small fortune for the whole series. The comic book guy had asked him why he was so interested. He explained that these comics were an oddity. They were extremely violent and creepy and filled with strange ideas about how people should perceive their lives. Mukherjee looked at him and asked:
"Is all of that different from other comic books?" He asked.
"The opposite of other comic books. Of fiction, in-general, sir." The comic book guy explained carefully. "Comic books should make you happy, laugh, thrilled and make you want more. Silver Swordsman, isn't it just this guy's weird ideas? It deals heavily with suicide and he actually killed himself. I wouldn't let my kids read this stuff, I don't even want to read this stuff."
"My son is reading these books." Mukherjee said soberly. "They make him happy."
To this the man decided to respond professionally and to make no further comments. Another man in the comic book store walked over with Wonder Woman Volume Three. He knew Mukherjee's family and said:
"That man's son is Raanu and he is dying." The friend of Mukherjee said.
"Everyone who reads Silver Swordsman finds some personal connection to it." The comic book guy recalled.
The snow was falling outside his hospital window. Raanu sighed and opened issue seventy-one. There was something he wanted to check on. He had noticed that the darkness, named Umbraeon, was already creeping across the sky in the background before Svetlana waded into the Pool Of Time. This meant that there was more to Umbraeon's arrival. Raanu had suspected that Umbraeon was always growing before anyone had noticed. He had thought that in some silent and hidden corner of the story: the most terrifying and formidable opponent of-all was growing all-along.
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Encouraged to search for more clues he did so. He discovered that in some panels the characters seemed to be speaking directly to him. He read those ones with greater care. They were instructing him to do as they did, to seek the places where the silence had taken form, to find and annihilate the shadows where they were growing like a cancer. His eyes widened as he realized and said out-loud:
"It's real."
And he grinned. In these stories, death was no more powerful than lies or pain, had no more authority than gratitude or justice. In the world of Silver Swordsman, death was an idea, an illusion. If the stories were all true then that meant that they were right about death. Which meant he need not die in vain.
Mukherjee saw that his son had not slept. While his wife had gone to get lunch he asked his son:
"Have the comics kept you awake?" He asked patiently.
"Yes, father!" Raanu said excitedly. "The comics are real! The stories are all true!"
"No." Mukherjee said. "They were written by a man who was sick. The truth of those stories is all sickness."
"Who is he father? Is he sick like me?" Raanu asked.
"He got sick just like you. He chose to let himself die. I am afraid of what his words are doing to you." Mukherjee was honest with his son.
"His words have taught me that death is not worth fearing. That it is more important to embrace the moment of life. He has taught me that when it ends, all that matters is what we left behind, what we did to make the world better while we were here. That it is evil to live a life of self-indulgence. That it was such an evil that will destroy the world if we do not change our ways. When I read these stories, father, it is like a mirror. It is like it is with you, talking to my own father about life and death, about stories and truth." Raanu explained without hesitation. He had learned much from the books. Mukherjee's fears were slaughtered by the shining sword of his son's beautiful words. The father began to cry in front of his son and then he apologized.
Of all the monsters and villains in the stories only one could be held responsible like a father. Svetlana's long lost father Arvil. He was a very important villain because he had promoted ignorance of both his family and his people. He was not a singular villain but rather the sum of his society. He was a famous poet and it was he that had started the group of people that had killed themselves and sparked the end of their world.
Raanu told his own father just how much he loved and appreciated him. He knew that his own father was the opposite of the character he had in mind. Mukherjee was the enemy of ignorance and he would do anything to protect his family or save his people. The boy wished that somehow his own father's face would appear in the stories to somehow guide the last surviving heroes and Silver Swordsman to a happier destiny. Maybe in the end they could save the universe from ultimate destruction. Raanu knew that is not how the story was supposed to end, but looking at his own father it felt possible.
A month later it was Christmas and a sort of darkness stood like a black hole in the sky. The street lights flickered and the trees twisted off the snow and wandered in search of robots to devour. Marauders shed their humanity to steal immortality and feathered dragons tore the snow filled skies. In a fever he could only recall his favorite moments, grinning and laughing. He would turn and tighten only to see his mom and dad watching and he would relax and smile for them.
It was snowing on Christmas night after his parents left. Raanu had grown very weak, but his unfading smile bore his parents to their rest. Silver Swordsman stood in terrible vigil over the boy like an angel.
"When it is time...to the Temple take me." Raanu told Silver Swordsman. "I must set things right in your world. I have a job to do there."
"I know, my boy. It is almost time." Silver Swordsman towered over him in the hospital room: time and space becoming less relevant with each passing moment. The whole place seemed to stretch to fit the giant robot and the snow was swirling everywhere, inside and out.
Then a kind of silence, a sort of stillness seemed to be holding it all as a snowglobe. There in his hospital bed lay his remains. He looked at them, at the stack of comics next to his body. Then he turned and saw that the wall was as though he were looking up out of water at a blue sky. He went into this, and the light left the room behind, and went with him, and it was him, he was the light.
He sat looking at his reflection in the still waters he had gone through to be here. The ground was level in all directions and the great Temple Of Humanity stood across from him where he sat at the Pool Of Time. Beside him was the giant robot Unit Three-Sixteen.
"I knew that this would happen. As soon as I died I came here. This is where I am supposed to be. I was just there to know why." Raanu stood up and proclaimed.
"Died?" Unit Three-Sixteen asked.
"That's right, you don't know anything about death yet." Raanu puzzled out-loud. He suddenly realized he was in issue number one of Silver Swordsman, the absolute beginning of everything. With a worried look he glanced over and saw that the Cyclists were coming. It wasn't too late to put a stop to everything bad that was going to happen.
"Those people plan to die inside the Temple Of Humanity. They will release a lot of negative anima at once. It will be the end of GAIA. The world will know nothing more than hunger and suffering and you will be the last of your kind." Raanu told Unit Three-Sixteen frantically.
"I can feel your fear, Raanu. What do I do?" Unit Three-Sixteen worried. It knew something was dreadfully wrong with the scene.
"Get me to them, quickly!" Raanu commanded. The giant robot obeyed him and lifted him to its shoulder and strode to the Temple Of Humanity. Raanu was placed on the path of the Cyclists to confront them.
"You should not be here, Raanu. You are just a child, you cannot understand." Arvil told the boy. He and the rest of the first wave of Cyclists stood in robes of patterns in black and white and many wore comedy or tragedy masks of opposing shades.
"I understand exactly what you are about to do. I've seen what happens, the world ends because of you. People hate you after this." Raanu pointed at them each.
"You don't know what it is like to live the way we have, for so long. It becomes meaningless. We need this, we need a final experience." Shatia spoke up in her high voice. She took off her mask and beheld her descendant. Like a little prince, she mused.
"What you are doing will destroy the world. I have had this final experience already. It only taught me that we are all meant for more, meant to do more, say more and feel more than we do. We live in ignorance, forging our own darkness and our own silence. You have made a death for yourselves in your minds and now you intend to inflict it on everyone." Raanu, like his father, could say the truth to someone without cowardice.
"How? How can you stand there and stop us?" Arvil felt his ancient resolve weakening. As a poet, it broke his heart to hear the plain truth. It was like a gleaming sword, cutting through the nonsense that he and his followers had invented.
"I will die over and over again, it seems, until this moment is dragged out into the light of day. There is a darkness behind every panel, a silence behind every period and a shadow over everyone's head. I know, I went back and read it all again to be sure. It was here all-along. It started at the very beginning with the very shadows you are casting now. By the end, only enough light is left in all the universe for one of the last people to say one last thing. Then it all goes to darkness and death, forever." Raanu recalled vividly.
"You would have us turn back. Go back to unending misery?" Shatia asked her great-nephew. She was one of the youngest among the Cyclists.
"Both are choices. One of these choices, I have explained, is a path that will start with your deaths and never end until the whole universe is dead." Raanu nodded.
"We have a right to die." Arvil protested.
"Svetlana meets you in the future, in the past before this happens, but she never finds out why you wrote Argosy, your most famous poem." Raanu was not afraid of Arvil's cowardice. He knew the man better than he knew himself.
Arvil willingly recited his poem to avoid the explanation:
"See now this plain of spoil,
Where cowed all Mans' toil,
To sit bemused without,
Thoughts belabored in drought,
So forth she clings to East,
Or North she turns to least,
But never strays her heart,
Not fallen since the start,
And plants her seed of truth,
The sun rises as proof,
Sacred words she has kept,
How the mighty have wept."
"So what does it mean? This?" Raanu tried not to smile when he saw he had broken the character Arvil. Arvil fell to his knees as he realized he had become the enemy of his own truth. It had not occurred to him until he was confronted with the truth laid bare and obvious. There was no shadow to hide his feelings within. Death would never be an escape from his self loathing, it would only be the proof of it. He himself became the mighty one weeping at the end.
"What have I done?" He tore off his robes and flung them away. He turned on his followers and screamed a damnation upon them for standing behind him. He walked through them and left them there. Without him, many of them did the same. Some left with their masks still on, unwilling to reveal who they were.
Raanu stood there alone with his giant robot. The Temple Of Humanity was operating at low power and the surge of excitement from the boy made the empathicals all around the world stand up and chuckle happily. The giant robots were genius artisans and sculptors and architects that had sat in boredom and decline for too long. Renewal lit them up with vitality and inspiration.
Overcome with a sense of purpose and triumph: he laughed.