The air-tight sealant of the recovery pod let loose a sharp hiss as it opened. Jinzu’s eyes were sore. It took great effort to open them. Each eyelash had formed together. Their oils working as glue to maintain the perfect posture. As the world came into focus, so too did the ringing in her ears. The blaring noises of the alarm ricocheted off the walls of the room.
The walls were lined with screens and machines with all kinds of different text and displays. Some of them, clearly denoted with different renditions of;
OFFLINE
The incoherent strings of thought whispering to life inside the mind of Jinzu were chaotically delicate. Where am I? What do I remember last? Why am I in this pod?
The questions were pointless as her person was still restricted by the electronically controlled shackles within the pod. Her first attempt at movement was met with the stiffness of… How long had she been in the pod? The second attempt proved more fruitful than the last, with her motion prompting the shackles to open with yet another hiss.
Of all of the parts of her body that could be inconveniently unusable, of course it was her legs. From the moment she first flexed her calf muscle she cried in pain and fell to the hard floor of her metallic prison. The alarm, still blaring, served as her only inspiration to continue. With each arm she pushed herself up from the ground and onto her knees. The attempts of her movement were further restricted by the tightness of her clothing. It was clearly designed to adhere to the form of the person, but was too small for her figure.
The red lights of the alarm served as constant reminders of the headache that was rooted deep within her skull. Each pulse of her heart amplifies the pain, sending it far down her spine. Besides the body aches there was no scratch, bump, or bruise on her skin. Truly miraculous after the “graceful leap” she had taken from her prior housing. She got to her feet and uneasily meandered over to the monitors on the far wall from her pod.
Pasted all over the screens were years' worth of medical data. Everything from heart rate to cortisol levels was recorded and displayed on the screen. The central monitor, the largest of the lot, showed a progress bar with the words: Upload 80% Complete
Jinzu’s gaze flickered between the screens, their shifting data streams barely making sense through her groggy state. Vitals. Neural scans. A progress bar blinked insistently on the largest monitor—Upload 80% Complete. The destination field made her stomach twist. Her.
Fragments of file names glowed in sterile white text:
Education
The War of the Forgotten
Parents and Family
Gilden
Mission
A shiver ran down her spine. She forced herself to focus, trying to grasp what the data meant, but an ache pounded against her skull. The room felt suffocating. Whatever was happening—whoever had orchestrated it—she wasn’t in control.
Notes from the Author
When I first undertook the immense task of compiling our planet’s history, I believed it would be the crowning achievement of my life’s work. But I did not anticipate the Council’s decree—Project Mercator, the transmission of our history to Earth. The moment I learned of it, my priorities shifted entirely.
Eridia’s place in the universe is but a single note in the vast symphony of time, yet few civilizations have shaped the stars as profoundly. Nowhere else have beings of all systems, planets, and races coexisted in such harmony—or struggled so fiercely to preserve it.
Eridia’s formation was made possible by a singular, defining truth—its atmosphere has no spatial limits. This, I suspect, will be the most difficult concept to convey to the Humans of Earth, whose understanding of existence remains bound to the rigid constraints of three-dimensional space. But to explain Eridia is not merely to describe its physics. It is to unravel the purpose behind its creation.
The Gilden civilization met its end with the close of the Star Seecher era, its grandeur reduced to ruin. At its height, the Gilden ruled from Aurum, the shining seat of their empire—an unrivaled center of science, culture, and governance. Yet power is seldom gained without conflict, and the Gilden forged many enemies in their ascent. Their rule was justified through faith. To them, conquest was not ambition but duty, sanctioned by the Seven Knights of Harmony—their celestial patrons, revered as the keepers of peace across the stars.
I will not burden you with the full account of the Gilden’s transgressions, but let history remember this—peace, when built upon subjugation, is no peace at all. The Gilden had their methods of silencing opposition, and under their rule, dissent rarely took root. Perhaps it was the absence of those who might have resisted. Perhaps it was the lingering fear they left in their wake. Either way, their dominion was seldom questioned—until the day it was.
As we usher in a new era—one where Earth at last awakens to the truths beyond its fragile skies—we must hold fast to Eridia’s mission: equity and justice for all. The biases we carry, the quiet contempt we may harbor for the people of Earth, must not cloud our purpose. If Eridia is to be what it claims—a beacon of unity—then we must extend that unity even to those who have only just opened their eyes to the greater universe. It is my hope that the words within these pages, whether read by Humans or otherwise, will serve not only as a record of history but as a mirror—one that compels every reader to examine themselves, their place in the stars, and the legacy they will leave behind.
What makes us the righteous keepers of the universe? Are we qualified to set the expectations for a civilization to enter the harsh political landscape of the universe? Is the title “Keepers of the Universe” sustainable? In a sense, what did the Gilden call themselves in their prime?
The defining characteristic of Eridia's inspiration lies in the autonomy afforded to each individual in determining their own future. In a society where equity prevails and information is freely accessible, we are entrusted with the collective responsibility of preserving these principles. The duty of being an informed and educated citizen is significant, yet it is a burden borne collectively by all. No civilization is without its challenges, and it is crucial to acknowledge this truth—both in the present and as we look toward the future.
Cheers, Adzalvius Poieo
Jinzu
The long hallway behind the door offers little comfort to my scattered mind. I take one look back at the room. Then I step forward into the uncertainty of the corridor. Colored lines adorn the walls and floor of the facility. Each one ending with an arrow and a word as the destination.
Central Command
Medbay
Officers’ Quarters
Kitchen
Elevator
Central Command is found at the end of the pink line. There are no decorations on the walls of the halls as I go through them. Only the lines dare to break from the metallic monotony. The occasional sound comes only from the alarm still blurting out its heinous melody. The red lights that were in the med bay are strewn around the interior and serve as the only light sources as I walk.
At the end of the pink line there is a door. Instead of opening for me as the one did inside of the med bay, it stays very shut. A terminal to the right of the door reads;
Insufficient Power
A few buttons are illuminated, one of them labeled;
Prioritize Connection
I press it quickly and the console gives a short beep. A whirring sound emanates from the wall and suddenly the door opens. Inside of the room there are many screens flashing with different text and pictures. In the middle of the room there is a large table that serves as a horizontal computer screen. There are holographic images floating about of the facility. No surroundings are apparent, but by an area labeled power generation there is a large red symbol. I touch that point on the map and it says.
Generator damaged. Main power distribution network offline. Unable to distribute full power generation through alternative wiring. Repair equipment located on Deck 2 in Room 354. Please consult with the engineering department.
Without any question I consult the map for a way to Deck 2. If there is anything that can help me learn more about my problem, it will need power to do so. Using the map I find that if I take a different turn than I did to get here from the med bay I can find the elevator. Before I leave Central Command I step over to another terminal. A crew manifest sits there patiently waiting to tell me what I already know. The only name on the manifest is mine.
After a few deep breaths I head to the elevator. Following the green line down the hallway takes me past a couple of rooms with names on their doors that must have been offices for the people that worked here. The red lights guide me to the elevator doors, and I press the call button which illuminates with a blue glow. After a few short seconds there is a chime as the elevator door opens.
The wall opposite the doors of the elevator is only glass. The outside is mostly dark with little flecks of light passing through the veil. Wherever I am, the night sky sure is beautiful, but as I approach the glass to get a full view of my surroundings the lack of ground sets my heart on fire. As I look out into the vacuum of space, I feel more trapped than ever.
Before I can allow myself to sink too far down into a pool of dread I press the button and head to Deck 2. As the elevator lowers my chest sinks further into depression. Even the cheery chime notifying me of my arrival does no good to lessen the uneasiness. A couple of steps forward and the nauseousness kicks in, but before my legs give in, I soothe my mind with the hope of answers. Deck 2 is just as much of a maze as the first, but there are more rooms. Following the descending numbers from the elevator I eventually find Room 354. The engineering department’s headquarters are quite unorganized. Documents lay across the tables and chairs are out in the middle of the room. There are a few lockers in the back with names and pictures on their doors.
On the door of the farthest locker from me there is a note with a small drawing of a family. In the handwriting of a young child there is a message left from her to her father.
We miss you back at home, Dad. I know you’re out there fighting the bad guys, but I can’t help but wonder why you can’t just stay here. What did they do that was so bad that they needed to take you away from me? I’ll be waiting for your return.
Love,
Keemia
The softhearted words of this young girl manages to brighten my spirits. This ship was clearly used for more than just my containment. Who were they fighting? A nearby cabinet holds the repair equipment. Inside is a gun-like tool. I remove it from the cabinet and pull the trigger. Small flames shoot out from the end. The rather advanced welder will surely assist me in repairing the ship’s generator. Luckily, a small manual lay at the bottom of the same cabinet.
The information within proves useful as far as the different modes and procedures for different types of repairs, labels for the different parts of the tool, and just about anything else you’d want to know about it. At least someone knew that it was important to leave some helpful guidance and knowledge. The rest of my time here has just been full of mystery.
I make my way back to the control room. The blinking emergency indicator is still the most prevalent feature of the map. The blank surroundings now make sense, as space doesn’t offer much variety to demarcate the exterior. However, the emergency indicator is showing exterior damage. I’ll have to head outside.
Among the countless rooms of the ship I find an armory. Inside there are dozens of lockers, each one of them containing the amenities and equipment of the soldiers that once served on board the great vessel. Many of the locker doors were adorned with the pictures of the soldiers’ families, and the interiors contained memorabilia from their homes. Each of the soldiers was assigned a space suit and weapon.
The space suits themselves were contained in a disc that deployed a pliable shell around the figure on which it was deployed. I press the disc to my chest and activate it. A hexagonal pattern envelops my body for a few seconds and then fades to translucent a moment later. The disc, now firmly attached to my chest, sports a pocket for the tools I am bringing with me on my excursion.
The airlock is only a few doors down from the armory. The short journey there grants me little time to realize the implications of what I am about to do. I can say with sincerity that I have no desire to do a spacewalk under any other circumstances. The inner doors of the airlock open as I approach. In their size and thickness they take a few seconds longer to open than the other doors I have passed through.
The inner airlock doors seal shut behind me. The pressure equalizes, and gravity fades. A countdown begins. I exhale sharply, gripping the metal railing beside me. Every instinct in my body screams to turn back, to stay inside the ship where there is air, sound, and warmth. But the outer doors hiss open.
Beyond the threshold, the universe stretches out in an infinite black abyss. The stars, so distant, feel frozen in time, unmoving. The sheer depth of the void makes her stomach churn. The glimpse I caught earlier had given me false confidence, and now that the depths of infinity lay in front of me, I feel smaller than ever. Indefinitely exposed.
The suit’s magnetic boots hold me steady, anchoring her to the exterior of the ship. I take a careful step forward, then another, before finally releasing my death grip on the railing.
Taking a slow breath, I move forward, pulling myself hand over hand along the ship’s hull. Ahead, a jagged hole in the generator casing sparks violently. The asteroid’s impact had ripped through the protective plating, leaving exposed wiring dangling into the vacuum.
I steady myself. One wrong movement, one careless push-off, and I could drift into nothingness. I draw the repair tool from my suit’s storage pocket, the manual’s instructions flashing through my paranoid mind. Step one: Secure the site.
I grip a loose panel and attempt to snap it back into place—but the impact has twisted the metal. A grimace hits my face. This wasn’t going to be easy. The ship’s electromagnetic shielding flickers as the damage continues to interfere with power distribution.
Gripping the jagged metal edge while pulling, my suit’s viscous characteristics contort with my figure as I force the plating back into position. A moment of weightlessness overtakes me as my boots lose grip, and my stomach lurches violently. My hands scramble. A desperate, frantic grasp—then contact.
My gloves lock onto the edge of the hull just before I can drift away. A sharp breath rasps through my helmet. “Focus,” I mutter to myself. With renewed determination, I ignite the welder. The blue flame flickers before stabilizing, cutting through the void like a beacon. Carefully, I move the torch along the edges, fusing the plating back together.
I work quickly, sealing the final gash in the paneling. The last of the sparking wires are secured, and the power grid stabilizes.
Then—
A shadow flickers across my visor. My breath stills. A movement—small, fast—just at the edge of my vision. I whip my head around. A small rock, tumbling slowly in the distance, passes by the hull. I let out a shaky breath, forcing a short laugh at my own paranoia. Just a rock.
As I approach the gargantuan doors, the ship’s airlock pulses green, signaling that power has been restored. My fingers ache from gripping too tightly. Every muscle feels stiff. After the tedious, white-knuckled journey back, I finally allow myself to exhale, my posture easing for the first time since stepping outside.
With the ship now fully functional, the command center has fully flickered to life. I am greeted by an AI as I enter.
“Greetings captain.”
A blob-like entity hovers over the main console in the middle of the room.
“A captain, huh?”, I say with a sneer, “That’s what I am?”
The AI’s form contorts and ripples, processing my words.
“You are Jinzu, savior of the Uru people.”
I blink. “You’re saying I’m… what, some kind of chosen one?”
Minstrel’s digital form flickered, adjusting its tone.
“Your father, Aelorin Prophirae, was a top advisor to the Aurum council before its fall.”
Clenching my fists. “Aurum. What the hell is Aurum?”
A long pause.
“The seat of the Uru Empire,” Minstrel admitted. “Or rather… it was.”
A slight crackle in its voice made it sound almost remorseful.
“Jinzu, you were meant to inherit a legacy. But the war changed everything.”
My mind reels. The upload. The missing memories. The mission I never agreed to.
“Then tell me,” I say, straightening my back. “What exactly am I supposed to do?”
“I sense some elevated emotions, so I won’t ramble. In short, I will help advise you on your way to the restoration of the Uru race. In order to get started you must rally some allies to our cause. Your father had told many of them to wait at Oasis in system 651-122025. Should I set our course?”
With a nod of my head a thrumming starts as the ship accelerates. On one of the monitors to the left I watch the exterior camera’s view. The jump to lightspeed warps the stars into linear trails. In a flash all of the stars are gone, and the silhouette of a planet obscures the view. The system’s star peeks out from around the right side of the planet. The star’s brilliant, blue glow serves as a backdrop for countless ships entering and exiting the planet’s atmosphere.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Shall I direct you to the cargo bay captain?” Minstrel asks.
A puzzled look crosses my face.
“Why would I need to go there? Can’t you just put us down on the planet’s surface?”
“The Corondia is too large to enter any public spaceport. You will need to take a shuttle.”
Minstrel directs me to the ship’s large hangar. Inside, countless ships await to serve anyone in need of transportation. The most common model has a door to the back with text on the side.
Midas Technologies - AU196
The model number’s yellow color accents the deep black of the hull. The wings of the aircraft culminate in thrusters at the end of each of them. The back door automatically opens as I approach and board the ship. Inside there is a medium sized space with lockers along the walls and seats that would suffice for about a dozen people.
I take my seat in one of the chairs in the cockpit, where Minstrel kicks in and prepares us for take off. As the electronics boot up for the first time in ages, mechanical noises emanate from every direction in the cabin. Short whir after long hiss awaken the beast of a machine and the thrusters activate. We ferry out of the ship and head towards the planet.
Hovering just outside of the planet’s atmosphere is a large, ring contraption that projects a laser field around the planet itself. All of the ships enter in and out of the ring. As they pass through, they undergo some sort of scan. The scan is likely for some form of contraband, and it doesn’t worry me as I am the ship’s only cargo.
As we approach the ring I spot a sign.
ParaCorp Keeps You Safe. Comply.
The foreboding nature of the advertisement doesn’t assist my heart in calming itself. Countless questions fill my mind, but my hope for answers grants me patience. A sudden jolt locks us into position for the scan to begin. The scan occurs quickly and with no time at all we continue our descent.
The tall buildings below me cultivate an eerie aesthetic. In the distance smoke billows from factories, and it sits in the air unable to escape the containment field outside of the atmosphere. All of the visible natural soil is blackened and looks like ash. Everywhere that soil isn’t visible there is the harsh grey of concrete. Street lights flicker, and vehicles inch along the roads aimlessly.
Soon enough the horizon is obscured by the massive walls of a spaceport. The obelisk-like management towers leer over all activity within the many landing zones of the gargantuan structure. Our altitude gets lower and lower, and eventually we are assigned a landing zone. Minstrel navigates over and touches down. The docking procedure commences and the whirs from before begin.
“The ship is now docked. Before you leave, take this Lense.”, Minstrel says.
A device is issued from the center console. I take it and inspect it before I quickly attach it to my ear. A sharp pain causes my ear to ring as the device injects itself into my ear canal. The feeling of the wires reaching around in my head is not one I will soon forget. The Lense finds its destination and suddenly, my vision displays a starting screen.
The Lense boots up and displays everything from coordinates, to vital signs.
“The Lense was developed by the EthiCore Corporation late in the War of the Forgotten. Originally used solely for military use, it is now required that all sentient lifeforms have one equipped at all times.”
Minstrel’s matter of fact tone doesn’t cull my disdain for this new part of me.
“Where do I have to go now? We’re on the planet. How do we find who my father wanted me to meet?”
Minstrel’s mechanical methodology suggests that I just explore. I step out onto the landing platform and take in my first breath of the oppressive smog. A couple of paces out of the ship, I hear the door shut behind me. Brilliantly white lights brightly illuminate the spaceport interior and exterior. As I walk through the compound I can’t help but feel out of place.
Many other tenants and customers stroll around and I often feel as if there is no room to breathe. It doesn’t help that I feel each breath carries more solids than gases. I step out onto the bustling street outside of the spaceport. No doubt a major thoroughfare, its seemingly infinite number of people and vehicles work to blur my vision. A street performer catches my eye, and I walk in their direction.
The Last Shyvolii - Tips are Appreciated
The dark red ink of the sign protrudes from the smoggy environment. Although, a thin layer of smog dampens the white background. The performer sits on the ground with a large blue bucket in front of them. Their companion was clearly struggling to remove itself from the collar around its neck.
Its voice was hoarse from the rebellious screeching. Two legs rock the poor thing back and forth, while similar looking limbs, but a little longer tug at its restraints.
“This is Momia, the last Shyvolii! Brought to you all the way from planet Basatique! Come witness the last shapeshifting savage!”
The performer picked up the lone Shyvolii by one of its legs and displayed it to the crowd. All the while Momia screeched and contorted to try to get out. The collar suddenly rips, and the creature falls on its head. As it hits the ground its figure morphs into a masculine, green skinned, average sized being. Momia pushes himself off the ground and runs in my direction.
Before he penetrates the thick wall of people surrounding the failed show, we make eye contact. He runs into the crowd just to my left, and the angry entertainer grabs some sort of weapon and tries to run after him. I stick my leg out and the failed captor falls flat on their face.
In a few seconds I have slipped into the crowd, undetectable by anyone that may have witnessed my bout of good will. I turn on my heel and begin to head down the street in the direction of Momia’s flight. On a large screen mounted on the side of a building a news alert begins.
“As one of the representatives to the galactic council for System 651-122025, I would like to express my support for a equal access to healthcare opportunities for all occupants of the system. It should be within every sentient being’s interest to better preserve all of our health. I am Minister Quora Vardane and I approve this message.”
The news alert ends just as abruptly as it began. The street still rings with the business of all of its people and vehicles. I spot Momia heading into an alley about a block away and across the street. The perilous journey of 11 lanes of traffic leaves me panting, but I try to mask it as I head into the alley. A few large trash bins line the sides of the darkened area. The buildings on either side stand so tall that they block all natural light.
I cross in front of the first dumpster, but before I make it past a figure launches itself at me from the shadows. Momia’s brute strength pins me to the ground tearing my clothing with his grip on my forearms. He lets out a dangerous hiss before recognizing that it’s me from the crowd. He begins to speak in a language that I can’t understand.
“Calibrating language services; Shyvolic detected.”
Minstrel’s language assistance begins to translate the exasperated Shyvolii.
“Why did you help me? You put yourself at risk for someone you didn’t even know!”
Momia takes a few short breaths before releasing his tight grip.
“Thank you. I had been in that woman’s ‘service’ for many years.”
I manage a small smile and sit up with my back against the cool green surface of the dumpster.
“I’m Jinzu. It’s my first time here on Oasis.”
Momia settles into a more comfortable position. As he moves I spot the scarring left behind from years of his old collar being used as a handle. His posture suggests that he is prepared to dart away from this interaction at a moment's notice, but his eyes yearn for connection. The alley darkens further as a ship flies overhead. The rush of air as it passes by makes the hair on my arm stand up.
I look down to where I feel the sensation and see that my jumpsuit, that I’ve been wearing since I got out of the pod, has torn and revealed my skin underneath. A dark coloring rests at the top of the torn cloth. I push the remaining material away to reveal a tattoo.
Praise be the Light
A new wave of confusion hits. Momia spots the tattoo as well, and grabs my arm. He looks at the ebony inscription and then back at me.
“We must go to the PWP.”
Momia pulls me up from my resting position on the ground and we hurl ourselves out onto the street. We fly through 6 lanes of traffic while dodging and running between the angry drivers and their angrier sounding engines. The harsh smoke of the vehicles’ emissions robs me of my breath and each minute of our venture feels like hours. Momia’s will persists as I trip over the curb and I feel another tug on my arm for me to get up.
With a glance up I see him pointing to a blue sign hovering over the chaos of the city.
People without Planets
Now that my eyes lay upon our destination my motivation returns. My knee curses me as I push myself to my feet and scramble after Momia. Swathes of people fill the square outside of the gargantuan skyscraper, yet we still find a way to the front door. The blue light from the sign is continued with the urban design of the building. Bright lighting lines the walls reflecting off of countless windows large enough to see the entire interior without entering.
Inside at the desk Momia walks up and the attendant barely stifles a gasp. He whispers something into the phone about a Shyvolii in the lobby. After putting himself together and managing a smile he says,
“Welcome to People without Planets. We’re here to help. Please take a seat in our waiting area for one of our service agents to come get you.”
Momia’s dismay is made obvious by a sigh and a couple of angry foot taps.
“Have you seen the tattoo on her arm? She’s a lot more important than some service agent. We need to see a boss.”
Conveniently, a man scurries down the steps to our left.
“Inigo I can take it from here. Jinzu has been waiting a long time to see me," he says.
More confusion. How does he know my name?
“I am Tikal. Lead supervisor of this branch of the People without Planets, but more importantly a friend of your father. Therefore, a friend of yours.”
Trailing behind Tikal, my boots click against the pristine white floors of the PWP headquarters. Digital posters flickered across the walls:
“Rebuilding Lives, One World at a Time.”
“No Planet? No Problem! PWP is Here for You.”
Inside, caseworkers shuffled between desks, various screens brimming with alien dialects and cultural records. A trio of gaunt-faced men huddled near an assistance kiosk, whispering in hushed tones.
Tikal stays steady, leading us through the organized chaos, his voice calm despite the overwhelming noise.
“We do what we can. Thousands of displaced communities rely on us for survival. History restoration, language education, even basic necessities.” He exhaled, shoulders heavy.
“It’s never enough.”
Entering his office, we take a seat and Tikal offers us each a glass of water.
“Don’t worry, purified by every water corporation on Oasis.”
Unfortunately for him, that didn’t bring me any comfort, but the hope of exterminating the residue left behind from the thick smoke of the vehicles compelled me to take a sip.
“Jinzu, I can imagine you’re quite confused. Your father didn’t leave with a whole lot other than a mission, but now that we’ve met this thing can really kick into gear. Tell me about your friend here.”
I set down the glass and correct my posture. A nervous smile strikes my face as I begin,
“Momia and I met on the street after I got here. He was under the owne-”
Momia’s foot drives hard into mine causing a sharp pain and an interruption.
“He was performing in the street and saw my tattoo, so we came here.”
Tikal gives the two of us a relatively skeptical look. His smile disappearing for a short moment before returning with a laugh.
“You have inherited your father’s incapability of being dishonest. I won’t press, but know that nothing you say here will go under any scrutiny.”
Momia lets out a sigh of relief and again grabs my arm, revealing the tattoo by pulling back the torn fabric.
“This is why I brought her here. The universe must know that she has arrived.”
Tikal’s gaze fixates on the tattoo on my arm. He forcefully grabs his glass of water, takes a sip, and sets it back on the desk.
“We’d better go see Darajaria, the last Auric. She’ll be better at making sense of any of this for you anyway, Jinzu.”
He presses a button and requests a ride to something called the Celestial Temple. Within moments I can see a vehicle pull up outside the doors of the PWP. The three of us descend the stairs and step outside. The square outside is still filled with people, but as I climb into the vehicle the tint of the glass blocks the view. They just become unidentifiable dots.
As we roll away from the PWP, the blue lights of the office building fade from view. The towering skyscraper looms above the city, its sleek blue lights casting an artificial glow over the displaced masses crowding the entrance. Tikal stares into the crowd outside, seemingly counting them. An alert comes across his watch:
“Media team is on site.”
He resets his body posture and types back:
“Why?”
I look away before he notices my spying and spot a large military vehicle with 8 wheels and a mounted gun on top in the lane next to us. The same logo from the space station above the atmosphere shines brilliantly with white paint. Paracorp. A soldier mans the gun on top, ready to respond to anything necessary. As our vehicle starts moving forwards the tank turns and heads away from us. All the while it drives away the blood red coloration sticks out from the rest of the traffic.
Building after building passes by, but then they’re gone. A large greenspace begins with trees, flowers, walking paths, and hedges. I position myself to be able to see out the front. The driver points ahead and there it is, the Celestial Temple.
Three great, crystalline spires dominate the sky. Floating rocks orbit them with water trickling down their sides creating short waterfalls onto the roof. The sky is a brilliant blue with light pouring over the bastion of beauty making it literally sparkle. I check behind us and watch as the door to the exterior of the dream we just entered closes behind us.
“It’s a chronodome.”, Tikal says proudly, “It perfectly preserves the day in which it was constructed. Nothing ever changes.”
We approach the pearl gates that conclude the approach to the temple. Stepping out of the vehicle I take in my first ever breath of fresh air, unless you count that of the spaceship circulation system. The serenity of the moment quickly diminishes as I hear;
“Please enter payment code.”
I turn to my left where Tikal is in the process of buying our admission.
“Thank you. Have a nice visit.”
He ushers for me to join him. Momia and I scurry over past the turnstile and we start up the path. Hedges line the walkway, and the sweet scent of flowers almost erases my confusion of paid entry.
“That was a fairly anticlimactic entrance.”, I say, trying to partially mask my disappointment.
Tikal gives me a short smile.
“Funding hasn’t been nearly as plentiful in recent years. When you’re the last religious institution of a civilization that died to the very thing that a prophecy suggested, you’re not exactly deemed popular.”
My confused expression prompts his further clarification.
“Aurum fell to the forces of Tar-Gôl, which was predicted by the Tsída prophecy. The day of the Reckoning, or the arrival of Tar-Gôl’s forces, was the day you were born.”
Unfortunately, the answer I received served no purpose other than to confuse me further, which I am finally getting used to. The grand doors of the cathedral open and we step into the sanctuary. Inside windows line the periphery and long benches spread far and wide across the grey floor. Pillars serve as the separation between the two primary rows of seating, and as you look up they seem to branch out and join the sky. Nothing but natural light illuminates the interior.
I position myself so that my view of the front of the sanctuary is longer blocked by any of the gargantuan pillars. In front of a podium stands a woman dressed in a white suit. Her hand moves gently against the surface, but I can still hear the scratch of the pencil against its victim.
“Step forward, and do so confidently. Your importance is known here, but not by you.”
The soothing nature of her voice coaxes me out of my defensive posture and I stride up the aisle. Tikal and Momia wait behind me in the doorway.
“You need not worry Jinzu. You have come to the right place for the answers you seek. Let me show you all that has been planned.”
A set of 5 stairs separates me from the divinity behind the podium. The closer I get, the more I notice the light bending into small rainbows that dance above her head forming a crown of colors just above her temples.
“Welcome to your destiny, Jinzu, spark of the universe.”
Her smile flushes my cheeks and I force myself to look away.
“Tell me everything.”, I say, almost craving the knowledge of my own importance.
Tikal yells something that I can’t quite make out. Before I turn around I feel this shooting pain in my back. As the bullet flies through me severing my spinal cord. All I can think as I fall to the ground, dying, is: Is the Auric alright?