Epilogue
Written by Ethan
On the edge of the island, Elinea sat calmly with her feet dangling in the wind, watching the waters below swipe at the massive boko trunk that held her village aloft hundreds of meters in the sky. A storm was brewing in the distance above the mainland; a beautiful sight she took in with bated breath. Streaks of lightning were popping off, light rippling through the clouds with the low rumble of thunder building to a roar. Even two decades separated from the would-be apocalypse that was the Shift, Elinea couldn’t help but worry that the rains would come and then never cease.
She knew these fears were illogical, but the damage sustained from the Shift was deep and still holding strong. The new life that had sprung up from the husk of the old world only served to muffle her trauma, not erase it. Still, high up in the canopy of the gargantuan boko, far from the surface, she knew the only real threat to her peace was inside her own soul.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a familiar voice said from behind her.
At the trailhead leading back to the village stood the blind wanderer. He hobbled over to her sluggishly, stopping to adjust his hunched posture, groaning in discomfort as his body straightened up.
“You’re looking spritely today, old friend,” Elinea said with a chuckle.
“Not all of us have the benefit of agelessness,” he replied with a smile.
“Comes at a price, unfortunately,” she said looking down at her hardened skin, a dull crimson fully overtaking the chitin left behind from Drescel’s experiments. Her right arm was now a stub just past the elbow, the liptis having died and fallen off in a shriveled heap several years prior.
“I didn’t see you at the latest Assembly meeting,” the man said as he took a seat next to her.
“You say that every time we meet…I haven’t been in years. It’s fruitless since the Callans in the New Capital gained their majority. They’re not interested in moving forward, merely positioning themselves to recreate the past.”
The blind wanderer nodded. “This is true, but as long as we still have a seat at the table, it’s worth being present. Gives us an understanding of their planning.”
“So, is there anything new to report?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, no. They’re still arguing about resource allocation. They think the redundancies put in place for the Plug are unnecessary, and think those efforts could be better utilized elsewhere.”
The first few years after the Remnant was expelled were exceptionally difficult, but the hope of a world reborn was enough to give the survivors the fortitude needed to forge ahead with their new reality. There was countless work to be done and few hands to do it, and so hard choices had to be made mere hours after the conclusion of the great battle on the platform.
Jartow, the Irapa, and the Free Roamers voluntarily delayed their plans to reclaim the underworld, knowing the dire state of the surface world was the top priority. Specifically, they needed to address the fact that the waters streaming down the columns were quickly draining down sinkholes, moving from the top level to the bottom when they needed to return to the center. Jartow and a contingent of Techniks and Magi rushed to deal with the massive openings in the sea floor while the remaining refugees made their way towards the Capital Islands, one of the few relatively intact land masses still habitable after the years of storms.
Fortunately, the sinkholes that had not already been naturally plugged with soil and rock from the raging waters above were in relatively close proximity to one another, just off the coast of the Capital where the massive nautilus had emerged. The waters were coming down steadily, and there was little time to develop a makeshift fix. With help from Hallister and the Magi, Jartow was able to intensify his ice breath, flash-freezing the water just above the sinkholes. In parallel, the Techniks used their massive machinery, redirected from their digging efforts in the north to push the land up and around the group of holes, creating a circular barrier that resembled an empty volcano. Thankfully, the sand had stopped sinking once the Remnant was gone and the storms blew away, allowing stable access to the sea floor. It was a massive undertaking that spanned months, resulting in many fatalities. Most troubling, Jartow and a group of Magi were forced to lock themselves within the barrier to stabilize the ice plug, and had been there ever since. There were many rumors regarding the fate of Hallister’s spirit: That he was permanently fused to Jartow; that he spread a bit of himself across all the trapped Magi to intensify their powers; that he never went inside the barrier at all. No one knew the truth for certain.
The barrier, known colloquially as “the Plug,” was visible from where Elinea now sat, years of refinement transforming it from a simple mound of dirt and rock into an intimidating structure that looked like a fortress. It had become the most important feature of their new world, even overshadowing the rebuilding efforts in the New Capital. When the Plug was first constructed, no one batted an eye at the immense effort required, knowing well what would happen if the facility failed. Now it seemed the Callans were growing tired of the manpower and resources required to keep the Plug operational.
Elinea gave the blind wanderer an incredulous look. “And where would they propose those efforts be redistributed? In reclaiming the old Capital? The new one isn’t good enough? They should leave those days - and that place - dead and buried. Don’t they understand that the entire city is infested with monsters? What does Tollstrung say?”
“His eyes nearly burst from his head,” said the blind wanderer. “He actually thinks they should allocate more resources to the Plug; to find a way to free Jartow and the Magi. He proposed it and a shouting match ensued, and well…things aren’t looking good down there.”
Elinea shook her head, frustrated but not at all surprised by the current state of affairs. Countless people had perished during the Shift and on that fateful day at the platform, but many of the world’s great minds in both magic and technology had survived in the Northern Plateaus. Their collective knowledge had unquestionably lessened the hardship put on the survivors and facilitated their attempts to rebuild. The North oversaw the dismantling of enormous sections of the platform, allowing sunshine to return to much of the world. It was because of the guidance of men like Cret Tollstrung that a sense of normalcy, and even comfort, was able to be achieved with relative quickness. The value of his guidance didn’t seem to carry the same weight with the Callans now that it once had.
There were many Callans, specifically the elite of the New Capital, whose lavish lives had not fundamentally changed in the years that followed the devastation of the Shift. Because of this, their entitlement continued to drive their motivations. It didn’t take long for familiar hierarchies and governmental structures to begin to reemerge, the most important being the New World Assembly. Chaired by representatives from across the planet, the Assembly’s stated goal was to ensure the proper allocation of resources and further cooperation between the survivors, regardless of where they lived. But the truth was that those who were already enjoying the most privilege were always going to get the lion’s share of resources and labor, only furthering their standing above everyone else. This was still clearly happening within the Assembly now.
“It doesn’t matter,” sighed Elinea. “Their recklessness should be of no concern to us. This is why we immigrated up here once the tree grew back. Unless they vote to start cutting down the boko groves again, they can repeat history’s mistakes to their hearts’ content.”
“You’re right,” said the blind wanderer, “but sometimes it's difficult to imagine just leaving it all behind. I still live down there, Elinea, with the rest of the world. I still want to help them. I can’t just sit by and watch them make the same mistakes they have since, well, forever. I feel--”
The blind wanderer trailed off, his attention suddenly pulled towards a distant object in the sky that was closing in fast. Light appeared to bend around it, making it difficult to perceive, but as the object got closer, its appearance became clearer: An airship was making its way towards them, a model that hadn’t been in use since before the Capital mandate was enacted.
Once it reached them, the airship hovered above the elevated island looking for a suitable place to land. It was a smaller craft with a sleek fuselage shaped like a bird of prey, only large enough to fit a pilot and a few passengers. What it lacked in size it made up for in speed and agility, with what appeared to be a limited stealth field. It was clearly a craft designed to move about as discreetly as possible.
Elinea and the blind wanderer were sitting at the point of the canopy village where the branches and foliage of the boko had ceased to grow, so the inhabitants had chosen that place to clear out an area large enough for a makeshift landing pad. In the first years of the village, they’d assumed that trade with the surface was going to be a necessity, but with every passing season the boko seemed to grow and evolve further, producing new types of fruit and berries as if it knew exactly what the people living within its protection needed to survive. Eventually, multiple varieties of fish and other aquatic life even began to appear in the large reservoir of fresh water situated at the center of the tree, where its branches twisted out and up towards the sky.
Suddenly, the ground beneath Elinea and the blind wanderer began to quiver and pulse, with small slits in the hardwood separating to reveal large wooden thorns that abruptly rose to the height of a full-grown man.
“What’s happening?” the blind wandered shouted over the loud purr of the craft’s engine.
“I’m not sure…” she said, though in her heart she suspected she knew the answer.
This was the first time in many years they’d received an unexpected visitor, and the only time one had arrived piloting a vehicle of this caliber. As Elinea looked at the newly-protruding thorns, she knew that the tree was simply reacting to what it considered a threat, though she’d never seen it respond this way before. Up until this point, the boko’s biological adaptation had only been a means of maintaining homeostasis amongst its branches, catering to the many individuals and animals that lived within. Now, it was evident that the boko wasn’t simply evolving to provide; it had also developed a means of defense to protect itself from the clearcutting it had suffered before the Shift.
“Can you call off your tree, please?” a strangely-familiar voice crackled from a speaker on the craft. “We mean no harm.”
Elinea hesitated at first, seeing that whoever had come to visit had access to formidable technology. But she knew that if the ship’s occupants had wanted trouble, they probably would have flown a vessel with armaments. This vehicle seemed to lack anything that could be used as a weapon.
Waving her hands, Elinea guided the craft to a spot on the far end of the clearing, the thorns slowly withdrawing into the ground as if reacting to her actions. Perplexed at the tree’s response, she glanced over to the blind wanderer, but he merely shrugged his shoulders back at her.
“The info cache gave me access to near infinite knowledge, but even I didn’t know the boko could do that,” he said as he joined her in front of the ship.
The bay doors groaned open and three individuals walked out, all wearing tightly-wrapped shrouds over their heads. Their clothing was seemingly pedestrian, but Elinea noticed weathered suits of armor just below the neckline of their shirts. The man in the lead hobbled as he walked, leaning heavily on an ancient-looking cane.
“It’s been a long time,” the man said, his gravelly voice catching suddenly in Elinea’s memory. He pulled down his hood, and beneath was the scarred and weathered yet still-vibrant face of Jonas Caldwell.
“A very long time. Excuse my bluntness, but shouldn’t you be dead?”
“A thousand times over,” he chortled. “Can’t decide if it’s luck or all that junk they injected into me during my grunt years. Honestly, I’m not sure if I can die.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring,” she answered warily. “Why have you come here?”
Caldwell paced around the area, taking in the beauty of the gargantuan boko canopy, its branches stretching far enough in all directions to give the people living there a spacious and flat living area as if they were still situated down on the surface. In between the branches were chunks of rock and soil, still covered in plant life from the world before, giving the area the appearance of a massive floating island. Lower offshoots of the tree looked similar, though much smaller, making the tree look like a tiered dessert served at a fancy restaurant.
“Pretty miraculous that the boko grew back so fast,” said Caldwell. “It was a sight to behold - all those branches and vines and what have you suddenly sprouting from that decimated island and shooting up into the sky.”
“Caldwell,” Elinea repeated sternly, “why are you here?”
“Let’s call it professional courtesy,” he smirked. “One war veteran to another.”
“Make it quick then,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Once things settled down after the Shift, a few of the old council members who’d managed to survive attempted to reorganize the military. Made sense considering what we’d seen that day the monsters destroyed the Central Islands. So, being a loyal servant of the Capital, I stepped up and began training a few folks to act as a police force of sorts. Nothing fancy, just enough to keep order in case things got dicey. I was told to keep a low profile, considering my previous unit’s reputation and all.
“Then things started to escalate,” he continued. “We were asked to begin putting intel together on certain Assembly members, specifically those who disagreed with the original members’ vision for the future, or rather, with their obsession in resuscitating the past. Eventually, the requests turned into demands, and the ‘shared vision’ became one of centralized power, and not universal progress.”
“Old ways die hard,” mused the blind wanderer.
“We predicted this might happen a long time ago, and we took the reemergence of the boko as a sign to cut ties with that particular faction. Too many of them simply couldn’t resist the allure of regaining their old lives, no matter how much things have changed. With the Irapa and Free Roamers controlling most of the remaining magic and tech, those elitists making noise seemed to be merely a nuisance, not a threat.”
Caldwell cleared his throat and signaled one of his soldiers to step forward. They held up an aged map of the planet prior to the Shift, with a number of red X’s and black circles marked across the paper. A circle with an exclamation point was situated directly on the Capital.
“Their intentions didn’t particularly worry me,” Caldwell said, “until I was handed this map. Excuse its crudeness, but it was kept offline for protection. It’s the locations of our weapon caches, spread throughout the world during the early negotiation periods of the mandate. Some of the higher-ups hid supplies rather than destroy them as ordered; a bit of insurance in case policies changed. Before we cut ties, I was asked to gather as much weaponry as I could and bring it back, all under the guise of putting us on equal footing with the North. The Assembly didn’t like that they held so much power over us.”
“The North?” gasped Elinea. “You mean our allies? The ones who saved the world? Who brought us all back from the brink of destruction?” For the first time in ages, Elinea felt rage begin to build up inside her.
“Yes,” Caldwell answered, a slight hint of shame in his tone. “And it was at this point that my deeply-ingrained sense of duty began to dissolve. In response, we did the exact opposite of what they asked, destroying every weapon cache we came in contact with, save for a few flashy items to ensure they didn’t get suspicious. Every cache we found scared us more - there were weapons and vehicles left behind that could have brought this new world to its knees. But we did what we could to prevent a rehash of past mistakes.
“Our last mission was to retrieve a device that could level an entire city, maybe even a whole island. By happenstance, it was in a bunker deep below the old Capital. We knew the dire importance of this objective, so my people fought through the ruins of the old city, losing about half our forces in the process before finally making it to the bunker. Once there, my soldiers tried to rig the area with explosives, but a few loyalists had been planted on the team…killed everyone there.”
Caldwell stared off into the distance as he spoke, his demeanor softening as he remembered the event.
“You’re looking at all that’s left of the Isos, at least those accounted for after the Shift. Survived the end of the world, and ethics is what doomed us.”
Elinea looked over to the blind wanderer, who was deep in thought. “Is your intent to recruit us?” he asked.
“Not an option,” Elinea said curtly, before Caldwell could even respond. “I’m sorry General, but your trip has been a waste of time. Our concern lies entirely with the occupants of the boko.”
“I’m not here to recruit you geezers to fight,” he laughed. “We have one last idea. It’s a bit out there, but I think it’s gonna work. It’s going to be messy, and there will be a lot of displaced people. I want them to have a chance. I want to direct them here.”
“No,” snapped Elinea. “When we left the mainland for good, we gave everyone there the chance to join us. Few accepted. That offer doesn’t stand forever; we’ve had to put in years of work to make this place what it is today. Those who couldn’t see what we were building towards - and weren’t willing to sacrifice and help us build it - must live with their decision.”
As she spoke, Elinea felt a strange rumble beneath her feet, like something fidgeting uncomfortably. After a few short vibrations, it stopped.
Caldwell nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t blame you. If utopia has open doors, it likely won’t stay utopia for long.” He paused, eyes straying in thought. “You know, that day at the Capital when those creatures attacked, we got called in to rescue a group of council members and their families who hadn’t reacted quick enough to the emergency signal. They were stuck in some fancy bath house on the outskirts of the city, on the opposite side of where you all were held up. I ordered the majority of the Isos to continue fighting off the monsters, and took ten with me on the rescue mission. When we got there, we found an absolute bloodbath outside of the barricaded doors of the building. Mostly servants and locals who’d rushed there for protection. Men, women, children; all dead but not a creature in sight. It was the automated defenses that had taken them out. The folks holed up inside had the audacity to say it was an accident - a system malfunction - but I knew better than that.”
Caldwell chuckled uncomfortably under his breath. “And you know what? We still rescued the bastards without batting an eye. Gave them the benefit of the doubt…something that wasn’t afforded to those lying dead in front of their doors. These people are the ones who are now in possession of a doomsday weapon. Try not to leave anyone stranded at the door, Elinea.”
“Good luck with your mission, General,” Elinea said coldly. “I hope you find success.”
“Me too. For all of our sake.”
With that, the old soldier made his way back to his craft, turning to give them a curt wave before tapping on the side and taking off. They disappeared into the distance, traveling in a direction north of the mainland.
Elinea and the blind wanderer walked in silence back to her home, each of their minds replaying different elements of the meeting with Caldwell. Her tiny hut was perched on one of the taller branches of the boko, giving them a vantage point over the entirety of the village. Below, Aquine and Callan children played together in a clearing, their laughter filling the air. Beyond them, a burgeoning village sat, with dozens of little shacks built from wood that had naturally shed from the massive organism.
“Did we make the right choice?” the blind wanderer asked, taking in the harmonious scene.
“I don’t know, but I know it was the right choice for them,” she replied, gesturing to the diverse group below. “The boko spreads across the entire world. It allowed us to build a home here. It will allow others to take refuge elsewhere. This village isn’t the only option. It’s a model to make more.”
Elinea looked down on the settlement she had helped build. It was a simple existence, just on the cusp of dull, but it was safe, and fair. It reminded her of what those on Koa had enjoyed without her, before the Shift, when she lived hidden away and reclusive. Her life now in the boko tree wasn’t so different from the vision she had seen on top of the platform; the Remnant’s promise of a better world before their final, terrible confrontation. She shuddered at the memory. Never again would Elinea be thrust into the role of savior - not for the world, at least. But for this village, and the people who had gathered here to rebuild in peace and cooperation, she would always be their protector.
***
The frightened man wandered through the frigid tunnel, each cautious step echoing softly throughout the odd prison facility. The walls were tall, semi-circular, and sloppily cut, as if the rock was dug out by some great machine without any sort of refinement. The floor had a sharp downward angle to it, a bit like a ramp, with deep grooves hewn into the ground that served as the only form of stable footing. Overhead, dim lights hung, similar to those one would find inside of a mine. The further he walked, the less light there was, until inky darkness enveloped him completely.
Anxiety forced sweat from his pores, the moisture freezing almost immediately, creating a chilly layer of frost on the outside of his clothing. He rummaged through the pack of supplies that his captors had hastily thrown together and took a quick sip of water to quench his dry mouth. They’d insisted they wanted to “give him a chance,” that in their culture execution was immoral, yet they’d only given him a week’s worth of food and water. He’d probably freeze to death first, unless of course he could get to the exit, which strangely enough they had described in great detail prior to tossing him in.
It was an odd discussion, something about making amends through proving himself in the face of the demon, nonsense he attributed to the strange culture of the North. The prisoner sneered when the guard had said this, thinking it was only said to make them feel less guilty about keeping him captive. He’d spit on the guard; told him that when he found the exit, he’d be sure to find the man’s family next.
Now, walking through the blackness, he was feeling much less confident, no closer to finding a way out than he was hours before.
“Well hello,” a voice rang out, seemingly from all directions. “A new friend has joined the party.”
The prisoner tried to call out, “Who’s there?” but his voice caught in his throat.
“Let me guess what your crime was - there are only three that will land you here,” the voice continued, slightly louder than before. “Hmmm. Are you a murderer? No, that’s not it. You look frail, cowardly. You could never muster the courage to kill. Perhaps a rapist? They hate rapists up there - I mean, who doesn’t? - but no, that’s not it.”
Whenever the voice echoed through the halls, the smell of sulfur followed, its intensity making the prisoner sick to his stomach. He instinctively started to run, looking behind him as he did. Maniacal laughter followed him close, the feeling of warm breath on the back of his neck.
“I got it!” the prisoner heard as something grabbed the back of his shirt, stopping him dead in his tracks. Abruptly, he was lifted up into the air and turned to face his pursuer.
It was a man with long, gray hair and a scruffy beard. One of his eyes had been replaced by a cybernetic enhancement, while the other was nothing but a dark hole with an amber ball of light glowing from within.
Despite the freezing temperatures of the strange prison, the man wasn’t wearing a shirt, his bare torso covered in numerous wounds that had scarred over. In the middle of his chest, a clawed handprint glowed like fire, the flesh around it pulsating in rhythm with his heartbeat.
“You’re a spy!” the stranger exclaimed.
“And…you’re...the demon,” the prisoner stuttered.
“Oh come on. I hate that nickname. So theatrical. Call me Finnegan.” He casually tossed the man onto the ground.
A small device was strapped to Finnegan’s arm. He glanced at it as he crouched next to the man. On it was a clock, counting down time.
“Are you going to kill me?” the prisoner asked, quivering on the ground.
“One moment,” said Finnegan, looking down at the clock again. “Nope.”
Despite his gruesome appearance, Finnegan didn’t appear to be the monster the man had heard about from the other prisoners while sitting in the North’s holding cells. Still, the way he so easily tossed a grown man around made it apparent that Finnegan was no ordinary individual. The steady aura of heat surrounding his bare chest started to overcome the prisoner’s senses, as if exuding an otherworldly presence.
“So many spies as of late,” Finnegan said, wincing at the man. “It hasn’t been that long has it? Are we really at a point now where spies are the best option?”
The man sat quietly, not sure how to answer.
“Nothing? Really?” Finnegan asked, poking the man playfully. “You came all the way up here and you don’t even have an opinion on the matter?”
“I can’t say,” the man muttered as he batted Finnegan’s hand away.
“You can’t? Or you won’t? Loyalty to the end, that’s commendable my friend. Unfortunately, you wasted your time sneaking around. It’s pretty obvious we’ve got nothing left up here. Spent all our time and energy on you mainlanders. We sacrificed everything! Most of the Irapa died in the fight on the platform, and Jartow is still stuck in that damned plug. We lose more and more people to the mainland all the time - it’s not exactly the most inviting of environments up here. Maybe a better strategy for you Capital spies would be to just ask nicely for what you want and not be such sneaky pricks about it.”
Finnegan sighed as he pulled the man up to his feet, then began to drag him down the hall towards a heavy door built into the side of the hewn rock wall. The prisoner recognized it immediately as the “exit” his captors had gone to such great lengths describing before tossing him down here.
“You know what's on the other side of that door?” Finnegan asked the man, who shook his head nervously. “That’s our grand expansion plan. Leads right into the underworld. You know about the underworld, right?”
The man nodded, slowly realizing the hopelessness of his situation.
“Yeah, pretty horrible place, but I used to have a lot of fun there, back before you miscreants started showing up. Looks remarkably similar to the world above, but stranger, warped even. Nothing but monsters and death. We really thought we could take it back, but it’s tough to do when your A-team is spread so thin. That’s where I usually go to get my fill, but today I’m on this side of the door.”
“Are…are you going to eat me?” the man sobbed, falling back down to his knees.
“Eat you? Really? What are they saying about me up there? I haven’t eaten actual food in years. What a rude suggestion, sir.”
“I’m…I’m sorry,” the man cried.
“Don’t be sorry, be better. That’s what my dad used to say. He was a prick too.”
Without warning, Finnegan stopped looking at the man and stared straight up into the air instead, as if communicating with an unseen force.
“Yes?” Finnegan said with an annoyed tone. “A visitor for me? An old friend, you say? Really? What a surprise.”
The man started to crawl backwards on his hands, hoping the distraction would give him time to escape. He wasn’t sure whether Finnegan was lying about the underworld or not, but this was his only chance and he needed to take it. He was almost to the door when Finnegan turned to see him trying to get away. He leapt towards the man with inhuman speed, restraining him before the prisoner could even react. Holding onto the man, Finnegan continued his conversation with no one in particular, glancing down at the clock as he did.
“No, I haven't taken my treatment yet, but it won’t be long.” Finnegan said, winking at the prisoner.
He paused again, making a mocking gesture with his hand like it was a mouth that talked too much, then continued with the conversation.
“I will be on my best behavior, don’t worry. Ok, see you soon.”
As soon as he was done, he turned his attention back to the prisoner.
“So, how’s life up there?” he asked with an unexpected tone of empathy. “You look kinda frail.”
The man shrugged, “Decent for some, better for others.”
“And are you the some? Or the others?”
The prisoner gave him a smug look. “Working on being one of the others.”
“Aren’t we all. You’re probably too young to remember life during the Shift, but let me tell you, anything is better than that. It seems that most of you who come down here are quite young. What are you, eighteen, nineteen?”
“Eighteen.”
“You’re a baby! But the Capital loves throwing their babies to the wolves. You ever wonder why none of your fellow snoops are over the age of twenty? Isn’t that odd? It’s why you get caught so fast: no one in their right mind would come here willingly, especially someone your age.”
“We have to pay our dues, and we have to contribute to rebuilding the New Capital. It's an honor to serve.”
Finnegan burst out laughing. “Pay your dues? To whom? You stupid little boy. If you’re gonna pay those dues to anyone, it should be to us!”
Finnegan slammed his hand into the wall, the rock cracking at the point of impact. As he did, the clock on his arm began to beep and his demeanor noticeably changed. The man, humorous and friendly only moments before, grew serious, the amber light in his eye changing to a deep red glow. The handprint on his chest began to glow brighter, visible heat emanating from its surface. He gritted his teeth, cracking his neck as the veins across his body began to bulge.
“The North provided the tools to cultivate the land, give you shelter, even cure disease. Those bastards who sent you here DID NOTHING! They take and take and then complain that there wasn’t enough in the first place, when all along there was plenty to go around for everyone.”
For a brief moment, Finnegan caught a hold of himself and his head dipped. He took a deep breath and turned to the boy.
“And now, you’re paying the price for their greed.”
With that, Finnegan picked the prisoner up and broke his neck before the man could even see it coming. Within moments, the murderous rage that had overcome him died down, the light in his eye dimming to amber, and he solemnly carried the man’s lifeless body over to the door to the underworld.
Finnegan walked out into the hellish void and tossed the corpse into a pre-dug hole. Slowly, he began to scatter dirt over the top, then patted it down so it was as level as possible. Grabbing a stone nearby, he etched the words Capital Sacrifice #45 and laid it at the head of the grave.
It had been a long time since Finnegan rode the elevator to the upper levels, years possibly, and he actually felt a bit of rare excitement at the prospect of a change of scenery. The elevator was a lot rougher looking than before, its lack of maintenance clearly the result of an ever-shrinking workforce. Eventually, the elevator would cease to function and have to be abandoned altogether, like much of their planned descent into the underworld. But for now, it still climbed laboriously up to the surface.
Finnegan had no business above ground anymore. He recalled how adamantly he had pleaded with the shaman and the Free Roamers in those early days not to not trust the mainland delegations, to have a reasonable timeline for withdrawing their support. But none of them were diplomats; they didn’t have the skills to negotiate an exit plan, and eventually they found themselves spread too thin to work on even their own projects. Finnegan’s past as an Iso would have made him an excellent candidate to deal with the Capital, but his affliction all but ensured that he would never be the one to spearhead the cause of the North.
On top of that, the hope that the world might one day be restored to its former glory had led many who initially committed to the North’s ideology to get cold feet and migrate back to more moderate climates. Soon, only what remained of the Irapa, a handful of Free Roamers, and the Settlers’ technology cache lived on in the unfinished underground bunker.
Cret Tollstrung and the Shaman had received significant pressure to turn the technology cache over to the New Capital in the last few years. The delegates from the mainland claimed that it would do more good in the “hands of the people” than the skeleton colony the Northern Plateaus had become. With each continued refusal, more and more unannounced visitors began arriving, all young mainlanders, each with a sudden urge to move to a frozen wasteland but no real desire to help build and expand the colony that so desperately needed their manpower. They never got the opportunity to report back.
The elevator dinged, signaling Finnegan had arrived at his destination. As the doors opened, he was met by two rows of Irapa guards on either side of the main chamber, their hands at the ready.
“Relax, I’m good,” Finnegan said, raising his arms up in a mocking manner.
Finnegan’s relationship with those he once called allies had become tenuous as his affliction worsened over the years. Even with the fire deity gone - whisked away forever to its banishment realm with Laureena and the Remnant - Finnegan’s uncontrollable violent urges didn’t subside. Inexplicably, Värlof’s corruption continued to root deeper and deeper into his core, and the affliction proved incurable. Finnegan wasn’t the same man who had fought to save the world two decades prior, his mind ravaged by the constant need to take life. The Irapa feared him now, and for good reason. He was no hero. No dutiful soldier. He was a beast they kept in their pit.
In the middle of the main chamber, standing beside the shaman, were three individuals clad in weathered Iso armor Finnegan hadn’t seen in a very long time. Two of the three seemed able-bodied enough, but the third walked with a limp, aided by an old, ornate cane.
“Caldwell?” Finnegan said as he approached the group.
“Hello, Finnegan,” the general replied with a smile. “It’s been a long time. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I hear you all in the North have had quite a few special visitors come all the way out here to see you recently.”
Finnegan chuckled. “I just became acquainted with another one of them today. It would seem the New Capital doesn’t value our unique approach to rebuilding the world in an equitable manner.”
Caldwell flashed the man a devious grin.
“How would you like an opportunity to make them see things your way?”
***
Danvers watched patiently as three young Aquine struggled with the tangled fishing net, their frustration growing with each passing minute. He smiled, thinking back to when he first taught Laureena to help him at the harbor, her little fingers having the same sort of difficulty with the rope puzzle that, once solved, provided their main source of income.
The thought of his granddaughter broke his heart that day just as much as it did the day she sacrificed herself, two decades earlier. After she died, Danvers had returned to Vandenala. Delvorn was abandoned and uninhabitable, and so the man isolated himself in a small chamber in the Nemarus capital for nearly a year, a shell of the man he was before the events that day on the platform. His overwhelming sadness was so powerful that he considered taking his own life, but he persisted, knowing he wasn’t the only one struggling with life after the Shift.
With Adan dead, and the truth about the Settlers revealed, Nemarus society soon began to crumble. Most fled Vandenala, seeking answers across the ravaged world, with some even traveling beneath it. One group of Nemarus took it upon themselves to return the barrier orbs they had collected to their chambers in an attempt to prevent more sinkholes from opening up to the underworld. But once the orbs were back in place, those Nemarus chose not to return to Vandenala, and eventually, only the newly-converted Aquine populated the massive underwater hub.
Without the guidance of the Nemarus, panic set in, and the massive boko bulb that housed them soon began to feel like a tomb. Danvers knew that the Aquine couldn’t stay isolated underwater for long, but the newly-transformed Aquine were frightened of rejoining Callan society above ground. Many of those transformed had been outwardly terrible to the Aquine in their previous lives, and feared they would face the same discrimination if they returned.
It was then that Danvers realized his grief had to be put aside, that his knowledge and experience was needed by the desperate group dealing with a new world and strange new bodies. Previously, he’d struggled to understand why he was still alive while so many more capable individuals had perished in the Shift, but then it hit him: The new world needed fighters. It needed thinkers. But now more than ever, it needed grandpas.
Danvers looked on silently as the young Aquine tried and failed to untangle the fishing nets, not wanting to interfere with the learning process. It was only when a young Aquine girl named Yupa began to cry in frustration that he stepped in, gently laying a hand on her shoulder with a wordless signal that he was there for support. The children watched in awe as his time-worn fingers danced across the net, the knots magically coming undone. Before long, the net was in proper shape and ready to be hurled over the boat.
“Papa Danvers, how’d you get so good?” Yupa asked as she hoisted her end of the net up into her arms.
“I’ve been doing this since before your grandparents were born,” he said, a wide smile crossing his scaled face. “Now get the net ready, there’s no time to waste!”
Yupa smiled and nodded with a look of determination. She looked to the other two children, who nodded as well, and the three of them tossed the net over the side of the rickety old boat in unison.
“Wow!” Danvers said enthusiastically. “That went at least three meters farther than last time. You all are doing so well. I can’t wait to brag about you to your parents!”
The children threw up their hands in joy and began to sing an old sea shanty Danvers had taught them back when they were barely old enough to talk, a song about a young boy meeting a magical creature in the ocean. He joined along, slapping the bottom of a bucket in rhythm as the children danced around the deck.
After a few more tosses of the net, the lesson for the day was over. They’d managed to catch quite a few fish, which was sure to please the rest of the villagers of Little Fire, their small harbor town situated a few days' travel by dingy from the New Capital.
The ocean had drained considerably prior to the Plug being installed, so the coast looked quite different that it had decades earlier. Previously, the land between the Capital and the beach was flat, but the receding ocean revealed a large cliff face with a single slope leading down to the new shore, exposing a multitude of tiny caves that ran throughout the rock. It made for a perfect place to establish a settlement, with the caves serving as dwellings and dry storage until more proper accommodations could be built. It was rumored that the caves themselves ran the entire length of the island, previously inaccessible as they were filled with water. Knowing that the old Capital was still teeming with creatures from the underworld, Danvers had insisted that heavy doors and blockades be placed in any cavern that had the potential for cutting across the mainland. Fortunately, they never had any issues with monsters, just with the hearts and minds of their neighbors in the New Capital.
When his group first arrived at the shore of the mainland after abandoning Vandenala some nineteen years earlier, there was a lot more cooperation amongst the survivors. Danvers, however, wasn't naive; he knew that this would eventually cease, and urged his people to stay as independent as possible.
Despite their proximity, the interaction between the two towns had been minimal, outside of the occasional trading caravan from the hovels on the outskirts of the main drag of the New Capital. Recently however, they’d had an influx of people showing up, asking to relocate. There was a common theme amongst these individuals: Mostly Aquine and those who had lived near the Outer Rings prior to the Shift, though there were plenty of outcasts, political dissenters, and those deemed “useless” by the New Capital as well.
Danvers welcomed each and all into the village, greeting them with a wide smile and a steaming bowl of stew. If they chose to stay, which they almost always did, he would link them up with an already-established family that would look after them while they got back on their feet, the only condition being they do the same when the time came. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it usually worked out for the best, and before they knew it, Little Fire was a quaint and bustling settlement that many called home.
“Well kids, it's a good thing we got such a haul today,” Danvers said as he carefully steered his boat towards the Little Fire docks. “Looks like we have some more new guests.”
Just outside the tiny harbor, in a clearing near the ascent from the shore to the mainland, an older man with a cane waved in his direction, signaling to come over to where they were.
“It can’t be,” Danvers said under his breath.
“Who’s that?” Yupa asked, seeing the concern on Danvers' face.
“It's someone I knew a long time ago. Children, please unload the boat, I need to have a chat with our guests.”
Standing outside of a strange craft was Caldwell, two individuals dressed in ragged Iso armor, and an odd-looking yet strangely-familiar man with one synthetic eye and the other covered with a dark bandage. While he didn’t remember much of that day at the Capital, Danvers was quite certain that Caldwell and the Isos had perished during the battle, disappearing into the streets in order to give the rest of the survivors enough time to escape. Regardless of that selfless action, he was still weary of the man’s sudden appearance.
Danvers hustled over to where the craft had landed, unsure of exactly how he was going to greet the military man. Regardless, his appearance spelled trouble and Danvers wasn’t going to stand for it.
“Listen here Caldwell,” he said, trying his best to look tough. “Every time you come around, things get crazy. We have a good life here and I won’t have you jeopardizing it. That said, I couldn’t possibly send you off without a warm meal - wouldn’t be right - but then after that I would kindly ask you to leave.”
“Well it’s nice to see you too, Danvers,” Caldwell said with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to cause trouble, I’m just admiring your pleasant little harbor town. Seems like the kind of place I would have liked to retire to, had I gotten the chance. We’re not going to be here long - my colleagues and I have business with the Capital. Out of curiosity, how many more could you house here, if needed?”
“That’s an odd question,” said Danvers, peering at the man suspiciously. “I suppose we have plenty of space for whoever needs it. The new shore stretches for as far as the eye can see, and the caves are suitable for temporary housing. The fish returned in droves to these shallow waters and we’ve even found some boko shoots growing up from the ground, so we have access to fruit and nuts as well. Why? Are you thinking of settling down here?”
“No, I’ll be working until I die,” said Caldwell plainly. “I ask because I heard some folks from the New Capital might want to relocate. I told them I knew a few good-hearted strangers that might be able to help.”
“You tell them that Little Fire is open to all.”
Caldwell smiled and patted Danvers affectionately on the shoulder, then shook his hand with a vice-like grip.
“Of all the people to make it through this, I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be one of them…but I’m damned glad you did. Take care Danvers.” The old Iso and his three colleagues turned and began to walk towards the ship.
“Wait!” Danvers called out behind them. “How many folks are we talking about?”
Caldwell turned with a sly smile on his face. “I don’t know. Ten, maybe twenty.”
“Ok, well that’s pretty simple.” Danvers responded.
“Thousand,” Caldwell continued, then stepped into the craft and signaled the pilot to take off.
“He can’t be serious?” Danvers said to himself as he walked back to the village, the small lights dotting the narrow streets starting to switch on as dusk settled into evening. “Can he?”
Danvers’ mind raced. Simply seeing Caldwell again had brought back intense memories of Laureena. He’d feared what would happen if the military found her so many years before, then feared what would happen if she had found them. In some ways, Danvers wished Caldwell had been there on the platform to see what Laureena had done in the end, the way she put everyone else before herself.
Looking out over Little Fire, Danvers knew none of it would have been possible without losing a piece of his own heart. Given the chance, he wondered if he’d give it all up to be with her again. But now, watching Yupa and the others pull barrels of fish onto the docks, smiling and laughing the entire time, he finally understood that his love for his granddaughter and his drive to save her had put him exactly where he needed to be.
“Papa Danvers, Papa Danvers!” the children cried from the docks. “We’re done hauling the fish, can you tell us the story about the hero of Little Fire again?”
“Sure, we can do it as we clean the catch,” he smiled. “Now then…she was about your age when I taught her how to fish, and at first, she was just as clumsy as all of you. But she had a fire inside of her; I could see it from the time she was just a little girl. And that fire helped save the world.”
And thus ends the first book in the Cool Story Guys Saga: The Shift
Fate Index:
1. Interspecies relationship becomes a little one-sided
2. The world’s problems are a projection of one character’s mind
3. Extended stream of consciousness
4. Fantasy deathmatch
5. Protagonist’s identity is thrown into question
6. People begin to question their belief system
7. A lesson is not learned
8. A creature’s weak spot gets found by accident
9. A great artifact of the past is found, calling to a new owner
10. Social faux pas has serious consequences
11. The inevitable end is actually a rebirth
12. Betrayal
13. Protagonist finds powerful item or treasure
14. Magic finger traps, but for the brain or heart
15. Current location revealed to be (a) hell
16. After a long string of losses, a character begins to succeed only to jeopardize someone else's success
17. Protagonist reveals a secret
18. Holiday episode
19. Virtue of protagonist is tested by an ally
20. Nothing happens when something is supposed to happen
Outcomes Used:
7. A lesson is not learned
19. Virtue of protagonist is tested by an ally
