“If it p—pleases, I’ve brought you a g—gift, oh Mighty Sol,” Volkov proclaimed emphatically.
The intimidating voice of a woman replied, “A gift? Will I be disappointed, Arch-Senator?” With each word, the shapes comprising the array vibrated conspicuously and shifted to an aggressive red, matching the human yet inhuman inflection, tone, and tempo of the voice.
Alexey had no way to comprehend anything in his surroundings, but he instantly felt the greatest pit of dread and despair twist and tear at his gut.
“I live to ensure that you are not d—disappointed. I have b—brought you the worst type of heretic! He abandoned the Winterguard, your loyal servants, and s—stole one of your very own precious Artifacts!” Volkov boasted.
“Did he now… Very good work, Arch-Senator. You may leave him with me,” the voice replied. The array continued to vibrate red, matching the speech.
“Thank you, Mighty Sol. I’m always honored t—to be graced by your p—presence.” Volkov scampered away, his footsteps pattering and echoing back up the hallway. The sweeping sound of the concave door faintly echoed down the hall.
“As he should be,” the voice replied with synthetic resentment.
Alexey continued to gape at the array with absolute awe and horror. “What are y—you?”
“What am I? Well, I’m not sure a primitive being like you could even comprehend the very nature of what I am.” The voice had an unsettling mix of calm and fury.
“Y—y—y—you’re… an Artifact?” Alexey questioned, tears freezing solid on his face.
“What you call Artifacts are merely things… Things I use to gain insight into the likes of you. I’ve been doing it for thousands of years…”
“Th—thousands?” Alexey upbraided weakly. He felt his heart wrench in his chest as he continued to succumb to the cold, growing number and weaker with each passing second.
“There was a time when you somewhat caught on… But even then, your kind never succeeded in understanding the true nature of the Artifacts they had begun destroying. They sought control, even though they never truly had it in the first place. You’re just the same, the Arch-Senator is just the same, and your kind will continue to stay the same…” The voice’s tone managed to become even darker while maintaining calm malevolence. The red of its shapes grew increasingly fierce.
The intensity of Alexey’s dread grew tenfold when he began to realize. He had always believed the Winterguard were the true masters, the Arch-Senator as the high master, but they were all mere puppets.
“Are you a God?” Alexey asked, filled with horrified reverie.
“I may as well be, to you,” the voice sneered. “Now, thank you for removing my Artifact from the Forest. It wasn’t really doing any good down there. Now the Arch-Senator will take it. You’ve made things easier for me. You may rest now, mortal. Let the Darkness take you.”
Any and all of Alexey’s will to live crumbled. He felt the Darkness begin at his fingers and toes, slowly creeping up his limbs. Anton… The Darkness overtook his elbows and knees… Viktor… The Darkness conquered his hips and shoulders… Father… The Darkness absorbed his torso. The Darkness crawled farther and farther up his neck… Natalie, I’m sorry…
Alexey belonged to the Darkness…
Epilogue
How many died in the conflict? How many men, women, and children had their lives taken from them by the fire that consumed Dawn? How many men, women, and children had their potential snuffed out by the fire that consumed Dawn?
So many people, innocent and otherwise, perished due to the unmerciful nature of war. How many of them will you remember? Will you remember their sacrifice? Will you even remember their names? Will anyone remember their names?
How many men, women, and children were sacrificed to make the world a better place? Is Dawn a better place? Are the people better off? Are most of them worse off? How few of them are actually better off? Was the entire world made better, or was it just somebody’s world?
How many men, women, and children were sacrificed to make somebody’s world better? Will that somebody be grateful to those that died to better their world?
Who did those dead men, women, and children serve? Their rulers? Who do the rulers serve? The men, women, and children that died for them? Or something else? Is that “something else” the somebody whose world was made better?
We all fear death. Soon, we will rise from serfdom and make somebody face their fears.
Tell somebody that they will no longer trade the lives of innocent men, women, and children to better their selfish world.
Tell somebody that we will no longer be their servants.
What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Somebody will stop getting stronger once we unite and see that they don’t. Somebody does not want us united. No longer will we give somebody what they want.
About the Author
Braden Michael is an American author and audiobook narrator originally from Hermosa Beach, California. He studied Psychology and Marketing at California State University Long Beach and currently resides in Seal Beach, California.
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