Empyrean

Chapter 1

Prologue

            Up until now my life had no purpose. I was just a product of the random causality of life and existence… a wave on the open ocean if you will. I had no reason to be there, the wind just so happened to push in a way that gave birth to me. There would have been no record of me. I was unimportant. The only thing that was significant about this wave was that it existed, and maybe rolled along longer than the infinite number of waves that never did.  

            Up until now I had no real power; I could change nothing about the world that I found myself either a citizen or a prisoner of. I don’t know why this is important enough to think about. After all this will probably be the end of me. But who cares anyway? We’ll die in the end, both my executioner and me. Even Emperors die. What is the real point of living if at the end we will all just wander into an endless darkness of timelessness? I know that I know nothing, at least about everything but myself. But I think that as long as I have remembered the reason that kept me going was finding a reason. Discovering something that was big enough, important enough for me to run into that darkness. And I think I’ve found it.

Chapter 1-The Boy

Sector Yellow Three Market Plaza

Midday, 19th of Diversa, Year 611, Last month of Dry Season

            There are at least fifty reasons why I shouldn’t have stopped this man’s knife from coming down on her arm. For starters his actions are legal and mine are not. And the vastly more important reason, though I hate to admit it, the bracelet on his wrist is yellow while I am so lowly that I don't even have one.

            His knife comes to an abrupt stop just above the girl’s hand. His rage, which was just moments ago directed at the child, turns to me, “Boy.” He doesn’t scream but the rise in his voice is apparent and the whole marketplace freezes in time, and such a silence comes over everyone that his voice is the only sound for miles. When his voice finishes echoing I immediately let go of his wrist that holds the vicious tool.

            I know the fear is showing in my eyes. I can barely see through my own salty tears. I am about to say something, anything that could save me or at least the girl in this situation, but the man who must be at least four times my weight gets up from his kneeling position, pushes the child to the side, and throws a second knife in the dirt in front of me.

            “You want to help?” He asks eyes darting back and forth between the knife and me. “Then pick it up.” As he says this he rips of his robes revealing muscles only available to people with time.

            I have only ever been in one real knife fight before. And it would be quite sufficient to say that it didn't go well. Ergo I don't want to fight him. It’s not that I can’t use a knife. My teacher taught me how to use any weapon ever made or that ever can be. But despite all that, unlike most people of his social class he’s fit. Now I know why he is able to sell his game at such a low price. He’s the primary producer.

             “I don’t want to fight!” I say, the words barely crawling past my lips. Though I am almost his height, he is so much more built than I am it is hard to notice such a fact.

            “Oh! In that case.” He picks up the girl that I don’t know and motions as if he is going to cut off her hand like he was going to before.