World In Turmoil

2: False

...a war.
Eternally.
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Ren Yallenteno, with a gentle hand clapped his journal shut. Eyes fixing on its hardened synthetic-leather cover.

Books.

A simple and ancient technology, that nevertheless stands the test of reliability. Powerless, cheap, and homely.

More genuine and refined.

Or maybe his eyes needed a break from electronic screens. Yet again something the Future haven't solved well.

Even if his handwriting was as shoddy as his curled nest of hair he enjoyed writing.
Both, short and uncontrolled in a simple fashion.

Responding to the voice that had called him, he raised his head and queried at volume to the world, "Yes?"

As his lifted head waited for a reply, his fingers slowly let the carbon pencil roll from his hand. The dark-navy edges bouncing down across the wooden table top.

He leaned back in an ancient armchair.
Tough, rough, dirty. By all means a relic of the old days.

His mother and father had told him that they had worked as Equipment Merchants, sailing across the galaxy on Vectored Propulsion. Seeing a great many places that all looked the same.

They ended here, because it was the last stop on their last pickup. They had arrived, never finding the man they were looking for. But the beauty of Taraven had taken their hearts.

So here they stayed.
On the southern cultivation-hills of the city of Gersanto.

Which rested in the Amarosa Valley.
A peaceful beauty of a city, stretching 20km in all directions.

Hard footsteps approach his study, soft shoes on old wooden floors.
Fast, desperate footsteps.

Ren began to stand himself up from his desk. His eyes passing across his studyroom as he did so, scanning across a large navy-blue and flaming orange banner that hung across from him.

The symbol upon it, was like two 4's back to back.

The Last Stand's emblem.
"Ever Stand"

He pulled his eyes away from it and turned towards the city, wishing to glimpse the vista.
Out from his first-story study room, across the cultivation hills down onto Gersanto.

The sprawling city. Cleanly architectured structures, painted in pleasing colours. Warm white, soft orange, pale green. Harsh grey...

Harsh grey?

Through the door to his left burst a slightly older, young woman. His sister.

Elana Yallenteno.

She spoke faster than his eyes could turn.
"Ren! Father's calling you down. There's a Naval fleet arriving overhead..."

His eyes widened to the size of oceans.
Unfathomable excitement gripped him, incomprehensible shock.

He looked out again.

He saw it.

A vast shadow eclipsed the city. Each building coated in a dark grey that blocked almost every colour from sight.

With an expression that denied classification. He turned on the balls of his feet, and began to run, swinging through his door way, practically flying.