The Fading Duty

Et verba facta sunt umbra.

- And words became shadows.

The teacher entered the classroom and looked around approvingly.

Tall, strong, disciplined boys and girls — ready to defend the city and to soon be enrolled in a reproductive program. Each of them was already turning fourteen.

Today’s topic, The Chronology of Victories, filled the room with excitement. After the two morning lessons of firearms training and knife-throwing, the students glowed with vigor and curiosity, reminding the teacher of his own youth.

“We remember,” he began, “that after the Era of Border Redefinition, which ended in the twenty-second century A.D. — by the way, once read as ‘Anno Domini’ — came the Era of Technological Revision. That was when humanity realized that automation and computerization weakened us. Why, Klirren?”

“Because destroying chip-production centers eventually makes a country completely defenseless,” answered the girl in a blue camouflage blouse.

“Excellent! And since cyberattacks could erase vital information networks, the strongest nations wisely limited technology in favor of invulnerability and military power.”

He felt proud of his class.

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“Any questions?”

Icarias Gerh raised his hand.

“Teacher, what is Anno Domini?”

Quiet chuckles rippled through the room. Gerh was often curious about odd and unnecessary things.

“A fair question,” the teacher said calmly. “Some ancient terms are untranslatable. Anno Domini refers to what was once called the Common Era, while Before Christ usually signified the Old Ages. But no one today could tell you what Domini or Christ actually meant. Still, we keep those terms in the books out of respect for history.”

He nodded to Tanardi.

“Continue the sequence of eras.”

“After the Technological Revision came the Era of New Expansion, when we conquered most neighboring lands. It was followed by the Era of Shrinking and Widening, when we retreated and fought back. Then came Simplification, and finally — our current age, the Era of Aggressive Harmony, devoted to fighting inner enemies.”

“Perfectly said,” the teacher replied, satisfied.

Icarias raised his hand again.

“I still don’t understand… what is the true purpose of war?”

“A profound question,” said the teacher warmly. “The purpose of war is to develop the feeling of strength and victory. That’s what makes us truly alive.”

“But my sister Sarita — you remember her — died at the front last month,” the boy said quietly. “I’m proud of her, of course… but it hurts.”

“Your family is remarkable,” the teacher said. “We’ve all made sacrifices. Pain fades, pride remains.”

“And our enemies,” added Meertina, another girl, “don’t they feel pain too? I mean, they most likely got used to everyday shelling — the same as we did — but still… maybe it would be more logical not to hurt each other at all?”

“A noble thought, but misguided,” the teacher replied. “You’re young — you haven’t lived through it yet. Pain gives meaning to life. Even our respect for the enemy is born from witnessing their endurance. Respect for the enemy’s pain and sacrifice — that’s the highest form of humanity.”

He paused, thoughtful.

“Long ago people fought for abstract values — things like justice, love, or progress. Remember those words?”

“Yes!” Icarias said eagerly. “But you never told us last time — what does progress mean?”

“So, progress,” the teacher smiled. “There is no exact translation. From an ancient tongue, it meant ‘movement forward’. Yet somehow it was different from ordinary motion. No one knows why. Those old words brought nothing good. So they were forgotten.”

The the midday calm was over in an instant.

A wild siren burst through it, ferocious and shrill. With a melody disturbingly bright, oppressively triumphant, it filled the air, thick and heavy.

“Missile attack! To the bunker!” shouted the girl on duty, springing to her feet, her strong, clear voice almost rising above the wail.

“Move fast!” the teacher barked at the class, admiring, with cold satisfaction, the instant precision of his trained students.

“Remember — life protection is the highest duty!”

And they ran.

Amid the noise, Icarias whispered to himself, tasting the forgotten word.

“Progress,” he murmured — without knowing what it once meant.

— Erian Lin Grant, October 2025