The Quantum Cartographer

New Kressya - The Lost Aeon

“The glorious city of New Kressya lays over these waters as a living tribute in steel and stone. A tribute to those who took the first arduous steps toward the realization of our kingdom and offered their lives in sacrifice.” Aligos’s voice carries over the thousands in attendance as he speaks in front of the Gargotheon surrounded by his army. The broad walls of the entrance ascend like enormous tusks on either side of him. The sky is pale and mirthless. The city is overgrown by its own shadow.

“They carried out their mission not for the horns of glory, nor weighted by the hubris of their pride. But as an act of contrition for the divine debt carried by us all—the future. The future of their children, the future of each and every one of you assembled here on this day, and the future of your children. This pushed them—drove them. Their audacity is a call to all of us, to nudge us to our duty as the shapers of worlds. It is our never-ending obligation to design a future laid with the architecture of our beliefs, sound and secure, so that those who follow may have solid ground to walk in our footsteps. We owe this to the ones prior and the ones to come.”

A few of the soldiers flanking Aligos shove forward two men with roped hands and their identities concealed under black fabric. One of the stone-faced militants tightens his gloves and calmly loads a large rifle.

“When our beliefs become threatened by the rashness of the selfish, those seeking only to enrich themselves, a demonstration of law is required.”

Aligos raises an arm in the air. The soldier aims his rifle. The black fabric is snatched from the heads of the captives, who cringe at the outside world. Ruzo and Rook—the apprehended rebels. The men’s faces have been pummeled and bruised, but they hold their chins high, their eyes fixed upon an invisible distance as the silent masses wait in suspense for the deathblow. End of the line.

“Too long have we allowed bandits and other dissidents to thrive within our society, to steal and reap the rewards of our labor, with no mind for the cost. No more.” Aligos throws his arm to his side.

The soldier lets off two thunderous rounds, dropping both men instantly. The crowd is divided into moans and scattered cheers.

“Do not be fooled into giving your sympathy to these men, for they would not have given theirs to you. Nor to your families—or your future. But in this, I do not blame them. They are a mere symptom of a greater enemy at large—the sky-fallen. Time travelers. Those born of the sudden storm have been a rampant plague upon these sands, their origins as unknown as their motives. Their very presence is a threat to us all. The static-net has dealt them a tremendous blow, but this war demands more from our efforts. Those who walked these planes before fought to the end to rid this age of the sky-fallen menace. But our enemy is not without its resilience. Today, their eradication begins.”

Tumbling feet dash through the sands of the Old Kressya, gaining speed.

“The bastard offspring of the eons shall have no safe haven on this island or the next.”

Faster and faster the feet push through the terrain.

“There will be nowhere to hide.”

The landscape is a streaking blur as the feet drum down the pathways.

“Nowhere to run.”

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

“Their sacred book, its pages full of heresy and misanthropy, shall be cast into fire!”

The feet stop. A young girl holds her knees and draws air. She turns slowly, looking behind her. Her eyes open wide. She takes off once again.

“We must not bend nor give leniency to our enemy, lest they become hopeful and grow stronger. Our foot must remain firm across their throats!”

Dense brush and thick leaves whip at her flesh as she swishes through the fields.

“How long before they unite against us?”

Over, under, she dashes with increasing criticality.

“How long before they turn and bring doom to your door—to your family?”

Her breaths are short and rasped as she runs toward the Strata flagging her arms. She stops hard in front of a jarred Tresthi.

“We must strike hard and now, or our hesitance shall be our undoing.”

“What’s the matter, Eserae?” Tresthi grasps her by the shoulders and fretfully scans her for hints.

Eserae can barely find the wind to speak. “They’re …”

“Citizens of New Kressya … brace yourselves.”

“Spit it out, Eserae!”

Eserae swallows a deep breath. “They’re coming!”

Tresthi looks up. Her mouth opens. “Oh … my … god.”

“For this eve will be one of retribution—and cleansing!”

The ground trembles.

“Our message will be clear, carrying only consequence.”

The steamrolling motion of a Revival battalion, leaving wounded earth in its wake, roars into the city with lit torches and grisly hovercraft.

“We will not rest until they are driven back into the chasm of the void from whence they came!”

Tresthi rushes Eserae down the winding temple entrance. A group of children sit quietly in a circle at its hub. “It’s time to go, little ones.” With gentle haste, Tresthi ushers Eserae and the children to a tunnel deep inside the Strata.

“They shall be purged from all of Kressya—Old and New!”

Tresthi opens a hatch in the floor. With the help of Eserae, she lowers the children in one at a time. “Hurry—hurry!” she chants as screams of terror reverberate through the temple.

“Their palace will burn.”

Fires rage all over the old city as flaming torches are hurled with reckless abandon, to freely devour.

“We have to be very quiet.” Tresthi closes the hatch and lifts a long black shotgun from behind a mantel.

“Their homes will provide no shelter.”

Merciless soldiers violently separate citizens from their dwellings and shove them to the ground.

“Their dreams will provide no solace.”

“Everything’s going to be all right,” Tresthi assures the frightened children.

“Their sacred sanctuaries will be pillaged.”

Deafening shots blast through the temple walls.

“They will remember this squall like the turnings of nature itself!”

Swift footsteps move inside.

“Today, justice is a cruel redeemer!”

The footsteps grow closer and louder as they beat down the tunnel.

“For this is our future!”

Tresthi takes aim. “Everyone cover your ears.”

“The preserved errand of our progenitors!”

The shotgun slide shifts with a shhk-shhk as the footsteps stop right above the trapdoor.

“This is the rise of the double-fisted knife!”

The hatch handle breaks …

“This is the reification!”

The door flies open to reveal a brutish Scythe, whose grin turns sour.

“This is … the Revival!”

Boom!

A firestorm chases through Old Kressya in a windswept tantrum that levels the city. Homes and buildings topple in scorched heaves while panicked citizens stitch to each other and stumble in piles of dense black smoke. Statues are choked with huge chains and decapitated. General Ozdwor fans the flames, riling up his men to embolden the onslaught. The soldiers are wolves on parade—severe and remorseless. They spew insults as they stampede the boiling city with a bottomless appetite for ruination.

Tearing their way through the mayhem, Sylis and Jesaphee shove through the falling bodies in a desperate search for Nija. The devastation bleeds around every corner. Screams fill the air, piercing through the crackle of gunfire and shattering glass. The wind carries a charred scent.

“Nija!” Jesaphee bellows. The turmoil drowns out her call. “Nija! Where are you?” She and Sylis yell in rounds as the fires gasp and consume. Fearing the worst, Jesaphee feels her heart sinking as the panic becomes too thick to move through. Every fleeing body looks the same inside the stifling cloud.

“Here!”

Jesaphee’s head snaps up as she searches for the direction of the response. “Where?!”

“Here! I’m over here!” Nija stumbles out from the smoke, covering his face with his shirt.

Jesaphee can finally breathe again and hugs him tightly before examining his body for injuries. “I was scared to death!”

“We need to move, now!” Sylis shouts. “We’ll make for the Barrenlands within the mountains. Someone who owes me a favor will meet us there. An old friend.”

Hand in hand, Nija, Jesaphee, and Sylis sprint for a clearing just beyond the city. Sylis leads the escape. Nija has dreaded the coming of this slaughter for a long time, always hoping they would find a way out before it all came to this. His pulse races. With the clearing in sight, the three of them step on it. Debris and fleeing survivors littering the path. The bulk of Old Kressya is in ruin, dissolving around them.

Once in the open, they keep going until they reach a tall field halfway to the mountains. Their skin and clothes are layered in soot. They each take a long gaze behind them. The falling cinders of a dying city mirrored in the dark of their eyes.