Title: Fade (1/1)
Summary: An exploration of an alien world, and the Royal Four as they once were.
Rating: PG? G?
Disclaimer: WB, 20thC Fox.
Date: Feb. 9, 2001.
Note: It's odd.

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There is a world.

Once, this world was rock and earth, water and vegetation, the warmth of summer and the chill of winter. The sun would rise, light a slow spill out across mountains and valleys, rivers and oceans, deserts and jungles. Wind picked up the scent of flowers - giant red blooms, dropping leaves and a silky stalk; a tiny scattering of gold and blue flowers; determined purple flower, lace like, clinging to the side of an arching tree. Rain thundered against the ground, and the smell of earth, dark and moist, would rise.

Now, this world is metal and plastic, imported water and synthetic drinks, sterile sweep of cool walls, the unchanging touch of weather brought under control. The sun rises, and its rays fall and beat uselessly against the doomed roofs of cities. There are no flowers whose scent can be caught by a passing breeze. This world of concrete and metal and plastic knows not the feel of wind or rain or sun.

There is a people.

They are men and women and children, and they have a history. It is long and glorious, and they know with unshakable certainty that this moment is the ultimate goal of all that has come before. This world is perfection. This people knows perfection within themselves.

Once, they know, they were limited. They lived in a cage of flesh and bone and blood. They have transcended the painful limitations of their ancestors. Muscles wither away. Skin and eyes grow pale and sensitive. Bone brittle. They lay most of their lives, their bodies weak, their minds strong.

There is a war.

Faceless men. Indistinguishable one from the other, rows upon rows of figures, crisp white uniforms drowning out individual bodies. The Net stretched above their heads, an arched spiderweb sparking with blue flame. Clean. Pretty. Blue lights racing along delicate curves and twists, a rush of destruction. Near the bowed edge, speeding light slowed, dark blue bled gold and red. Beneath the sparkling Net, a body stiffened, jerked, toppled.

There is a God.

Once, their gods were in the wind and water and fire and earth.

Their gods changed, and they were as men and women, and they watched the world from the sky and appeared among mortals.

Their gods changed, and there was one, and he was wise and knowing and distant.

And as they had evolved, so too did their gods. And there was one, and it wasn't the world, nor creatures as men and women who shared in the concerns of the world. It was power to be taken, power to lift minds from weak bodies, power that thrummed through the Net. The Granolith.

There is royalty.

The King and his bride, the King's sister, his second-in-command. This world is theirs. They bathe themselves in the power of the Granolith. People act and live and die beneath the weight of their thoughts. The world changes with their imaginations.

The King, his bride, his sister, his second-in-command. They grow old. Their world grows weary and dull and empty. They flicker across the Net, thoughts meeting thoughts and they consider their bodies, their world, their future.

They look at their people, at their children, at blue light bleeding red and they turn back into themselves. Attendants roll through empty corridors. Needles pierce dry skin. Blood flows. They whisper amongst themselves, decided. They pass into the Granolith, bodies shuddering, falling silent.

There is an ending.

Their people shudder and scream awake as the Granolith flickers and shuts its power back within itself. Their soldiers are rendered defenseless, minds no longer weapons, no longer funnelled through Net and Granolith. Their enemies recognize weakness.

They feel withered muscles and brittle bone and weak eyes. And the world shudders with the force of a thousand enemy warships as they land. They choke on air as their protective domes crack open. They smell life. They smell death.

There is a beginning.

Far away, there is another world. It is concrete and earth, metal and water, vegetations and waste. The King, his bride, his sister, his second-in-command wake. Skin and bone and blood and muscle and they do not know themselves. They walk, not remembering they once could not.

They leave the Granolith behind, forgotten. They will find it again. They will remember.

~end~