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MILA
Dawn lances across the endless horizon in a streak of red that seems to set the whole world aflame. It’s like I’m seeing something forbidden, something perfect and unspoiled. A visual treat reserved for the eyes of Yeos alone, not the likes of some selfish, faithless, coward. Long after the death of all things on this planet, the sun will still rise and set. Or will it? Will even the sun cease to exist after Vedmak’s apocalypse erases us?
Something stirs in my chest—a nudge reminding me of some critical thing undone, forgotten in a dark corner of my heart. How long has it been, Mila? How long has it been since you called the creator’s name from down on your knees?
From behind the window’s glass, the broadening blades of orange light expand into the fading purple of night. The image is one of victory, of the light pushing back eternal dark for one more day. But the darkness always returns. Light simply keeps it at arm’s length for a spell. Still, one last time, I’ll finish watching it.
That’s what I tell myself at least.
But every day for the last however many months I’ve risen in my stolen abode, five kilometers up on one of the last remaining lillipads, and I’ve watched the sun rise. Here above the orange-tinged tufts of clouds the world is a different place. Simple. Serene. Unlike a single spoiled human life; a thing that can be so ugly and used up it’s no longer recognizable to its owner.
Who have you become?
Damnation. I slap my own face a few times; the last one leaves a lingering sting. Life is pain and I am, somehow, still among the living. I watch as a spike of light, the topmost edge of a giant burning ball of gas millions of miles away, crests the horizon. I turn my gaze down until the light dims, muted by the automatic sun-shades.
Moving without thought, my legs take me across the sterile Gracile chamber, all gleaming metal and glass and endless white. I stop at the counter and palm a silver bag of the squishy tasteless gel. Tearing the end open and squeezing the contents into my mouth, I swallow the glob. These carboprotein packs, as they are labeled, provide no satisfaction but they do keep hunger at bay. I run my fingers over the last box. Won’t last much longer.
And then what? Starve to death up here alone? A coward’s way out. I’m not brave enough to end it. To be judged by Him. Not like the Graciles I’d found here on that terrible day when I first rode in the magnetic rail elevator from Vel up to this place. I’d found them, all of them, in the common area in the center of this lillipad. A huge group, all lying in a heap, their bodies cold and stiff. A mass suicide. When the rest of their kingdom fell from grace, they must have known their time was over and the clock was ticking. They could never go back to what existed before and instead of trying to survive in the arctic hell below, they took the easy way out. I have no idea how they did it. There wasn’t a scratch on their perfect bodies. Perhaps suicide is easier when you don’t fear eternal damnation.
An exasperated huff whistles through my teeth. Do something. Anything.
I make my way to the bank of monitors and flick them on one by one. The camera feeds wink to life, each providing a different visual on locations inside the walls of Vel. The Velians thought they were free, but they were caged animals just like the rest of us. Worse, their daily movements appear to have been strictly monitored to make sure they were producing according to the deal with their masters above.
An active movement sensor is triggered and one of the monitors switches its feed. Rippers. I watch them move from one screen to the next, carrying a bundle of clothes and sewn garments, harvesting produce from one of the many orchards, tending to the ... children. I swallow several times in succession. The lump in my throat stays.
These are people, Mila. You saw yourself as above them, the same way the Graciles treated you. No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, they are human and they want the same things all people want—safety, plenty, community. The Rippers were initially criminals, outcasts from the various enclaves. But now? What about those children? Are they criminals? Do they deserve to be treated like animals or exterminated because of their parents’ and grandparents’ failures?
I rub sweaty palms against the cloth of my shirt. This is my atonement. To see their humanity, and my lack of it. Is the way of the Lightbringer lost to me, now only the distant memory of someone who could have been? Someone better than the miserable wretch I’ve become.
“I’m sorry.” The words mumble from my lips. My knees shake. I lower to the ground. “I’m sorry for who I’ve become, Yeos.” I gasp a pitiful sob, my face burning with shame. “Momma, Papa, Zev, I’m sorry.” I raise a trembling hand to my mouth, and the dam breaks, my shoulders slumping as I lie to weep on the floor.
