A lonely hallway, at the tail end of a mall. Or was it an airport? It held the same air of a fickle present. Like everything around would change if you’d close your eyes for one second. The smell of freshly cleaned windows and leather from chairs out of sight. Someone is waiting in this chair but there’s no way to tell where they are. Yet they expect something, there’s a way for them to get what they want, what they’d sit still eternally for. They would not share the secret, they would proudly keep it to themselves with a laugh.
A busy classroom, in a small square building made of red bricks. It’s homely here, nostalgic without evoking any real memories. The class is surrounded by tall windows, cars roar loudly all around outside. Letters adorn the wall in varying colors. There has to be a favorite. It his “R”, it is a distinct black, one that differed from the dark gray of “W” and dark purple of “U”. It is busy, there’s no reason to rise with the bell but there’s purpose elsewhere.
A boat under a bridge. A darkened figure. It asks if there’s something else that can be done. It acknowledges neither the hallway nor the classroom. Yet there was something that tied everything together, no? A fragile thread that led to this boat only big enough for two. Behind is darkness, in front is a blinding light. The figure seems content. There is no mystery, there is no bigger meaning. It all makes sense because why wouldn’t it?
His name was Mihir and he just woke up in sweat, looking up at a bare white ceiling. To some others, such a sterile welcome to a new day would bring nothing special to their mood, but to him, it had already painted a smile on his face, washing away his dreams. His head fell to his side and the veranda of the Watchtower offered him the full might of the rising sun, already making his pores cry all they could. He could always use the heavy curtains to be spared from such a rude awakening but what for? There were only twenty-three others in the world who could boast about having such a view. The sun, in all its glory, painted the jungle beneath it in all the colors were graced to see. Mihir figured he’d get tired of it at some point, but right now, squinting and sweating, he could not look away.
Drying his own clothes and sheets regularly had simply become a part of his routine. Bathing in his own silence, making his own food, watching his station light itself up, he still appreciated every moment, even after a year. Mihir was still young, freshly twenty and eager to live like any of his peers. His style of life had just gotten a unique twist once he’d decided to register as the 6th Watchman. He’d sent the papers even before the position went vacant, still at seventeen years old, and was on the verge of tears once he’d finally received the answer. The rest of his family cried more than him, in truth, but he knew his tears were more pure than their manipulative attempt at taking advantage of his empathy. “No more!” Mihir said, “Not one more of your problems will ever reach my ears again!” There was be no better alternative, he had struggled to find his ways around the ever shifting spaces of Delhi. These cities promoted a hunger for a life full of action that his heart had never accepted. Crushed between the heart of his family and the city itself, begging to be sent to the nearest Watchtower had been a desperate attempt of a lonely night where he had wished he could truly feel alone.
The family had intercepted the letter, naturally, but thankfully instead of immediately discarding it, the parents made a massive tantrum out of it. They ripped it to shreds, they yelled, they cried, they invoked, they hollered, it did not matter. Mihir knew he just had to show up at Delhi’s Jiù ēn consulate, the letter was merely a courtesy. He’d packed his bags the same day, the same hour, his ears still filled with incessant wails, where siblings and outer family had added themselves to the chorus. His smile had been unwavering, because he’d knew that his head would never again rest in this household. Everything outside had looked so bright this day, colors so vibrant, the sun so yellow it looked drawn by a child. He must have been chased by some of his family, for a while at least, but he’d never looked back and by the time he was waiting in an empty field for the private aerogaliot to take him away, noone was following him.
In a sense, his spirit was still scarred, every day was a reminder of what he’d escaped and he took no part of his life as a Watchman for granted. The 6th Watchtower stood sentinel over the middle of a jungle in the tropic of the Cancer, somewhere south of Delhi. The untarnished white quartz of the structure protected the Watchman and their equipment from the merciless whims of Terra’s weather. Mihir had heard that the 15th and 16th Watchtowers were both planted in the middle of the pacific ocean, and that on good weather days, they could manage to see each other from the top of their stations, although the both of them were always sound asleep once Mihir woke up. Following that thought, he happily clacked on a keyboard against a wall, sending his own good morning text as way of clocking in for the day. Against a great empty wall in the largest room of his tower, a highly detailed view of the sun, unhindered by its blinding light, revealed itself to him. One hour before, the 5th Watchtower had taken operations, one hour later, the 7th Watchtower would as well. Day by day, following the unending dance of Terra around the sun, the Watchmen followed its every move until it set, where the Watchmen would be laid to rest, until it rose again. For that purpose, the Watchmen never left their post, once they’d taken in the mantle they would rigorously follow this routine, always paying close attention to the Solar activity in an intimate way that no other spatial observation station on Terra could rival. As such, they towers were always placed close to the equator, if not on the line itself, and always far, far away from any habitations. A life devoted to Sol’s lone star, the Watchmen were to be as lonely as the sun itself. Yet all of them had found their reasons to follow this life, and Mihir comfortably became one of them.
6: I’m uuuuup °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
4: gm
2: how does he have access to those
6: talent
25: u can ask for a better keyboard with hotkeys n stuff
2: it takes long?
25: where is your tower again exactly
2: guinea
25: ok yeah you have sea access if you ask now you’ll get it in like two days tops
2: sick, can you ask for anything?
23: they agreed for the keyboard cuz they admitted they only thought of the practical side, they’re nice enough if there’s something that bothers you but don’t expect them to send you luxury food every weekend
21: I think 12 is the oldest still active her tower must be kitted the **** out
2: what like they wipe out everything in it when they pass it to another?
25: yea
4: yeah
6: d(>_･ )
23: yeah
21: yeha
2: lol I thought my predecessor was just very tidy
25: previous 2 didn’t talk much we already know more about you than we ever did about him
Mihir felt good about not being the latest addition to the Watchmen anymore. Seeing the logs scroll in front of him as he swiped the main room, it made him appreciate how well he’d gotten accustomed to this life above the clouds. There hadn’t been much in the way of friction after all. The food was varied but bland, the accommodations so impersonal you could feel like living in a hospital. In the end, the reason people weren’t queuing for a spot at these high thrones were how utterly alone the Watchmen were. Despite having written contact with each other and their respective Jiù ēn consulate, liaison with other parts of the world were completely null. As independent villages had been abandoned over the last centuries, the closest inhabited settlement to any Watchtower were hundreds of kilometers away at the very least. It was a life ruled by silence, devoted to gazing at the sun.
And so he did. The main room of his tower serving as the window to the sun, Mihir would spend his day staring. There were instruments, books of references, sheets of studies provided by people smarter than them. Jiù ēn didn’t require their Watchmen to be particularly sharp, it was simply a commitment, one they would vow to follow until they couldn’t. Mihir had never been a fanatic so naturally, he had wondered why Jiù ēn even needed these Watchtowers in the first place. At this time, he could see it on his giant monitor, a blip against the sun’s blistering surface, the Lamprey. Jiù ēn’s solar station, parked in constant orbit around the sun for reasons unknown. Some people had asked, and Jiù ēn always provided an answer, but the inquirers always came back shrugging. It had prompted more curiosity but all who had heard their answer would have the same thing to say “I don’t understand.” Maybe a trick, maybe a subterfuge, although it was most likely than what their answer entailed could not be translated in any way that would make sense to humans. But Mihir had wondered, wouldn’t the Lamprey do a far better job at monitoring the star than they ever could? Even with the twenty-five Watchmen, they could only do so much. Maybe someone had already asked, they probably couldn’t understand either.
In the margin of some papers and essays he would receive, there were also some theories unrelated to his work. Some scientists couldn’t help themselves from asking questions directly to the Watchmen. A vain effort really, for Mihir had no way of ever responding. But they kept their papers muddied with questions and equations that would lead nowhere, like throwing a bottle in the sea. Thanks to these scientists at least, Mihir knew what he would need to be on the lookout for. Any shift in the sun’s light prism needed to be recorded, no matter how small, no matter if it waned on its own. The other more common detail the Watchmen needed to pay attention to were the sun’s spots, fleeting cooling patches that only indicated the natural life cycle of a star. Really, him and his twenty-four twins were duty inspectors for a star. A job that would likely be in vogue for a few more millennia.
The chat logs would get active at random parts of the day, not every one of them spend a long time paying attention to it but it was a fine enough way for them to stay sane. Mihir would say good morning, see what the mood for today was like, and say good night when the sun would set, that was all he ever needed and the other Watchmen had little in the way of judgment. His work station prepped and ready, he opened a glass door to the outside, onto a well protected balcony, guarded by white columns in the same untarnished quartz as the rest of the structure. Mihir hadn’t felt the urge to plunge but accidents had to have happened. The jungle’s air, even so far above the trees, was still heavy with humidity. He liked taking in the smells, gazing at the vibrant blue sky, bathing in the songs of the birds rising and diving from the canopy, all while sweating profusely. The morning shower had to wait for him to get his routine going instead of starting it. His schedule was in his own hands now, forever and ever and even after so long now, that realization couldn’t help but make him smile.
All that to say, Mihir would get really bored. Even if he had brought a radio with him, he doubted there were any music playing remotely close and he didn’t feel like eavesdropping on the incomprehensible chatter of Jiù ēn’s communications. He never felt like chatting away with the other Watchmen either, so he resorted to reading the books the scientists would send him. He wasn’t dense as a rock but he had also not pursued any higher education so the jumble of words and numbers dancing before his eyes were more of a hardcore puzzle than anything else. Without anyone to teach or guide him, whether or not he made any progress in understanding the concepts he was reading about was between him and his tower. Did the scientists not know their peers weren’t sent to the towers? At least it was some way to pass time, his favorite one so far had been a very imaged book describing and studying the relationship between Jiù ēn and Sol’s astral bodies. Naturally, it was from a scientific point of view instead of a philosophical one but from the photos taken and drawings inscribed, Mihir could make his own conclusions.
They look up, they are organized, in a way noone could ever comprehend. A hive mind? Unlikely, Jiù ēn as a collective was made of so many different species that even if they had banded around a common language, their physiognomies wouldn’t allow for a shared consciousness without sever drawbacks. Or would it? The book also contained a detailed examination of the Lamprey, from an observer’s point of view. Looked nothing like the animal it derived its name from, to be honest. It was simple in design, like Jiù ēn’s own vessels, a six pointed star, sometimes retracting into a horizontal line. They could only guess what the side facing the sun offered. One theory had motivated a lot of people to follow the warlord Scien, a few centuries ago, into the harshest uprising against Jiù ēn. Scien had claimed, that the Lamprey was siphoning the sun away, and although it was never known if he had any basis for this accusation, the possibility had rallied a lot of people to his cause. Mihir closed the book, he already knew it by heart now. On the monitor, he saw a marker appear on a pole of the sun. 25 had marked a sunspot that had begun to recede. Mihir’s eyes scoured the surface, as he did yesterday and the day before and before. He was bored but he didn’t mind, in that sense it was good that his brain never let him forget what he had left behind in Delhi, that way the scales were always tipped in favor of spending his entire day looking at the sphere of primordial flame lighting up the sky.
And so the sun would set. The sky as night feel was always as much of a treat as when it rose. The tower generated so little light it was as if it didn’t exist in the dense terran forest, making the stars as bright as they could be.
6: good niiight (_ _ ) Zzz z
11: sleep fast the lamprey is flexing tmrw
8: ??? when
11: trust
8: whatev
8: gn 6
6: lol
Mihir didn’t deactivate the terminal, he hadn’t been instructed to be stingy about energy so he didn’t feel the need to. It wasn’t like anything around him made him feel like he should live in scarcity. Maybe he should ask the consulate for other books. His only destination now was his bed and the toilet, not necessarily in that order. Despite not doing anything but standing around, reading until bored and working out until annoyed, he always felt the pull of sleep. The schedule was unyielding, a great design really, he didn’t even need an alarm clock in the morning. For a minute, he stood in the middle of the room, eyes looking nowhere. He had to go to the bathroom after all. Mihir’s steps echoed in the sterile hallway, ignoring the door to the tower’s bathroom. Heading to the opposite side of the hallway, stepping under lights that would never turn off, he stepped into the elevator and pressed the only other button on the keypad. It hummed, heading down, rocking his body in a comforting manner. There were stairs as well, but Mihir doubted he would ever had the energy to make the trip up or down them. Feeling his brain slowly sinking in the realm of dreams, it was as if the elevator went down forever, the low hum of its engine singing a lullaby to lead him somewhere else. Before his body could collapse here and there, the elevator landed with a low ding. The doors didn’t open on their own, needing Mihir’s confirmation. Once he’d pressed the button again, the heavy air of the jungle instantly weighed on his shoulders. Another door to his right led to the stairs, Mihir wondered if it ever had the opportunity to be of any use. Stepping off and into the dirt itself was a guilty pleasure of his. A reminder again of what he lorded upon, in his mighty tower. He looked up, but the tower was lost between the gigantic trees, reflecting little of the star’s light that reached the jungle floor. The only lights emanating from the tower were from the patio in front of the elevator, attracting so many moths and other insects the light might have been useless. He could not see the myriad of galaxies from down there, but the intoxicating blend of smells and sounds was something he could get drunk on. A little reinvigorated, Mihir headed for the stump of a tree, not too far not too close, making sure to mind where he stepped. He didn’t want to disturb the fauna as much as he didn’t want them to disturb him. Well decided, Mihir unzipped his fly and relieved himself, his eyes lost in the infinity of leaves above him.
The first time he’d decided to come down since he’d been appointed as 6th Watchman, he had only taken a piss, but still innocently wondered if there was anything else he could do. A year after, and semi-frequent visits down to the jungle floor, he hadn’t managed to do anything else but mark his territory like a dog. His business done with, Mihir’s eyes fell to the right of the tree. Wrapped around itself only inches from his feet were the distinct circular scales of a viper. The animal was as still as Mihir was trying to be. He could not be sure what species laid next to him but in this place, in this part of the world, he knew for a fact he would rather not get bitten. Did they even provide him a first aid kit in the tower? He might have never checked. Indistinguishable from the sweat of humidity, his entire body felt like it was turning into rainwater. He mustn’t have blinked since noticing the snake, his feet ever so slightly sinking into the tender dirt. How many seconds, how many minutes had passed since then? The foliage hid much of the snake’s body including its head, Mihir couldn’t be sure the animal wasn’t already in a defensive stance. Starting to feel the unpleasantness of his immobility, Mihir was forced to take a step backwards, carefully looking to not step on anything that would’ve tripped him up. One step backward, one step to the side, carefully making his way closer to the elevator. But he was so far, and he knew he could not outrun a snake’s stride in its own habitat. If the snake had decided that he had trespassed, then his fate was already sealed. Yet the snake was still. Could it be sleeping? Standing a bit further, Mihir could now see the entire snake in front of him. What had terrified him to the point of shivers had only been a molt, a fresh one almost indistinguishable from the real thing. Mihir exhaled heavily, feeling his heart beat out of his chest. He chose not to linger, taking it as a lesson for the day. Before the elevator doors closed in front of him, he kept the distant discarded skin in view, as if it would suddenly rise to follow him.
The sun rose the next day, taking him out of the shroud of dreams and nightmares that evaporated as soon as he looked at the blooming light reflected against his ceiling. Mihir knew the snake’s molt hadn’t been part of his labyrinth of dreams because he remembered it as clearly as if it happened only moments prior. At least that’s not something the 15th Watchman would ever have to encounter. Another day, another shower, another bowl of red rice, another schedule of dutifully keeping eyes on the sun’s skin. 11 hadn’t lied, only an hour after his station had commenced, Mihir could see the Lamprey collapse its branches into a horizontal line. But the station moved fast around the sun and the show was over as soon as it began. Instinctively, Mihir took out the same book again, the one with the sketch of Lamprey’s design. It had been studied for centuries by now, any pattern in its movements was noted and accounted for. What motivated the station to do such a thing? Paragraphs and paragraphs of terms and equations he could not make any sense of, but he recognized the drawings. It was like trying to discern why planets moved as they did, it would have been easier if the Lamprey itself had a mind of its own. Mihir had an idea.
6: heyhey does anyone know if the lamprey has a predictable orbit?
9: don’t think so, just goes wherever it wants to
25: can confirm
6: ( ´∀｀)b
The answer to this might already be in the book he’d just close, said in a way he simply didn’t understand but Mihir decided to investigate anyway. He stood in front of the giant monitor, pulling out his portable keyboard. Mihir overwrote the live feed of the sun to pull out the newly updated list of all recorded Lamprey flex in the last year. The time frames didn’t appear strange, one flex every two or three weeks. Mihir then superposed the places where the Lamprey flexed onto the monitor. Some of the recorded places weren’t on the face of the sun he could see but it still covered most of the surface with black dots, this time seemingly at random. Some of the points overlapped, making for darker and bigger spots that reminded him of something. Mihir felt his heartbeat quicken, he saved the current visual in a folder and wiped the slate clean, this time pulling up all recorded sunspots in the past year. One slide for all Lamprey flexes, one slide for all sunspots. Switching back and forth between the two, the dark points littering the sun’s surface were all superposed with each other. Mihir passed his hand over his mouth. The time frames indicated that the sunspots followed the path of the Lamprey, and not the other way around. This could mean nothing, there was a massive probability that this pattern would have already been noticed and recorded. But no other Watchman had ever said anything. And wouldn’t such a discovery at least make international news? Mihir couldn’t reach the press, he couldn’t reach anyone else aside from the other Watchmen and…
6: since when did you start recording flexes 11? ( ﾟｰﾟ)
11: since first day on the clock baby, been my dream since forever
6: you couldn’t do that before?
11: even the best observatories don’t have shit compared to premium Vukea tech!
6: ୧( ˵ ° ~ ° ˵ )୨
Someone else must have noticed, between the twenty-four other Watchmen, he couldn’t have been the only one. Yet his fingers have moved away from the Watchman terminal. The monitor beeped. Mihir turned on his heel, eyes wide open. It was simply 9 noticing that light receptors had gone back to normal since two days ago. It was their duty, for all of them, why would any of them stay silent? Mechanically, Mihir closed all the books he’d left lying about, stacking them in an orderly fashion for no particular reason. He paced around the room, the data still overlaid on the monitor begging for his attention. He tried ignoring it but his body wouldn’t allow him to leave the room. Once his brain couldn’t handle the suspense anymore, his body rushed to the monitor once more, pulling both sunspot and flex recording from the last decade. One after the other, perfect matches and with every year that Mihir scrolled through, his incomprehension grew more desperate. He didn’t allow himself to feel even an ounce of pride. Defeated, he sat down.
The rest of the day passed as a blur. Even then, he stayed loyal to his post, uncharacteristically straining his eyes as if some grand revelation waited for him as the sun set. Once it was time to shut off the monitor, Mihir compiled all of the data he had superposed in a separate folder. He named it “Pattern” because anything else would have felt unnecessary. A warm shower and a full meal couldn’t wash away the image of the Lamprey, gracefully dancing around the sun, leaving pools of darkness in its wake. They would heal of course, weren’t they natural phenomenons in the first place? His bed was calling to him, his body begging to be relieved of its duties. The stars shining through the monitor room, he stood in front of his keyboard. The communication terminal had been left open, if he didn’t know it was only him around, Mihir would have believed some outside force had turned it back on. Never before, in his gilded tower that he had dreamed about forever, had he felt so alone. Mihir sent the “Pattern” folder to the official channel connecting him to Jiù ēn and headed to his bed who welcomed him without question.
A secluded gazebo, overgrown with ivy. Its pristine white wood still proudly pierced through the greenery, invited anyone that would gaze upon it. There is noone inside, but who could’ve expected someone to be waiting? The light shines bright against it, the golden sky of a setting sun bathing the small garden in auburn tranquility. But where was the sun? Hidden in the dense foliage? Shying away behind the trunk of a tree? Or was it never here?
Mihir woke up in sweat, his dreams washing away as soon as his pupils adjusted to the rays of light. His head fell to his left. The sun had risen once again, casting no judgment upon him. With more precipitation than he ever had exerted since coming to his tower, he went to his communication terminal. A disclaimer immediately popped up in his face.
“Effective immediately, the Watchtower protocol is hereby dismantled. Every individual stationed at the 25 Watchtowers of Terra will be escorted back to the consulate they have been drafted by. Thank you for your service. Thank you for your trust.”
6: what happened?
25: no clue
2: so stupid I just started
5: apparently right after we went to bed they started rolling out the message
25: most already left
5: they’re quick…
Scrolling through the member list of the channel, Mihir saw that 10 to 21 showed as unreachable, like their entire system had been deactivated. His heart sank. He had expected something to happen, between a shrug of the other Watchmen who had already found out and a personal boot on the neck by Jiù ēn to silence him, like in the warlord’s propaganda. Instead, Jiù ēn pulled the plug on all of the towers the second they had received his folder.
25: I hear the galiot… been a pleasure everyone, hope we can land back on the ground easily
0: I don’t want to go
1: I don’t want to go back
2: I just made it out
3: I can’t make it back
4: I don’t remember the way back
5: Why now?
Mihir stepped away. He had decided to not send the folder to them first, he couldn’t say anything more, they didn’t deserve to hear this now, he would only make it worse. He didn’t turn on the monitor, instead looking straight at the sun, his eyes reflexively tearing up. He could only wait for his turn to come. While he waited, almost motionless, he could still hear the channel notifications pile up one by one. As the hours passed, the pace of the sounds grew longer, the gaps between notifications grew larger until noone was left. A few minutes passed, lingering in the sudden silence. Mihir looked back at the terminal.
5: bye bye 6
He ripped his eyes away from the screen. He shouldn’t have looked again, before long he could hear the aerogaliot hum its way down to his balcony. Mihir left his tower, leaving everything behind the same way he came. From the slits in the hull of the vehicle, he could see his white tower slowly fade into the horizon. The smell of the jungle, the humidity in the air, in the end left it all as it had been, like he’d never been there at all, only the molted skin of a viper to remember him by.
The end of a protocol into drowning in others. Between the pilot of the galiot and the people stationed where he landed, noone bothered to look at him in the eyes. Had they been this impersonal this whole time? Mihir figured the consulate wanted him out of their legs as soon as could be arranged. For the extent of his service, they gave him money, too much for what he ever did, the kind of money that noone in his family had ever laid eyes on. Yet he felt nothing, cashing in the check to his name and seeing the number load on his account. After all, Mihir had figured he would never need money again. The consulate also probably expected him to go back to his family, flaunting the silver gift of Jiù ēn’s boundless generosity. Mihir had his feet on the ground, new shoes provided by the consulate fresh against the concrete. It hadn’t been that long, not nearly long enough since he’d last been in Delhi. All around him, people went about with their days, children crying, old men snarling, myrrh singing. Did anyone know? Did anyone care? Not one at the consulate had even attempted silencing him for what he had discovered. Because it was his discovery that toppled everything down, wasn’t it?
The world moved on. The sun set and rose again the next day. Mihir booked himself the most expensive hotel he could find, lounging as if he lived there wouldn’t drain his funds in three lifetimes. The prospect only depressed him, the news about the Watchtowers being dismantled reached local broadcasts, to little noise. After all, noone in the world including the Watchmen could have explained the towers purpose, so why should anyone care whether they rose or fell? There was that, his dream of an adult life, crumbling in silence. Mihir couldn’t help but think about the other Watchmen. Like him, they must’ve had their own circumstances that led them to choose this life away from everyone and everything. Had they all found their way to luxury hotels, as he did? Mihir knew what the most likely outcome had been for them. He didn’t want to think about it, he refused to visualize it but it haunted his every waking moment. Nothing he could drown in alcohol, nothing he could phase out with incense, they only made him feel less like himself and he couldn’t lose that. He couldn’t.
Even after getting rid of the bottles and the herbs, Mihir woke up beside himself, as if his body was two steps ahead of his mind. The air around him clouded in mist, he got dressed up. It was as if nothing on his body fitted him, his legs moved before he could think of his destination. The elevator was full and noone looked to be letting him squeeze in. They had somewhere to go. Mihir could have waited but he headed for the stairs, following an orderly line of people heading down the hotel’s floors same as him. They all made their way out of the lobby, butting shoulders, staggering but keeping themselves steady. They had somewhere to go. In the streets of Delhi, all vehicles had grown silent, replaced by the cascading steps of thousand upon thousand of feet, making their way towards their destination. Mihir didn’t look up, he didn’t look down. They all looked forward. They had somewhere to go.
In the clouded sky, large shadows pierced the horizon. They marched on, waiting until space was given for them. Drop by drop, one being at a time, they entered. An inexplicable smell followed them inside. Mihir waited his turn, once the one in front of him took a step, he took a step in turn and so did the one behind him. One step after another, a single file line, parallel to so many others. They all waited patiently, one step after another. They had somewhere to go. Before he realized the one in front of him wasn’t here anymore, Mihir’s face was gently grabbed by a pair of hands, his hazy eyes catching hints of an unnatural light. A rugged voice addressed him.
“Are you the 6th Watchman?”
“Mihir,” he responded, his jaw feeling like lead, “Name’s Mihir.”
“Mihir, ninth proctor of the 6th Watchtower. Walk forward until someone takes your hands.”
Mihir only mumbled an answer, obeying diligently. He never again saw the back of the one he had followed for what felt like years. Walking aimlessly within the fog, he felt like crying. All of the small yet deep insecurities he had garnered as a child crept out of his heart like ants. It was as if his whole life was deconstructing itself as he walked onward. No matter how loud his sobs were getting, he kept walking until his hands took hold of his hands. His forearms disappeared in the giant fingers interlacing him. His body only felt relief, as his legs had finally stopped moving forward. The giant hand pressed something cold against his face and all of a sudden, his synapses fired on all cylinders. The fog around his consciousness lifted in an instant, Mihir looked all around him in a panic only to have his eyes fall on the giant figure that still held one of his arm in its grip. What stood before him had to be 9 meters tall, heavily slouched, its whole body covered in a dark patterned robe. Its face, or what stood as a mask, showed an uneven pattern of holes. There were no eyes behind the holes to reflect anything back at Mihir who only stared, his brain still focused on flaring his senses to make sure everything was at the right place.
“You are the Sentinel. Watcher. Watchman. I am known as the Guide. Torch. Passeur.”
“Where are we? Why am I here? What’s happening?”
The questions fired as soon as Mihir heard the giant figure’s voice. It was as gentle as its embrace, but still deep, as if coming from inside a well. Now that he could examine his surroundings, nothing around him looked familiar to anything he’d ever seen in his life. The thick maroon fog still made its way inside the chamber they were in, sunlight desperately trying to provide light for them. Judging by his stance and the space around them, wherever they were hadn’t been built for the comfort of the Passeur yet it was more at home than Mihir could be.
“Follow. Listen.”
The figure let go of his arm, unlocking its slender fingers like feeble branches. As if gliding across the ground, the Passeur turned from him and headed deeper into the darkness. A faint glow emanated from it in the pitch dark that surrounded everything, guiding Mihir.
“We are in one of our vessel. Jiù ēn. Wokovu. Salvation. We have guided you to us.”
“That’s what that was? The march? Why for? Why land now?”
Mihir couldn’t stop himself yet he avoided mentioning what truly burned his tongue. Was it his fault?
“We are ready. Terra is ready. Bridge. Crossing. Exodus.”
“Exodus? You’re leaving?”
“We are.”
Finding again a room where light shone through, they had reached what looked to be a warehouse full of caskets. Engraved casings of varying sizes, laid out across the ground and all around them, floating in the air like suspended in time. Both the left and right walls curved upwards, letting the Passeur assume the full extent of its height. In so, it faced Mihir again, its arms nowhere to be seen made the figure look like an imposing tower looking down on him.
“You. Mihir. Watchman. Saw the trail, you sent us a message. Your pattern.”
“Was I really the first one?” Mihir replied, almost whispering as if it would prevent the answer from reaching him.
“You were the first one who sent your pattern to us.”
“Its not- It’s your pattern isn’t it? What you left some bread crumbs for anyone to find and then you’d fuck off? Does that mean that the sun is dying? Does that mean you killed it? Was that it?”
“We are a bridge. We are not arbiters. We open our hands. You are passengers. You are not divine. You reach inward. You called to us. We answered.”
“I don’t understand,” Mihir replied, instantly remembering the defeated testimonies of everyone who had sought a greater audience with Jiù ēn.
Seemingly unphased, the Passeur pulled out an arm from its form and reached up, grabbing a casket and slowly lowering it in front of Mihir, its improbable spine bending beyond reason so that its mask would face him.
“Open.”
Mihir looked down at what he identified as a casket. Up close, it only looked like an ornate box, simple in design but with many intricate engravings of symbols he couldn’t read. With all of the oddity around him, the box still opened like one and Mihir took a peek inside. Laid comfortably in a padded interior was laid a limp piece of something that looked like either cloth or skin. It couldn’t have been larger than an empty pillowcase and Mihir instantly recognized what it was. In its inert form, it could have been tossed aside as nothing but junk, but even kids as young as twelve would learn in school what all states of an aerocore looked like. The pinnacle of technology bequeathed by Jiù ēn, whose smaller devices powered every vehicle of any functional city. But what rested before him was larger, heftier, something only the highest order of authority of Terra had ever laid their eyes on. Only second to the ones who powered their vessels, Jiù ēn gave the aerocores for cities on Terra to sustain themselves without resorting to plunder limited resources until none would remain.
“Mihir.”
He looked up, his eyes lost in the dark behind the Passeur’s mask.
“We leave. We take back what we can use again. Many will leave with us, but not all. Some will stay. It is their choice. Now you will choose. Leave with us. Ride the stars to another you can call home. Or stay. Deliver this to the remnants of Terra.”
“What?”
“Leave with us. Or stay.”
The Passeur passed the weight of its word into a subtle motion, lowering once more the box containing the aerocore so it was in reach of Mihir’s hands.
“This is way too important! Leave it to one who you know will stay! Someone more fit to use it!”
“Irrelevance!”
The Passeur had shouted, matching Mihir’s rising tone, its voice resonating loudly within the halls, freezing him in place.
“But…why me?”
“Because you are here. You do not have to understand. We do not have to understand. There is no now where you are not here.”
For a moment, Mihir thought of what the world would have looked like if he had kept the folder to himself, like many Watchmen probably did before him. How long would he have been haunted by his inaction before it would have drowned in his mind? Would it have followed him forever? It didn’t matter.
“There isn’t really a choice is there?”
“Did you choose to call us?”
The question echoed in his mind as Mihir made his way back, following the exact steps he had taken before. His mind as clear as water, he could now see the intricacies of the vessel he was in. Everywhere he could discern shapes there was more he didn’t comprehend. The simple purpose of a water cooler around the corner of a flight of stairs, the evident convenience of a window facing east. Somewhere among the stars, there would be one that couldn’t understand. There, in the den of the unknown, Mihir laid his curiosity to rest. His arms the box gripping tightly against his chest, he started making his way through the tide of people still pouring in the vessel. Walking against the current, he had to push his way in, working harder than anyone else to stay afloat, to keep the box close to him so that he wouldn’t drop it. As he passed through, Mihir saw their eyes. They all looked forward, despite their mind being lost in a haze they marched on, they all had somewhere to go.
Reaching the streets of Delhi once more, Mihir could make out taller figures amongst the crowd, moving slowly. Even in the thick of the fog, Mihir’s mind stayed clear and he could see that the dark mist emanated from those veiled figures. While smaller than the Passeur, they loomed more menacing than it ever did. Still clashing against the waves of people, Mihir glanced at one of the figure’s face, beneath their large veils, only to shudder aside, almost tripping and risking getting trampled by the unending steps. The tall figure hadn’t reacted to him and went on its way, wheezing and whistling as it walked. Jiù ēn had found a final use for their war frames. They’d chosen to fit them in what looked like funerary garbs, a drab mockery or a final act or kindness, in whatever form it could take.
When Mihir realized he had instinctively retraced his steps back to his hotel, he turned away. There was nothing more for him there, the entirety of the population of Delhi was still getting funneled into the vessel. Every major city probably looked the same, where could he even place the aerocore? Everyone who remained were likely scattered all over the globe, remote islands, faraway villages. Mihir frowned, grasping the box tighter against his chest. He finally escaped the tide, finding himself in front of the city’s train station. An urge to keep his feet moving led him inside, looking around for any sign of someone else going against the flow. Carriages and suitcases littered the floor, everyone had abandoned their travel plans. His steps echoed in the empty halls until his ears caught a familiar and uncanny sound. A baby’s cries, coming from closer to the tracks. Despite his body getting exhausted, Mihir ran, passing by the silent trains who would never ride the rails again. Following the cries, Mihir could hear them grow silent. Was he already losing his mind? Reaching the end of the docks, he stopped, coming across someone clad in shining armor. Despite relying on nothing else, Mihir was relieved this one was closer to him in height. Hearing him approach, the armor turned around and Mihir could see they were cradling a baby in their arms. Looking closer, the shine of the plates seemingly came from a glistening oil covering their entire body.
“Is the baby ok?” Mihir panted, struggling to catch his breath.
“They just needed to be held again.”
Their voice sounded far away, their heavy helm had probably filtered Jiù ēn’s mist as well as it did their voice. Behind him stood a rugged aerotrain who still rumbled with intent, and Mihir recognized his interlocutor.
“You’re… the rail nomads.”
“Hm hm… I’m 1.”
His helm was turned to face the sleeping child. Were they not taken in by the trance of the mist? Even then, without an adult to hold onto them, they could have only gotten so far.
“Was this kid left here?” Mihir whispered.
“Hm hm… Once the sound of the steps fades away, you will hear more.”
Mihir’s legs finally gave out and he slumped to the ground, sitting cross legged with the box resting on top of them.
“What about you?” The nomad looked down to him, the lenses embedded in his helm retracting, “You closed your nose?”
Mihir looked at them, dumbfounded.
“I joke.”
Mihir snorted and showed the content of the box to 1. He couldn’t bear to be the only one knowing what he had been tasked to bear, and he had no reason to suspect any ill will from a nomad and a newborn.
“A grand aerocore…” 1 whistled, “I thought they would have taken every one of them back. All cities lights turned black. You stole this from them?”
“They gave it to me. Some recompense for…”
“For what?”
“Doesn’t matter. There’s only one thing I can do with this.”
Mihir closed the box again.
“You’re gonna keep it? The baby?”
“We never leave abandoned children that we find.”
“What about the rest? What about all the ones left behind today?”
“Do you want me to tell you that we have no choice but to abandon them?”
Mihir gripped the box tighter. He had never wanted to know, he had never wanted to hold this burden in his arms. But he knew what he had to do with it, even if the Passeur hadn’t bothered leaving him any instructions. If there had been a choice, if there had been a path where he looked away and kept his head down, then he wouldn’t be here in the first place.
“I need your help.”
“Talk to me, mysterious beholder.”
“We will tie the abandoned passenger cars to your aerotrain. We will move between continents, across every country that is connected by tracks, across the great tunnels under the oceans. We will call out to anyone that can hear it to come and follow us. And then… and then I will turn on the lights for everyone who’s left… until…”
“Until the end.”
“That goes for you all too… if you want.”
1 laughed openly, slightly startling the child. The realization that the baby might wake up stopped his laughter short.
“We will lead your quest forward, but we have our own path to oblivion, your generosity be blessed. But now I ask you, do you know where you will be laying this core?”
“Not really… suggestions are welcome.”
“I have another passenger that might.”
Even before Mihir’s suggestion, the nomads had already tied a small car behind the tail of their elaborate machine. Inside, all of the seats were left empty, the only presence in the car was a thick cloud of smoke and a person lounging on two seats. The position couldn’t have been comfortable, as was the smell, but the person looked focused, barely paying attention to the fact Mihir had entered her periphery. 1 had told him they would be leaving Delhi without much delay, they would meander in Asia, crossing major cities and heading east towards the Pacific tunnel. While the north American wasteland wouldn’t have any settlement they’d need to visit, they southern continent would be their first destination. Mihir laid the box next to him on a seat, sighing and coughing. The smoke’s origin was hard to find, feeling already nauseous while thinking of all the newborn they would leave behind, Mihir tried to open a window to let some air in.
“Are you mental? Wait until we’re out of the city.”
Mihir had already forgotten that he’d been granted special privilege in the form of an immunity to Jiù ēn’s mist. While the nomad were clad in heavy filters all over their body, this other passenger might have held on by drowning herself in smoke. At least, Mihir had grabbed her attention. She leaned forward, her eyes on the box more than him. Mihir went to open it but the passenger lunged forward and pressed the box closed.
“Don’t show it to me. Don’t show it to anyone else. How did you..?”
Mihir explained what he had already told 1. In turn, the passenger introduced herself. Her name was Vogel, and like 1 had said she had already commissioned them to leech off of their aerotrain until they reached her destination.
“You know of the Red Carcass? It’s amateurish but they’ve built a city around it, the place barely had time to find its footing before the bell rang. This is where I’m going. This is where you should go.”
The determination in her eyes was convincing, more tangible than Mihir choosing a city at random. Their journey started in a silence full of expectancy. Once they got closer to Astana, Mihir and Vogel could see that the skyline had been cleared of the mist. The vessel bound to the city still pierced the horizon. They’d waited for a day, choosing to blast music out of their car to anyone that could hear it. 1 had left the specifics to him, he towed their pilgrimage around the world but as they said “We do not have anything else to offer.” Noone had come to the call, leaving Mihir restless. The second day, after a heated conversation with 1 that didn’t go anywhere, Mihir decided to roam the streets of Astana himself. Vogel had followed him and he hadn’t asked why, even if he would keep this to himself he was glad to not be alone in the desolated remains of their civilization. The city was silent, an overbearing absence of anything a city used to offer that left only carrion birds to feast on the fruits and vegetables that had been left where they’d been organized in front of shops. The smell of the mist had remained, vindicating Vogel for deciding to go out with a mouth filter borrowed from the nomads. It was still a blessing however, the smell of rot, the smell of death got pushed under, leaving only a faint odor of cold metal.
The only people they’d cross were already gone. Some had starved, prevented by disability or tiredness from reaching their goal. Some had been trampled, it was impossible to know if they had strayed away or if the perpetual motion of the march had trapped them underfoot. Vogel bothered to diagnose whoever they found, letting Mihir stay far away. Even if they never saw one again, he could hear the baby that 1 had rescued in his ears. The earth beneath them trembled, the air around them stood still, a whistle crossed the sky like an arrow. Mihir and Vogel looked up, the vessel of Astana had taken flight. Its inner folds expanded above them, casting a full shadow against the city, eclipsing the sun for an instant before gliding towards the stratosphere. In their car, once the aerotrain was back in motion, they could see the vessels joining each other far in the clouds, swimming in the golden sky of the setting sun. Unlike the both of them with their loud music, Jiù ēn’s vessels had nothing left to say. Vogel lost interest quickly and headed to sleep but Mihir couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sky. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he thought of his parents. They were aboard one of these ships, and on the morrow, once Mihir opened his eyes again, they had fled to the stars, never to return.
“We’re on our own now,” Vogel said tapping his shoulder.
The tracks led them to all of the major cities of eastern Asia, after Astana and once the vessels had left the system, they started to find other people drawn to their music. Wherever they went, the trail behind the nomad’s aerotrain grew longer. The nomads themselves didn’t share their own space, staying warm inside of their machine, keeping their distance. Beyond what was rotting in the absence of daily upkeep, every major city had a seemingly limitless amount of supplies from food to clothes to technology that the nomads freely took for themselves. Neither Mihir nor Vogel felt the need to hold some ethical ground over this, noone else would ever make use of the abundance of resources Jiù ēn had left behind. For every human and every myrrh that decided to follow them, there would be some that decided to stay in their homes. They were all aware in their own ways that Jiù ēn’s departure had meant that Terra’s days were numbered and not everyone craved a final journey.
Every new day, every new city, Mihir would look back and the crowd behind him grew larger. Beside him stood Vogel, her destination set in stone and her goals close to her chest. A young human by the name of Van Kalkain that they had met in Madrid had eagerly joined ahead of time the effort to rebuild Kunlun from the ground up. Accommodations, living conditions, food distribution, and even keeping alive the individual cultures of all corners of the world they were coalescing into a single point. Even before they reached the city, the second he’d heard of Mihir’s plan, he wanted to be part of everything. “It’s a mission of a lifetime, it’s everything that matters now!”
Once they finally reached the station of Kunlun, the aerotrain had gotten so long that the furthest car’s passengers had to hike their way to enter the district of Freeway. Standing in the middle of the plaza beneath a great pagoda, Mihir couldn’t detach his eyes from the Red Carcass which loomed over the city. The altar in the center of the plaza let everyone around him pay attention to each of his movements. All they needed him to do was talk. And so he did. He recounted the same goal that he had shared with 1, Vogel and Van Kalkain. The latter stood in the crowd, looking up to him with the same shining expectancy. The former had reached their destination and found their way, leaving the crowd to him alone. The people that had heard their music were all here, they had followed and now they were listening. But why was he here? The one who rung the bell, standing among them acting as their savior.
“No matter what happens now, no matter what problems we might encounter while we wait for the end. My promise to you all is to keep the lights on.”
With that final sentence uttered, Mihir lifted his hand in the air and every building in the districts around them lit up. Every lamppost, every garland, every light in every windows bared its splendor over the crowd. The Pagoda’s clock shined, proud and tall, its ticking catching up to the time he had restarted. Roars of applause erupted from every side, but Mihir’s eyes stayed locked onto his raised hand, the Red Carcass spanning before him. What had he done?
He stood, as every institution was rebuilt by those around him. Services, public transport, all of which ran the world before they turned on again. The Pillar of Life, the Pillar of Education, the Pillar of Architecture, all following his lead. Everyone found their place, in time, either settling in the varied district or delving into the already rooted life within the Red Carcass. The name didn’t stick, things shifted, the norm blending itself in the expectancy of that fated final day.
He stood, as the sun started to fade out of its colors, the strength of Terra sapped away the planet grew cold and still. Unrest into depression into panic that he turned into an explosive celebration of life. Turn your overflowing feelings outward, express yourselves, dance until you can’t, paint until you can’t, sing until you can’t. Let the sun hear you live, let this place be the ultimate confluence of everything that Terra ever was. They cheered and cheered, hailing him as the beacon of Last Kunlun.
He stood, as a nameless group laid waste to the Spires, turning the district into the Caldera. These nameless disruptors had left nothing of themselves behind, expecting their work to bear results by itself. In the end, they achieved nothing except putting everyone’s eyes on him again. And so he told everyone as much, the crowd reciprocating his desire to move on from this incident. After all, he had found something more important in his life.
He stood, as the last birds flew around him in the Aery.
He stood, as he found space in his heart for love.
He stood, as he looked towards the sky, seeing the last of the sun’s colors fade into nothingness.
And finally, he stood as everyone around him had expected this day to never come. They had all gathered around him, holding themselves close, living where they had thought they never would again. The silence. The weight of the eyes. Why was he here? Words left his mouth but he couldn’t hear them. He looked down. Why were they letting him look down on them? The sun had risen. He had woken up when the night should have taken them all. Why was he still here? They all looked to him for guidance, as they always did, they looked for an answer, for deliverance. Why weren’t they climbing the altar and clawing his throat out of his body? His ears only caught white noise as he kept talking.
This day would follow him every day, every minute he was awake. The “False Dusk” as they called it. She held his hands, forcing him to look at her. What was her name again? What did she ask? What did he do the day before? Last Kunlun moved on without him, he remembered holding him in arms, hearing in his voice the cries he had followed in Delhi’s station. Where had they led him? Why was he here? He cried and cried and cried again for reasons his mind couldn’t remember. The last magpie flew away, disappearing in the gray sky.
He sat in his chair, his head resting to his left, looking out of his window. The courtyard of Helix offered little privacy, he had taken the habit of waiting at night, catching his neighbor turning on the lights. A human whom he had never talked to, one that was born in Last Kunlun, before or after the False Dusk, he couldn’t say. The human had their routine, they would wake, close to the sunrise and wait in their kitchen, next to the radio. He would watch their face, the fold in their skin, the weariness in their eyes, the same expectancy he had been so use to seeing directed at him. Now he saw the same gaze waiting for the radio to speak, to pronounce its verdict. His hand twitched, the pill rolling across his palm. The night was ending, the sounds of the excitements it had brought were abating. Now everyone was waiting.
In the dead air, he thought of the arrogant, of the despicable, of the opportunist, of the puppeteer. He closed his eyes. He wanted to think of her. He wanted to apologize to him. But in the last days, in the last years, she had been the only one to visit him. She had been the only one to challenge him. And he had sat, he sat and waited, carving endlessly onto wood the shape of things that weren’t meant to be remembered. He wanted to remember her. He wanted to be forgiven. After his first speech that first day in Last Kunlun, he had been sweating profusely, heaving, discovering what stage fright felt like but it was done. In a panic, he had forgotten to introduce himself. Vogel had laughed, joined by Van Kalkain. “Why are you worried now? You never told us your name. They’ll pick one for you.” His hand twitched once more, prompting him to open his eyes once more. His neighbor had gotten up to pour himself some tea. They couldn’t have noticed him watching as he sat in darkness, his face only lit by his neighbor’s light. His window was ever so slightly open, letting a breeze in, bringing in the fresh scent of dawn.
“Once again, the Sun rises.”
He saw the eyes of his neighbor light up, drinking from their cup with a sudden burst of energy. He had no choice. There never was any. Every step, every regret and every memory he had lost in the sand brought him back to the boundless dark he saw behind the Passeur’s mask. He was here. He had been here all this time because noone else could have. His eyelids went shut again, closing his fingers into a fist.
His name was Mihir, and the last image that passed through his mind was that of a sterile white room, empty except for a snake’s molted skin, laid across the floor.