Noticing he still has a few hours left in the day, he decides to take a stroll through the newly inaugurated park in Rhakotis, on the southern shore of New Babylon. Myles feels disgusted by the future that awaits him—he’s seen G.M.R.T. (Royal Metropolitan Guard of T?ten) soldiers act with brutality, violence, and extreme repression. To him, they’re nothing short of monsters.
“If only there were a way out… A way not to become just another disposable lackey for this G.M.R.T. trash!”
He says it loud enough to hear himself, but low enough so no one else hears. Myles knows that, as an “indigent,” he won’t be able to escape the vows to the G.M.R.T., and that makes him sick to his stomach. He blames his parents for abandoning him. Wandering through the park, he steps off the trails and into the trees.
Suddenly, he finds himself in a clearing. A strong wind blows from the southeast, tossing his hair and forcing him to squint to keep the dust out of his eyes. Dazed, as if something takes control of his mind, he walks into the clearing and comes across an old, rotting wooden house—something that looks thousands of years old, or better said, thousands of cycles. It's dark and seems ready to collapse at any moment. Intrigued, he notices the wind begin to die down.
That’s when he feels it—a pulse. Strong. Quick. Coming from inside him. A voice whispers in his mind:
“Come in. Come in, you’ll like it.”
The pulse comes again. Hypnotized, the frail young man slowly enters the house. The stench of rotting wood invades his nostrils. Silence reigns, broken only by the sound of his own breath, now quickening, added to the cracking of the wood beneath his every step.
He walks through the entrance hall toward what appears to be a dining room, still set with silverware and porcelain. He feels a presence but sees no one. Passing through the kitchen door, he makes his way to the library. There, in the center of the room, stands a statue—seemingly made of obsidian, a dark, glass-like volcanic stone, dangerously sharp, dazzlingly shiny, and stunningly beautiful. The statue stands about eight feet tall, depicting a powerful man in peak physical condition. He holds a glowing white crystal, its brightness akin to a red dwarf star. His face shows admiration, desire, and satisfaction. His ruby-like eyes are fixed on the crystal.
At the back of the room, Myles notices a rocking chair facing a closed window, from which an intense light shines in stripes due to the blinders, making it impossible to see clearly. Though it moves gently, Myles feels the atmospheric pressure intensify with every creak. It was as if all of a sudden gravity was becoming... heavier. Then, a soft voice echoes through the room. Myles would say no one was there—if not for the voice and the accent:
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Go to it, Myles Rabbit. It belongs to you… The stone chose you. It’s yours by right.”
As if pulled by invisible threads, Myles starts walking—slow, involuntary steps through the thickened air. His daze is visible, almost palpable. The statue slowly moves, smiling at him, taking the stance of an Olympic discus thrower, the boy is submitted, he tries but he can't even blink his eyes.
By now, Myles is fully aware of what’s happening. He feels the strength in his calves vanish—as it always does when adrenaline kicks in. A mix of fear and euphoria surges through him. His body freezes. A chill bolts down his spine. He tries to take a step back, but his feet no longer respond. It is a whole new level of trance he is in now.
The statue grabs Myles by the collar. Its eyes gleam even brighter. Myles tries to scream:
“No—”
But like a gunshot, the statue drives its hand—with the crystal—into Myles’s chest, up to the wrist. It’s as if thunder explodes inside him. Heat scorches every cell in his body, all of his atoms are disconnecting, spreading away. And then… the universe ceases to exist.
When he regains consciousness, Myles finds himself lying face-down on cold, rotting, moldy wooden floorboards. Or so he thinks—until he opens his eyes and realizes he’s floating, his body touching the ceiling. Startled, he drops to the ground, hitting his tailbone with a loud thud. He gets up, rubbing the spot and muttering, taking tiny skips as he was triyng to ease the pain:
“What happened?”
Looking around, everything is gone—the chair, the statue, even the fancy dinnerware. Then, he feels something… odd. Something inside him, like a gift that had been dormant until now. Myles focuses—and begins to float again, unsteadily at first.
“This has to be a dream or I’m on a major Huxley Acid-style trip!”
He can’t believe it, but soon he begins to control his movement. He flies up to the third floor and drops back down through the stairs gap, stopping just above the ground—hovering diagonally a few inches above the floor.
“HAHAHAHA! THIS IS FREAKING AMAZING!”
Myles laughs harder than he ever remembers laughing.
And as he does, he realizes something else—he can go even further. He can have even more fun.
Focusing all his strength downward, he jumps over 500 feet into the blue sky, leaving a small crater of kinetic energy in the brittle wooden floor and a hole through the ceiling he made with his arms crossed on his face. Some of the tiles fly and spin in the air. He blasts toward the coast, flying as fast as he can, reaching the shoreline in mere minutes, laughing with the wind in his face, doing loops and barrel rolls, dodging the few remaining drones and birds in the area. Then, aiming his energy toward the horizon, he launches himself over the sea…
The air flowed over his body as if he were swimming through an invisible ocean. His shirt flapping on his skin with the air, his flinting to be able to see, the refreshing feeling of the wind on his face. It was like every cell in his body knew exactly what to do. After flying several miles over the ocean at high speed, he suddenly falters—dropping about seven feet, he doesn't say anything, but his intrigued face is explicit. Then again, and again, slowing with each drop. "- Yeah. I'm falling."- He thinks, until he finally plunges into the water.
Myles feels the ocean’s cold embrace, the salt stinging his mouth, his hair sticking to his face as it gets soaked. He swims, struggles, thrashes to return to shore—but he’s exhausted and begins to drown. Just before losing consciousness, he whispers, as if knowing only he would hear it:
“It was worth it.”