Foundations of an Empire

One foot before the other. Keres solemnly walked the cold streets bathed in neon lights and judgmental stares from billboards. His mind was trapped in an unpleasant memory stuck on repeat. The voices seeped through cracks in the mental walls he’d put up.

“Was it so wrong?” The question wedged itself into his thoughts “It's strange, right?”

He saw vivid images from a few hours ago: Doctor Strootman, a stout social history professor from the institute, stood on a hovering platform.

In a confident voice, he divulged the rise and fall of empires over the years and the consequences paid in ‘blood, victims and the rubble of fallen kingdoms for ephemeral or superficial benefits.’

The words though, came and went like a pendulum swaying about its pivot point, like a bell occasionally loud and then receding in increments.

“…an empire to end all empires.” The doctor’s voice chimed in.

Thousands of listeners towered over Strootman, all clad in spotless gray jumpsuits with a sprucely pinned insignia—a double-headed phoenix—above their left breast pocket. Among them, Keres sat and to his dismay opposed Doctor Strootman’s claim of The Fenix being different from all its predecessors, that it was ‘based on technological advancements and mental labor rather than coerced seizure and destruction.’

“What about the Great fault?” He posed. “Don’t we literally sway above ruins?”

A grave error, a grave error indeed.

The disbelief on the doctor’s face said it all. The soft murmurs threatened to turn into an uproar:

“Sedition!” , “Non-conformist!”, “Radical!” The words hang in the air, thick and solid, almost palpable. All were whispers with a lot more confused mouthings but no sound.

However, radical ideas are forgotten and must cease to exist the moment they are begotten. Meticulously planned ignorance is a price paid to guarantee the Fenix’s continued existence.

Keres’ words are ignored but not disregarded.

In retrospect, it wasn't all that bad, keres mused. His unconscious journey drew attention, it was highly uncommon to walk long stretches with all the pedestrian warp booths everywhere.

He stopped at an intersection, and stared into the distance where a low-hanging fog obscured tiny flashes of light in the distance. If he walked on to the origin of the gentle homing light a not-so-gentle waste relayer belt connected to a large metal pipe would come into view. The pipe lay precariously on the ledge over the great fault. The great fault housed the waste of this flying city as well as many others around the world under the name of The Fenix.

Although the Great Fault was a literal trash heap, Keres saw more in it — Something beneath the surface. He perceived a warm light, Not one from cryptic machinery, but from the one thing The Fenix, in all its majesty was missing: the truth, the price paid for its continued existence and the thin layer that hid the foundations of this great empire—blood, victims and the rubble of fallen kingdoms.