The Flightless

The low hum of the city buzzed faintly in the background as Wrex sat on the edge of his bunk, staring at the ceiling. The words of the second participant lingered in his mind, fragments of cryptic phrases that felt like riddles meant for him alone. Try as he might, their meaning escaped him, and yet, they unearthed something far older—a memory buried deep within his childhood.

When Wrex was nine years old, bedtime was often accompanied by his mother’s tales. She was a kind, soft-spoken woman whose stories painted vivid pictures of the old world, a time before the Montlaif, before the towering advancements of the Superentis. One story that struck a chord with Wrex was about the Pride Eagles—a metaphor, she explained, for people who longed to cross borders, to defy the boundaries that confined them.

“They wanted to fly,” she would whisper, stroking his hair. “But in a world where wings are clipped, they became the flightless. Do you understand, Wrex?”

He never truly did, not then. But he loved the way her words made the world feel bigger, filled with secrets waiting to be uncovered. Those moments of wonder were often cut short, though. His father, a stern and pragmatic man, would appear in the doorway, his voice sharp.

“Don’t tempt him,” his father would say. “If he goes there, there is no turning back.”

“Who cares if we’re flightless?” his mother would reply softly. “Take your share and move on.”

His father’s glare silenced her every time, and Wrex, eager to avoid his father’s ire, learned to listen quietly. Even now, years later, he felt the weight of those warnings—his father’s protectiveness clashing with his mother’s quiet defiance.

The present day snapped back into focus as Wrex watched the training footage from the monitoring room. His eyes darted from screen to screen, absorbing every detail. Fozic’s calculated movements, the girl’s eerie precision, and his own performance—all played out before him. His chest tightened as he watched himself stumble during the drill, distracted by fleeting memories that had resurfaced at the worst possible moment.

He leaned closer, analyzing Fozic’s mannerisms. The man moved with an efficiency that felt foreign, like he belonged to another world. Yet, there was no malice in his presence, only an enigmatic air that both intrigued and unsettled Wrex. Then came the second participant—the girl with pale features. Her uncanny ability to anticipate the TSM shots, combined with her cryptic remarks, placed her in a category Wrex couldn’t yet define. Admiration mixed uneasily with caution.

And then, there was himself. Tall, strong, yet carrying a weight that seemed heavier than the seven-kilogram restraint he had borne on the bridge. His own reflection felt foreign at times—a face marked by anxiety, a kind soul trapped in a system that demanded relentless conformity. He shook his head and turned away from the screens, the oppressive reality of their world pressing down on him.

The sun was setting when Wrex stepped outside, the cool air offering a brief respite from his thoughts. He wandered the grounds aimlessly until he spotted Loria leaning against a low wall, gazing at the horizon. Her sharp eyes caught him approaching, and she smiled faintly.

“Fresh air, huh?” she said, her tone lighter than usual. “Could use some myself.”

Wrex hesitated, then joined her. For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging between them. Finally, Loria broke the quiet.

“We’re both driven for the same purpose,” she began, her voice low. “I won’t say more, as you don’t know who sees us, handsome. But trust me, I’m here for you. You are me; I am you. That kind of relationship.”

Her words were both cryptic and oddly comforting. Before Wrex could respond, Fozic appeared from around the corner, his presence casual but his eyes sharp.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

Loria stiffened, her expression neutral. “Just clearing our heads,” she said smoothly. “What about you?”

Fozic shrugged. “Same. Thought I’d join you two.”

The three of them fell into an uneasy camaraderie, their conversation light and inconsequential. But Wrex couldn’t shake the feeling that something unspoken lurked beneath their words, a tension neither he nor Loria dared to address openly.

As the evening deepened, Fozic glanced between them, his smile widening. “You know,” he began, his tone casual but carrying an edge of something more, “I’ve got a present for you both. I know your birthday is close by, Wrex, so here it is—my special book about the True Resi—”

“Enough!” Loria snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. Her voice was sharp, her reaction instant.

Fozic raised his hands in mock surrender, a playful smirk on his face. “Alright, alright. No need to get touchy.”

The weight of his unfinished sentence hung in the air, leaving Wrex with more questions than answers. And as Loria turned her gaze to him, her expression unreadable, he realized that whatever secrets they were all carrying, the answers wouldn’t come easily.

At that moment, the three of them were on the lookout, as they were wary about their surroundings.

The plan , the journey was already planned. But ,was this calculated by our protagonist … or was just a new set up by the government , or someone else .

This is the story about the one who is going to take up the matters  in his own hands . Selfish, some could call him, brave , or even arrogant. He wanted more, he wanted to go both back and  move forward.

The vow begins with his journey ahead ... there lies the Liberation .

Will he capture the hearts of the people, or is he going to be pointed out by the masses  and be hated about his actions .

We are here to witness a tale about a single man, who is going to rewrite the world, build the perfect kingdom ,  make a place to be called home for everyone .

What does the future holds , does he has to sacrifice a lot to be successful…

Only the man himself knows