Prologue: Epilogue of a Hopeful
It will soon be the 40th year of the new era, and we were basking in the red of the setting sun. It was New Year’s Eve, and my family of two was having a celebration, as is our tradition. It is a bit lonely now that my parents have passed, but well, that was two years ago. Scars heal over time.
We looked at the massive hill of scrap metal. The Graveyard of the Hopefuls, as my grandfather calls it. My grandfather put his trembling hand on my shoulder as we looked at that pile of gigantic abstract humanoid metal forms melted and twisted together, screaming at the heavens in mock agony. Their metal forms extended as far as the eye could see. It was a battlefield frozen in time.
I was expecting his usual boastful lecture on how this was the site where the Hopefuls defeated the Knights and banished the Mages, shattering the old world and giving birth to the new. How he was here 40 years ago today, fighting for the future. All steeped in his usual flowery dramatics. Yet when he spoke, his usual hearty voice was weak.
“If only you were there, you could have seen those beautiful days where our dreams parted the clouds of reaction. Nothing was impossible; all that was needed to make the formerly impossible possible was a bold step forward. Those days where we believed that our ideal was five or ten years away. Alas, alas…” My grandfather said that before he looked up towards the setting sun, his smile was faint.
“Those days still exist now in my heart. I wonder if I must pull it out to reignite now with that brilliant time with joyous red. Yes… Don’t get me wrong, we are still walking that long march to our ideal world, but you have only lived in the shadow of those days. That shadow cast from its brutal erasure by something that grew beside us Hopefuls. I wonder even now if that something ever had a name, no it must have.” His smile morphed into a weird smile, not quite one of hurt or regret, nor one of joy or hope. He looked confused.
“All things are erased by time, but rarely is that eraser so brash and visible to mortal eyes. Who was …he? Her…? It…? It was someone? I am talking nonsense again, aren’t I…” My grandfather muttered, barely audible. He looked me in my eyes before continuing. “For all my mistakes, Lenn, know that I have lived a life of little regret.” My grandfather looked away from my eyes before continuing. His eyes were confused and hurt. I contemplated speaking, stopping him from reliving those days as I used to, but his demeanor made it look like he was already lost in them. My voice failed me once more.
“Even with a time machine, I would not be able to stop the monster that something became; perhaps I may have been able to mitigate its destruction... The more time passes from that horrid reckoning, the more the scars of that month have faded from my notice, yet one does ache, a dull, ever-present ache. The scar tells me I was close to the monster, yet if it was true, why do I not know what it was before? Why do I not know its name?” My grandfather stared into my eyes with his desperate, hopeless, sore red eyes. “Lenn, do you know its name?” His eyes searched mine as he spoke. I shook my head no. My grandfather sighed and turned his back on me. I stood there for a minute as he stared at the setting sun. Then he turned his head as if he heard something. He walked to the pile of scrap. It looked as if he was floating in the wind; it was a carefree sight. I tried to call out to him, but before I could, he tripped, no, fell into it, that Hopeful Graveyard, like a swimmer falling into a pool. I ran to him, but it was too late; another Hopeful had died. His body was at the feet of a giant golden Hopeful, missing its head and arms. It was lying on the ground, weak and lifeless.