The Story Of One World I, Chapter IX, Part II — Kevar
“Good. Let’s begin.”
From speakers embedded in the floor around the couch, the measured sound of the ocean began to play — the sound of the surf, clean and deep, relaxing yet sharply focusing the mind. Kevar’s breathing became more rhythmic and calm; he ceased to be aware of his surroundings, and instead of darkness, vague images began to emerge, initially as if through a mist, and then the veil lifted from his eyes.
All around, the landscape stretched boundlessly — meadows and hills, everywhere he looked, only swaying dark green grass reaching the horizon.
Not everywhere, though. If he looked against the low-hanging sun (seeming to roll towards sunset, so red and bright it hurt to look), in the distance, nearly beyond sight, he could discern something black, as if someone had drawn a sharp line across the horizon with a pencil.
Ah, the Wall. It was a long way off, but necessity compelled him to go. Pushing through the soft, dense grass, almost touching his chest, Kevar walked barefoot on the warm earth. The grass blades tickled his skin, and he realized he wore no clothes. There was no discomfort or inconvenience, though he knew he was not entirely alone.
He walked, and overhead a voice, not loud but insinuating and calm, asked, “Do you remember who you are?” He remembered, he was him. Who else could he be? “Who are you?” Kevar Argomantis, who else. “Do you understand where you are?” On the outskirts of his memory. “Why are you here?” He wanted to understand what was happening to him. “Is that all?” He wanted to remember. “What do you want to remember?” Everything.
Engrossed in this strange dialogue, he didn’t notice how he reached the base of a tall hill topped by the Wall. He looked around for any gates, but the Wall was solid, stretching so far in both directions it was breathtaking — endless. It was also immense in height — to see its top, he had to tilt his head so far that he almost fell backward.
He climbed the slope of the hill to the base of the Wall, breathing heavily, leaning against its concrete surface. It was slightly rough and very, very cold.
“Do you see any cracks?” No, he didn’t. It was monolithic. “Look closer.”
He peered at the Wall’s surface and indeed, now saw thin cracks snaking across it.
“Do you remember what you need to do?” Yes, he remembered. But it’s so big… he was not sure he could. “You can. Just believe in yourself. Strike.”
He swung and struck the rough concrete with all his might. The impact resonated with incredible pain, not in his hand — it felt nothing — but deep in his brain. The pain, like a powerful explosion, forced him to double over, yet it seemed to cleanse him. An explosive wave and a bright flash swept across the meadows from behind him, pushing him, and he fell into the grass. But he heard, clearly and distinctly, the Wall cracking. Tiny concrete fragments fell on him from above.
“Keep going.” But it hurts! “Keep fighting the Wall, and you will overcome. You’ve never been closer to your goal — don’t give up.” Alright.
He stood up. What else was there to do? Since he had come this far, he had to see it through. He had endured the pain once — he could endure it again.
Another strike — another wave of pain. By the fifth time, the pain seemed less intense, or perhaps he was just getting used to it. But he kept hitting, over and over. His head felt empty and hollow.
The Wall began to crumble, its former impenetrability disappearing without a trace.
One last strike — and right in front of him, a narrow, uneven, but real passage opened up. He looked through it in disbelief.
Beyond the Wall lay a scorched black desert with twisted remnants of trees and bare stones.
“You’ve done it. Go there.” No, he didn’t want to. He was scared. “Go, or it was all for nothing. It will be alright. You can handle it.” He was very scared. He didn’t know what awaited him there. “There’s only you and your past. Your life. Nothing more. You’ve already lived through all of it once. Just accept it.” Will you come with me? “No, further into the depths of your mind. From here, you’re on your own. But you will manage without me. Since you could break the Wall, you can handle what comes next.”
He squeezed through the gap in the Wall, scraping his skin against the sharp concrete edges.
The Wall was thick, and he crawled through it for several minutes. But now he was on the other side. Looking back — no Wall. Only the scorched desert stretched all around. The feeling of another’s presence had vanished. He was alone, completely alone. He felt incredibly lonely and scared, and these feelings completely overwhelmed him. He sat on the hot sand, pulled his knees to his chin, and slept overtook him.
He awakened to a noise so unimaginable that it plugged his ears.
He was standing. He was clad in a spacesuit. Around him, a wall of dust and bright flashes, here and there.
It was strange. He knew what would happen, even though he seemingly shouldn’t. It was this peculiar feeling as if he were both himself and not himself simultaneously. As if he both knew and didn’t know what would happen.
Yet, he felt what would occur each next moment as if it had already happened to him, or had it? But was it really with him?
In his suit, assault rifle in hand. A battle raged around. Shadows, the outlines of comrades, blurred by swirls of a sandstorm, were near him. They advanced in a wedge formation, with Faethon Savone at the spearhead. He was focused on the crosshairs, scouting for the enemy, but from the corner of his eye, he still watched the large, confident figure of the commander. This man always instilled in him confidence and hope — his courage, prudence, and kindness restored his faith in the future.
He pressed the trigger, and an orange clump of energy shot out — a dark silhouette fell ahead. This was not his first trophy in this battle, nor would it be his last.
He didn’t know where this strange feeling came from: a profound satisfaction and the realization that he was under protection.
He realized that, in reality, he was merely an observer. He could not control his own body; it seemed to live its own life. All he could do was watch what unfolded, making himself comfortable in his mind.
As this understanding swept through his thoughts, he felt himself retract from his own eyes inward, and he found himself in a spacious room filled with light streaming from two huge windows in the wall opposite a deep, soft chair, in which he sat, legs tucked under. Outside the windows, which appeared like enormous screens, he saw the same scene — sand, battle, gunfire. He was merely a spectator. He felt nothing about what happens outside the windows — he knew he was protected, his participation unnecessary.
A shadow to his right fell, and he — who was outside — turned, bent down, trying to help a comrade, but he was dead. A molten hole through his armor at the chest. This was Fat Jackly.
He realized, at the edge of consciousness, that he did not remember how his friends died before, but now, seeing a friend’s face twisted in pain, he remembered how, one by one, his comrades fell…
These memories hit him like a sharp wave — as if someone in his head had opened a dam that had long held back an unimaginable amount of icy water. The flood of realization washed over him, started to swirl, and finally covered him completely.
He opened his eyes again and couldn’t understand why everything around was so huge: gigantic three-headed horses, and on them — giants. Then it hit him. He was five years old, riding a tiny pony, his brother beside him. Ahead, on chargers — his parents, they were arguing. It was that very day. The day his mother died.
And now he knew what would happen next. This realization came again like a flow of water, but it wasn’t as forceful, and it didn’t engulf him — there was no release — he was forced to watch these frames to the end, powerless and helpless.
They were approaching a beautiful viewing platform on the edge of the Blue Abyss. Below, fog swirled, but a faint blue glow of crystals was visible through it.
He moved closer to his parents and caught a snippet of their conversation. His mother’s voice breaks, “I will not let you give him to them! If you couldn’t achieve your own ends in time, don’t try to make up for your failures with our child!”
“This matter is decided; he will become their tool in time. It’s not for me to choose, and certainly not for you. Much depends on him and even more on them. You will never understand that. There are things far greater than our desires,” his father replied calmly but with an underlying threat.
“But he’s your child, your son! He’s not a tool, not a bargaining chip!”
“No, he is precisely a tool; that’s his fate. Such matters are beyond us. They will take what’s theirs regardless of our wishes. You can believe me. I’ve known them long enough.”
“I will not give him up. I’ll take him and hide him, and you won’t be able to stop me,” his mother’s voice carried an absolute certainty, only possible when a mother speaks about her child.
“Well, I know you too well and believe you won’t back down. But your stubbornness might ruin everything. I’m sorry, dear.”
With those words, his father swiftly struck his mother’s horse on the hindquarters. It reared up, frightened, and took a few unsteady steps toward the abyss.
In slow motion, he saw the huge horse with his mother in the saddle begin to fall into the endless misty blue of the abyss. The last thing he saw was her face — calm, slightly surprised — and her eyes looking directly at him. He thought her lips moved, saying, “I love you.”
He opened his eyes again. Around him were tall exotic trees entwined with vines glowing in every conceivable color. Above, myriads of stars were so bright that it was as if it were day.
He was back in the spacesuit, rifle in hand. Beside him, sneaking in the shadow of the trees, crept General Savone.
Ahead, beyond a small hill, he saw the flickering light of campfires. He knew it was a village and what they were meant to do there. They had done this hundreds of times before.
He didn’t want to do this, yet something inside him surged forward, eager to act. He couldn’t fight it because he was merely a detached observer.
They descended from the hill’s slope as dark shadows into the village, illuminated by dozens of fires. Everything was festive and celebratory. The settlement was cut off from the rest of the world, and its inhabitants were unaware of what occurred just a hundred kilometers away a few hours earlier. Even if they knew, it wouldn’t help them.
They split up. Around a corner, a dark-skinned man in a loin cloth approached. A bullet to the forehead. He couldn’t stop the finger from pressing the rifle’s trigger. He could only silently scream in horror. Why was he doing this? Why was this happening to him?
Another man, another corpse. Then, three more women.
He peeked into one hut — empty, then another — empty. He entered the third.
A pair of attentive, serious eyes met his. The red lights of his visors reflected in them.
The girl was not afraid of him. She knew why he had come and what he wanted to do. And yet, she was unafraid. She just stood there, looking up at him.
“You are very, very ill. You’re suffering. You were split apart at birth, and your destiny is nothing but pain and suffering. But you can heal, not soon, no, not soon. But you can if you wish,” the girl spoke in a strange, deep voice, not at all childlike. It was not even one voice but a chorus of low, strangely vibrating tones.
He silently watched the girl. And she spoke and spoke, and spoke. Something inside him desperately wanted her to stop, but just as strongly, he wanted her to continue, and she did. He knew it was very important, even though he couldn’t yet understand why.
“There is much strength in you but so little light. Without light, your strength dissolves into the depths that harbor shadows and death. Find a way to unleash your light, and you will become powerful and stronger than anyone in the world. And you could protect us all. But not now. Now, you cannot. Now you will take her to the Abyss, and there she will meet all those you took before.”
He did as the chorus of voices instructed, and for some reason, he immediately forgot her words, as if someone unknown wiped them off the board of his memory with a rag.
Kevar jerked awake so suddenly that he sat up, startled. All his memories were now intact. For the first time in these years, his life formed into something coherent and whole. However, he found no comfort in this clarity — the memories were too disturbing.
Yet, many things finally made sense — his father’s behavior after his mother’s death and the true events that unfolded in Fraktura.
At the same time, numerous new questions emerged: What were his parents discussing? And crucially, how and where had his memories vanished?
Kevar tried to look around but realized he couldn’t see anything; he was engulfed in complete darkness. What the hell? How long had he been wandering through the depths of his memory, and everything around him was shrouded in darkness? Soon, he understood that he was no longer lying on the leather couch in Cecilia’s office but sitting in a deep, plush chair. What was happening? Where was he?
“Hello, brother,” a voice echoed from the darkness. The voice was unfamiliar, yet oddly familiar. “You have many questions; luckily, I have the answers — as always.”
Continued here:
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