May 24, 2014

The rise of the last moonchild

Long ago, when I was still young and joy flowed more freely through the world, the teller shared with me a story of a time before the fall. During the twilight of the age of Humanity when the decadence and decay was matched only by the brilliance of the technological achievements.

Indeed, it would seem that their nights were lit… Or so the teller told it, and I had no reason to doubt her. You see, there used to be magnificent creatures called moons that would fly through the night skies shedding silverlight in their wake.
Humanity was always in search of more power, and they had found a way to capture these moons in order to force them into service. It is a testament to their technical ingenuity that in the space of a few years they had managed to capture almost all of the free silverlight creatures. Thus the wild beautiful moons were tethered and in their slavery their lights grew dim, silverlight had turned to tarnished brass. Stationary lives ill suited their spirits which existed to be free. Slowly they began to die out, and without the silverlight, no new moons were born replace those that had been extinguished. I don’t know this for a fact, but it is my opinion that it was in large part the loss of hope that took such a toll on them.
At any rate, the last free moons, facing imminent capture, entrusted their child,little more than a teardrop of silverlight, to the cold winter clouds and the bitter north winds… Neither of whom bore Humanity any friendship. The last free moonchild was secreted away to the far north. Back then, it was a frozen land so inhospitable that even Humanity had failed to find a cost effective way of exploiting it.  

There the moonchild lived for a while, far from its kin. It was not quite alone: under the tutelage of the cold northern elements, it grew abnormally strong. It learned the ways of light from a distant relative named Aurora, of whom naught but the name and a reputation for elusive beauty remains. Eventually it grew so strong that it could fly higher than any of its kind had ever done before. It grew so skilled in the ways of light that it could weave silverlight into tools. Finally, after many years, it was ready.

The moonchild coming to free the first of its brethren

Upon its request, the harsh north winds flung it out over the frozen lands towards the domain of Humanity. It shaped sleek wings of silverlight and flew with the darkness around the world. Fueled by an anger alien to its kind, it undertook a mighty labor: it traveled everywhere at the speed of night, and wherever it went, it used a blade wrought of silverlight to slice away the shackles binding its kind. Finally, with every surviving moon freed in tow, the last moon child grew even brighter and stronger still. Faster and faster it flew, burning a silver white streak across sky, bright enough to be indifferent of night and day. A grand gesture directed towards Humanity, though I know not how they interpreted it. Finally, the train of moons had gathered enough speed and light to leave our world, and that is exactly what they did. The teller claimed that they went to live with the sun. Perhaps that is so. We can not deny that our nights are dark.

Hmm? What of Humanity, you ask? By my pointy ears and aching tail, that is a story for another day. Suffice it to say that you need not worry of them. They are merely the stuff of nightmares and legends now.