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He was awoken by warm tears, followed by the first breath he took to consciousness. It has been a while since he shed tears in his sleep, the last being so many years back. It took him a while to recollect and gather his bearings, to understand where he is right now until it all clicked to him. That ah, he has finally broken out of his slumber, the sweet dream had now gone bitter in his mouth. His body ached, the water that was supposed to calm his mind from the immense amount of memoria was no help. It felt like he was just a mere hatchling emerging from its egg to awaken to the world that may not be ready for him. It’s difficult to even bring himself to open his eyes, afraid of the reality that awaited him.
He failed. There was no question about it. All of this work that Sunday did to achieve that paradise slipped like fine dust in his hand, the dream he so desperately wanted to be the reality was no more. The despair for Penacony felt somewhat heavy in his chest, but it was overshadowed by an immense amount of guilt like no other. What will become of his sister after all this? What will become of her for what he had done, for causing her pain in the first place? He’s certain that it’s not good, knowing that he had practically gone MIA. His efforts were out of the goodness of his heart yet again had caused more trouble than it’s worth. Yet still, even after all that and in that very moment, she still held onto him and smiled, like there was nothing to worry anymore. That he has to wake up from this dream now that it’s finally over.
He pressed his lips into a thin line, as if holding back more tears from spilling. Such a suffocating thing to wake up from a dream. A few moments from now the IPC would come barging to his door for being the mastermind behind the coup within the Family, along with the charges of compromising the safety of many people — and by extension the entire Asdana star system. Was it that bad of a dream to have a peaceful paradise of no worries? He thinks. Sunday never thought he desperately needed rest from how exhausted he is. He had no one to blame but himself for not being able to think ahead. Frankly, he was far too tired to even do anything now.
“5 system minutes.” His head immediately turned over to the voice followed with the sound of a spoon clicking on a ceramic surface. Curses, he thought. He was at an unfair advantage as he searched for where it was coming from. Has someone already gotten to his room to possibly end him? He couldn’t assess who was in the room with him but he could make out that there was a silhouette sitting by the chair drinking tea while flipping through what looks like a script.
”You are incredibly punctual, Mr. Sunday.” The voice sounded young. Melodramatic, he thinks, as if there was a hint of a smile in its tone. “As expected from you.”
“Who are —” His voice faltered before clearing his throat as he pushed himself out of the dreampool. He winced through his lightheadedness. “Who are you?”
“Have you received my invitation?” The stranger asked him, indifferent to his question. They still remained seated away from him to truly make out their appearance. He did note that there was a strange flicker onto their figure. “I’ve assumed you’ve read it while you were in Dreamflux Reef. 11 system hours before the Charmony Festival.”
“11 system hours?” He tries to recollect the events that happened prior. Dreamflux Reef. He thought he had died that time because of that Hound — or rather, that damned Fictionologist . The stowaway girl led him to Robin and the Astral Express. The almost tearful reunion. The strange letter in his pocket as he was walking around with his sister knowing the other people in Dreamflux Reef.
His brows furrowed before looking back at the figure. Invitation. Was that the invitation? He couldn’t exactly remember its contents or how it got to his pocket in the first place. It was a cryptic poem that he doesn’t fully understand even at this moment. It disturbed him, somehow, when he had first read it. He had thought it might have come from that Fictionologist. “The poem.” He slowly said. “You’re Cecil Simmes.”
They hummed before standing up from their seat. Theatric. There’s like a bounce in their steps upon getting off the chair. “Yours, most sincerely. A miracle your mind is still as sharp after harnessing the power of the Order within the Harmony along with the memoria.” Their face slowly came to view as they offered a half-hearted smile. “But I do think you’re more familiar with the name ‘Destiny’s Slave’ if that rings any bells.”
It dawned to him right then and there. “Stellaron Hunters.” It made perfect sense. He remembered receiving the news about the armored knight being around wreaking havoc in the Dreamscape who was also after the Watchmaker’s Legacy, but there were more pressing matters at hand at that time. But what is he doing here, appearing before him?
“What are you doing here in Penacony, leader of the Stellaron Hunters?” Sunday hissed. Not good news, definitely, he thought. He’s in a vulnerable position and there’s a high likely chance when they’re around, there’s trouble coming their way.
Elio stirred the contents of his teacup before answering. “More of their guide, but yes, my hunters are around the area following through the script down to the second.” The young man’s presence felt strange, a little warm, but also a little off. He lifted his gaze at him, blinking. “In the next 30 system minutes from now and still counting, one of the Stonehearts of the Interastral Peace Corporation will be notified of where you are. In 5 system minutes after that, you will be arrested and sent to Pier Point. The Family within Penacony is already scrambling to personally deal with your punishment because it’s a Family concern but as of now, you are no longer the head of Oak Family. You have been branded as a traitor by your kin and a criminal by the IPC as we speak.”
He was quiet for a good bit before he let out a breathy laugh. Of course. He isn’t exactly surprised that was the outcome. Miss Topaz, he guesses. Even a doorman can figure that out. Sunday shook his head. “Why are you telling me all of this? What… purpose are you trying to fulfill?” He knows what will become of him. What’s the point of telling him that he’s a dead man in the next system minutes? What was Elio going to gain from talking to him in the first place? It’s an utterly pointless pursuit.
“Personally granting you a way out.” He answered as he crouched at his level. “Well, not personally in person since I’m just a hologram being projected here. Even if you try to use the power of the Harmony on my projection, I highly doubt you would.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t, Destiny’s Slave?” He scoffed. He wasn’t stupid enough to not know who Elio was, and what he can do. These Stellaron Hunters don't simply collect the Stellarons for no reason. Many know about his ability to foresee the future that made it possible for them to obtain countless up to this point. Is this what they’re here for? Does it concern the Stellaron here in Penacony? No, that’s too shallow. There’s something more to it and Sunday is determined to find out. “You’re too sure of that foresight of yours and its uncertainties.”
“Because I’m the answer to your wishes, Mr. Sunday.” He sounded so honest that Sunday could almost believe Elio’s words. “The dreams you and your sister you’ve worked so hard to get, the haven to protect for those who dreamed — I can grant it for you. You cannot stop here and you know it. You do have the choice to refuse and do as you please, but it will not benefit you in any way.”
“You —” He was speechless. How he even knew that is beyond him. The poem. No wonder it felt a bit off. It was an invitation for him to join their faction that had done more bad than good.The faction that had stolen, started rebellions, or caused the destruction of planets. But it’s the only faction right now that provided him a way out, a deal only a fool would refuse. It was practically served to him on a silver platter in his most desperate moment. It felt like a sick, cruel twist; like fate itself was playing tricks at him. It was too good to be true and he’s not one to easily believe something can be that easy to have.
“24 system minutes.” He snapped out of his thoughts as Elio stood up and drank his tea once again. “I know, very pressuring. Destiny waits for no one even for me. But if you accept, there’s a phonograph by the window and we can continue where we left off. You’ll figure it out.”
“I’m not relying on someone who depends on the riskiness of fate and the future.” He let out a scoff as he brought his gaze upon that young man before him who only tilted his head with curiosity. It’s uncomfortable. His head hurts even more at the very prospect of his offer. “I need more answers. I need —” Reassurance. Security. That whatever they are planning — whatever the Destiny’s Slave knows — is cut and dry into place with no room for error. That everything will be in order. That everything, that whatever the future holds will cast every doubt away. If Elio claims to have that foresight, how sure can his claims truly be? It’s irrational to take his offer then and there.
But a part of himself can’t deny that it’s enticing. Almost like a dream come true.
23 system minutes left. The young man only laughs in response. It was strangely full of life, as if amused by his questions — Like he knows more than him. Elio extends a hand to Sunday, to gesture at his appearance. “Then can you explain how I know that you will inevitably fail? Not once have I stepped in Penacony nor Asdana.”
And the hatchling had gone silent from the words of this kind stranger who extended a helping hand, as if telling him the possibility of being able to soar up and beyond his imagination. The projection flickered, Elio’s youthful face remained unchanging. It’s akin to mercy, a second chance of flight. This could be the repentance that he would pay for to achieve that dream he had under the starry sky with his young sister where no agony or death shall exist; where together they will shine the radiance that will bring joy forevermore. He would have done anything to make that possible.
“The future I see is unchanging.” Destiny’s Slave gently explained to him as he placed his cup somewhere out of his vision. “The only thing I can truly do is guide us all to the best course of action that will be fruitious. There are possibilities — infinite chances of change — but it will all lead to a single end; the same destination.” The young man then shrugged. “I can tell you how your story goes, but you will find the answers that you seek at the right time, Mr. Sunday. Right now, I will leave you to your thoughts, to dwell on it for the next 21 system minutes.”
“Wait.” Elio stopped in his tracks and gave that hopeless bird a glance. “What’s in it for you to even recruit me in the first place?” Sunday was still trying to wrap around his head why they had chosen to approach him out of all people. Why they’ve decided to be in Penacony out of all places. “Why — why me?”
He thought for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, before giving an answer. “Simple. Your fate intertwines with the future I’ve foreseen and saw the possibility for me to utilize that. I need more manpower to fulfill certain criterias, and you want to attain the dream you’ve made it your life’s work to make it possible. I can make it possible. All you have to do is agree.”
That’s the worst part. It’s like he’s left with no other option to choose. “Will I be able to know the answers to my questions if I accept your invitation? Can you say with full certainty that it will happen somewhere in the near future?” It was one question after another yet there wasn’t any resistance.
There was a smile again on that youthful face and nodded in an almost mechanical manner. “Yes, Mr. Sunday. This is the best outcome for you.”
Sunday didn’t get the chance to say more as he waved his hand, the projection flickered into nothing. He is alone once again in his room, with only a few minutes left to decide how he will choose to lead his fate. Still, he isn’t as reassured as he’d like to admit. He’s never one to gamble his chance over something like a predestined ending with unpredictable paths that he will never truly know. Putting too much faith onto someone’s foresight is never a reassuring thing knowing that there will always be at least the slightest chance that things can go wrong.
But it’s comforting in a way. It’s tempting knowing that his ambitions, the aspirations that he had made can be fulfilled, and that there is boundless hope that awaits him upon this offer. He searched for the phonograph in his room that he didn’t even own beside the window, just as Destiny’s Slave had said where it would be. And there a single record is placed at its side, waiting.
The eternal dream he longed for vanished in an instant. As he plummeted towards the earth, he felt no sadness, only desire to close his eyes.
The old path he treaded has now crumbled, yet the future remains shrouded in mist. Even awakening from that now bitter dream, the world still continued its cycle of suffering with no escape as before. And with burdens of the past on his shoulders, he turns his back to his homeland, continuing to move towards that nonexistent paradise.
Why do people sleep? Why do they wake up?
This answer now needs to be given a new meaning, he thinks, like how all languages have different definitions to a single phrase or word. 18 system minutes left. He has about 5 more minutes after that. He closed his eyes and murmured his wish under his breath, with prayers of a better tomorrow and for the sun will rise once again.