Saetaria, the Storm and Me ~ Prologue

I am all that I am and no more and no less. My name is Samael Horus Ophari. I live mostly by myself in a castle that was once my father’s. Two people try their best to keep me from falling apart and feeling useless. I wish this story could be about how my friends help me take the throne and save my country from utter destruction. I was too late. The world moved forward when I stood still in my own blindness. I lost everything I cared about. My words aren’t here to mourn what was lost but to explain my part in a revolution.

Who shot the first bullet? I did. I scoffed at the idea of getting my hands dirty but these hands were dirty since my first breath. I fell from an ivory tower. I believed the whole world wanted me to succeed. My thoughts were too narrow. The world I created is merely a catwalk from my safety into the fray. It’s crazy how I constructed a place so I could rest my head and it burned up in the atmosphere. I landed intact on the surface without my protective shell.

I watched my people succumb to an evil man. My father listened to threats when he only tried his best for the people. No one speaks up when true evil exists. Fear drives the wedge between righteous and murderous ideals. I have wanted to turn back the hands of time for one last glimpse at my father. He would know what to do. Nobody knows what is good until the day that goodness goes missing. My father inspired other nations into following suit in an economical reboot that placed focus on developing countries rather than thriving ones. A speech he gave the day before his assassination stays with me:

“Our duty isn’t to our singular beliefs. As leaders we must instill the will to carry the ideals of our nations. The figurative baton has been passed to us in this room. Do we neglect the generations of good people that came before us? I could never do that. My nation, Dragacia, faced a massive change after our prior monarch died.

He took advantage of the good people, threatened the world at large, unjustly taxed people until they could barely eat, and started a genocide. Nobody did anything. The good people found themselves hurt or worse if they spoke against him. Neighboring countries accepted his rash choices and supported his genocide. A few people from the targeted party abandoned their lives and ran. I don’t know how long they ran, how many died, and how often they cursed everyone else but I do know they escaped.

They didn’t just escape! They made their own city. A city where people can be people without fear. That is an example of a utopia. We could create an utopia as well. Perfection is a falsity. I simply want us leaders to help create a world absent of fear for good people. Some people won’t make it easy. They’ll say we are policing too much, we don’t value them as people, and we’re the things that go bump in the night. The utopia for good people relies on us to hold a stern hand against those that wish to perpetuate an endless war. Let me say a few more lines.

We have fought enough wars against each other. Why? We have different beliefs but the same ideals. The times have changed. We need to toss away our old feuds if the same things still drive us. A better tomorrow. Does it drive you every morning to get up and try? Some people get up simply for money. They abandoned so much of their hearts that it has calloused itself shut. I beg every single one of you to take a file and break open the doors once more. Our purpose for ruling isn’t money, power, or anything substantial to ourselves but we rule for the people. I’ll dismantle Dragacia’s military industrial complex, aristocracy, and wasteful agencies. If I do this the people of Dragacia will prosper. A nation isn’t the government it’s the people. Let’s do something for them for a change.”

Somebody didn’t take kind to my father’s words. I walked back to the bedchambers with him. We struggled to understand if those word were heard. He placed me on my bed and read me a bedtime story. The story had a guy who wore a weird smile that nobody liked. Dad joked about one of the diplomat’s having the same smile. An underestimated smile capable of making any situation better. A man with a hood walked in and stabbed my dad a few times and walked away forever. My eyes enlarged and my heart dropped. I yelled for my dad to speak one last time. He did.

“Smile forever. . .my son. I love. . .you.” he slipped away from this world with those words.

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