CHAPTER 69: AN OLD MAN’S DIARY

"Since my earliest childhood, all I remember is this city, its people, and above all, our ancestral tradition.

My grandfather was the city’s leader at the time. He used to teach me, along with the other children, the history of our kingdom or rather, what remained of it in his memory.

Before we settled on this continent, he said, Eterneti was the greatest human kingdom. Our strength was such that even a Calamity kingdom dared not confront us directly.

Our king and his glorious knights were the pride of the realm. Every time the king struck with his sword, mountains melted and oceans split in two. His mightiest knights wore golden armor purer than any other and each bore a legend of their own.

My grandfather always had a dreamy look in his eyes when recounting the king’s and his knights’ epic tales.

He had once dreamed of joining them in his youth, but lacked the strength. That dream, he passed on first to my parents, and then to me.

He used to tell us that one day, the king would return, him and his knights; that we, as loyal servants, had to keep the faith.

At the time, I didn’t realize it... but we had already committed our greatest sin: losing faith in a king we had never seen. His golden knights had become bedtime myths.

People my age saw nothing more than stories remnants of a past that the old clung to in vain.

And I... I made no distinction.

As I grew older, merchants would often come, bringing delicious food, refined clothes, and most of all, those vials said to keep death at bay.

Each time, my grandfather would chase them away, rejecting their offers.

"We, people of Eterneti, will stay true to our traditions. None among us will stoop low enough to trample the precepts of our king."

When I turned fourteen, my grandfather passed away of old age. We buried him with honor, and I took his place as city leader.

The power granted by my new role did nothing to erase the pain of his loss. My parents had died long before I could even remember their faces. He had been my only family, and the most precious part of it.

His death left me an empty shell. Without my friends, I don’t think I would have made it through.

At sixteen, just when I thought my wounds were healing, the woman I loved the one I had promised to marry died.

She died in accordance with our traditions, and as the leader, I was the one who had to organize the festival to celebrate her death.

That evening, when the ceremony ended and I returned home, there was nothing but emptiness.

My grandfather had died upholding our traditions until his final breath.

And my beloved died because she remained faithful to an old custom.

Day by day, age crept in, and with it came the weight of death.

Soon, I would have to cross death... and come back. But... would I survive?

Every day, I saw friends fall to it. So few ever returned.

Eventually, watching those I loved die one after another broke the last remnants of my faith a fragile flame that never truly held.

As always, the merchants arrived with their treasures and that vial that could spare me, and others, the cruel trial of death.

I fought them off once, mustering all the strength I had left.

But a few days later, as my body began to fail me, and rumors spread that another city had bought the vials... I simply couldn’t resist.

I sent strong young men to go fetch them, and when they arrived, I threw myself into their arms.

Fear of death and its trial had consumed me.

When I drank the vial, I felt my body regain its strength, and death retreat.

The elders of the city rebelled against me I, who was meant to uphold our traditions.

Their complaints weighed on me for a while, but the young stood by me and comforted me in my decision.

"Why should we die in vain, when we can live long?"

"Why follow customs when the king will never return?"

"What is wrong with loving life and fearing death?"

Our slogans convinced even the hesitant.

All the youth stood united behind me.

The elders, seeing this, could no longer stay and migrated to the last city that still upheld our ancestral ways.

Once they left, our ties with the merchants grew stronger. Each month, they’d bring us more of these vials what they called ’serum’ in exchange for gold, diamonds, or any precious metal.

These metals, which they valued so much, were not rare.

Near our city was a gold mine, and in a nearby town, a diamond mine.

Though the lands we settled after the Great Migration were harsh and dry, we lacked no precious metal.

At the time, I didn’t know I had doomed our city.

Because even though I regretted accepting their offer too late... if I had done it earlier, the woman I loved would still be with us.

But the merchants had other plans.

Their visits became less frequent, more spaced out, and our wait grew more desperate.

We found ourselves counting the days until their next arrival.

Without knowing it, we had become dependent on the serum.

One day, during one of their visits, they asked us to entertain them.

We organized a sacred dance reserved for our most honored guests.

But it wasn’t enough.

They demanded, in their own words:

"Something more sensual, more wild, more carnal."

I had a bad feeling when I saw their twisted expressions.

But it was too late we were already at their mercy.

"If you refuse," they said, "we’ll leave with the serum and never return."

That threat terrified us all.

The women looked at one another, then stared at me.

Their eyes didn’t ask for help... they asked for permission.

When I looked at the men, some trembled, others froze.

The ones trembling had wives and their fear of death outweighed their jealousy.

The ones frozen were the children. Too young to take the serum, yet old enough to understand what was happening.

As leader, the choice was mine.

And once again... I failed.

Visit after visit, their demands grew more vile.

Without realizing it, we mined day and night.

Our women became their entertainment.

Marriages grew rare. Births, even rarer.

And the population I sought to preserve stagnated... until famine and disease followed.

My nights turned to nightmares. The faces of the dead haunted me.

My grandfather. My love. The elders... they had warned me.

The seed of rebellion began to grow.

We gathered in secret, ready to end their tyranny by force if needed.

We wanted to be men again not slaves.

But one night, without warning, dozens of terrified women and children were brought into our town.

"A village dared to rebel. Let this be your warning. Any who disobey will see their homes burned, their men stoned to death. The women and children will serve as witnesses for the next city."

That message broke everyone I had rallied.

One by one, they abandoned me.

I was left alone, save for my closest friends.

We tried to unite with other cities.

But no messenger ever returned.

And with every visit, the merchants counted us... making sure no one had escaped.

I regretted the departure of the elders.

With them, we might’ve found freedom.

But giving up the serum meant facing death.

Were we ready? Was I?

Years passed. Our bodies weakened. We grew old.

In old age, I thought of my grandfather, of his stories.

My only treasure was the memory that time could not erase.

I remembered the past atmosphere, the people’s fervor, the ceremonies held for those who came back... or didn’t.

And as our bodies reached their end, my brothers because that’s all they were now and I did something mad.

If death is inevitable, why not face it head-on?

It was the hardest fight of my life.

Not drinking the serum was like not breathing.

I locked myself away, chewing my nails raw.

In the end, it was the empty eyes of my people that gave me strength.

After several days of abstinence, I finally let myself die... like I should have long ago.

I saw my life flash before me. My consciousness struggled.

And as it faded... a voice my own whispered:

"If you wish, I can return your youth, undo your mistakes, let you see your grandfather and your beloved again."

That voice... was the greatest temptress.

How many times had I wished it?

How many times had I dreamed of seeing their faces again?

But I refused.

Because the empty eyes of the living, the hatred I bore for the merchants, the promise I made to my brothers... all of it gave me the strength to say:

"No."

The voice fell silent, and wished me good luck.

I was transported into my soul...

And I gained a power.

When I returned, my body brimmed with life.

I ran to my brothers.

But only the stench of their rotting corpses awaited me.

I cried more than ever.

Until one of their children came and hugged me.

That’s when I came to my senses again.

I buried them, and hid the children under an old tent.

Because tonight, the merchants will return.

And I will cast off my weakness.

I will slit the throats of our oppressors.

I will rid this city of their darkness.

If I fail... then I will die trying.

I write this journal for you, the one reading it.

Tell those children to believe...

Because I didn’t

Not until the end."