To Curse the Sun

'Behold, the time draws near when the child will be freed from the false light. When that day comes, all will bask in the warmth of truth.'

An unnatural cold accompanied the silence that morning, rightly welcoming the accursed day. Xiaosi, son of a disgraced branch within the dying Sun family, was to meet his end. Harsh winds and heavy rain scoured the land, both day and night indistinguishable from one another for the past week. In its wake, dozens of small insects had been summoned forth, crawling and exploring the world. For one so insignificant, even a small change such as that, barely noticeable to him, had caused the world to become something new, worthy of exploring. Something born from the old. As the skies ignited in wondrous yellows and flaming orange at the return of sunlight, the sounds of heavy boots sloshing through the mud filled the air. Xiaosi put down his brush for the final time, inspecting his final letter. Today, he was destined to meet his gods.

Several figureheads of his rebellion had already been sent to the afterlife. Some fell in battle, others snatched from their beds. Many were tortured. All faced the same end. For the glory of the False Emperor, their names and histories would be washed from the records of history, paradise made unobtainable. They would, as others, be tethered to this world, forced to wander blind and dumb.

To deny the divinity that flowed through Trel was a punishable offense. His companions, brothers, had learnt that lesson. Xiaosi, however, would denounce the divinity. Penning what would become known as the Sun's Curse, Xiaosi wrote, pleading for a world which only he could see. With nothing more to fear, the words flowed through him, flowering the pages with the ideas that could only flourish through the sword. For the first time, his dreams were laid bare, and the beauty he saw in his dreams sat before him. Perhaps others would have seen the fruits of his labor, joining his cause, if not for the shadows at his door. Still, the rebellion was not quelled. Sympathizers and secret followers took fragments of his final work, hiding them carefully. the proverbs found within, and carefully guarded them.

'All men desire change. Like the Fire Hibiscus that grows in the lowest swamp, or the Snowbells that take root in the mountains, it is out there; ever within our grasp.'