The Utopia Behind the Masks
Humankind was the most unique, most flawless creation to emerge from the hands of the Creator. Every expression was a mirror to a feeling deep within the soul; every glance, a divine signature left by God upon the universe. Yet, the world had become too tainted to bear such perfection. Humanity had turned those sacred faces—bestowed upon them by the Almighty—into weapons to humiliate, judge, uglify, and torment one another’s spirits.
For Lucas, the world was precisely that kind of hell.
Seventeen-year-old Lucas stepped through the cold, gloomy hallways of his school that day, suffocating under the crushing weight of the gazes surrounding him. The faces of the people... Those distorted, arrogance-twisted, mockingly contorted faces. The venomous smirk on Tyler’s lips, the hatred in his eyes, and the silent, cruel approval of the rest of the class.
"You're a nobody, Lucas," Tyler had whispered as he shoved him onto the muddy street behind the school. "Look at your face. You're not even human."
Lying in the cold mud, Lucas felt the dirty water clinging to his cheek. But what truly burned wasn't the scrape on his knee; it was how people had turned that Divine Countenance into hatred and cruelty. People were evil. Because their souls were rotten, they plunged those beautiful faces given to them by God right into the hearts of others like daggers.
He couldn't reply. He just wept. As the rain blended with his tears, he ran toward his house. Locking himself in his room, he pulled his knees to his chest in the dark and whispered.
In that instant, that sacred legend flickered in his mind—the mysterious utopia where those wishing to escape human malice and protect their souls from cruel judgments took refuge...
"Please," he pleaded from deep within, squeezing his eyes shut. "I want to go to a place where faces aren't weapons, where no one kills anyone with a glance. My God, protect me from the evil of people."
For a moment, time stood still. The rhythm of his heart slowed. The heavy ache suffocating his chest gave way to an unshakable serenity. The musty scent of the room vanished, replaced by a air so crisp, pure, and light it felt as though the gates of heaven had swung open.
When Lucas opened his eyes, he was no longer in that dark room.
He stood right in the center of monumental white pillars reaching toward the sky, crystal domes, and marble avenues. This was White Land.
Sunlight filtered through the smooth facades of the white structures, weaving a holy aura. Yet the most striking aspect was not the architecture, but the human fabric. Hundreds of people strolled along the avenue, yet not a single face was visible.
To protect their sacred countenances—bestowed by God but tainted by the world—from the collective malice of humanity, everyone wore the same elegant, seamless white mask. This was not a disguise; it was a vow of protection and purification. With faces concealed, evil, arrogance, and comparison ceased to exist.
Lucas looked down at himself. He was draped in a flowing, silky white cloak. Upon his face rested that lightweight, cool, yet profoundly comforting holy mask. No one could see his pain anymore. No one could judge him by his appearance.
Just then, a group of figures whose rhythmic footsteps echoed softly approached him. The colors of their cloaks gleamed like beacons within this white paradise.
At the forefront stood a figure in a cloak bearing the deepest shade of sky blue. The doctors... The healers, restorers of bodies and souls. Beside them walked teachers in green cloaks representing the freshness of spring, and guards in navy blue cloaks mirroring the protective darkness of the night.
In this world, professions were not symbols of superiority, but sacred duties dedicated to society, with each color embodying the spirit of its calling.
The blue-cloaked doctor stopped before Lucas. The dark eye openings behind the mask were shrouded in mystery, yet filled with compassion. He gently placed a hand on Lucas’s shoulder.
"Do not fear," he said, his voice echoing like a hymn. "Another soul escaping the world’s malice to seek refuge in purity..."
"Is this... truly a place where everyone is equal?" Lucas asked, his voice steady for the very first time.
"This," replied the doctor, "is the place where we return to that first pristine moment God created us. In the outer world, humans turned the Sacred Face into hatred. That is why we cover our faces here. Unveiling one's face is an invitation to evil, arrogance, and breaking the divine equality among us. Anyone who reveals their face is deemed to have defiled the purity of this paradise and is banished from these sacred lands forever."
Lucas realized this rule was not a punishment, but the ultimate guarantee of peace here. Hiding the face meant liberating the soul.
At that exact moment, atop the tallest tower in the city, a magnificent silhouette appeared, shattering the sunlight. The heavy, royal purple cloak he wore billowed in the wind like a banner. Purple... The majestic color belonging solely to the King, the guardian of this sacred order.
The King raised his hand slightly. The entire city halted at that single gesture. Hundreds of individuals in blue, green, navy, and white cloaks looked upward in absolute silence and reverence.
The King’s voice resonated across the entire city like an echo descending from the heavens:
"Newly arrived soul... Welcome to purification from that world where evil reigns. Here, you have no name, no face, and no past. Here, there is only your soul. And your soul is safe with us."
Lucas took a deep breath. Behind that white mask, a single tear slipped down his cheek—not of pain this time, but of absolute peace. There was no more bullying. No more arrogant faces, no more condescending gazes.
He let his white cloak catch the wind and took his very first step into this paradise where humanity was made pure again.
