The soul of the Universe
It is said that the soul of the Universe resides in the hearts of the mystics.
As the Middle Son left the Kingdom to a place unknown, so followed him his light; his mystic companions.
The Kingdom became a dark place to live even though the skies of every planet in the Kingdom were in their most pleasant of colors. Day-by-day, the King missed his son more and more and an emotion he had never experienced before -- that of sadness as mighty as himself -- slowly chipped away the iron cladding around his heart.
As the mystics left their home, the Mystic Mountain, crumbled away in despair. The wind blew its fragments away and it was said that the many parts of the mountain flew through the universe to wherever its friends the mystics now resided.
The King was slowly lost in deep reflections of his past, incrementally every day and the appearance he adorned altered its shape.
His clothes became tattered and his beard became long and the King was called Harawn the Harsh no more, he was now known as Harawn the Kind.
His kindness, though, was not reason enough to forgive him for his enemies -- he had to be punished with his own palette of oppression that he had painted his Kingdom with in the past.
Acting on this premise, his enemies cleverly conspired with the snakish Advisers and the treacherous Ministers to have him exiled to a place far away from the capital city from where all affairs of the Kingdom were controlled.
A grand meeting was held in the Council of the Advisers to decide the fate of the King. The Ministers that presided over every planet in the Kingdom were also present – even though they were not supposed to attend the meeting but each of these folk had been paid in full by the conspirators that were employed by the enemies of the Kingdom who wished to open the gates of the Kingdom to occupation by the Invaders. The King was a hindrance and needed to be removed from the seat of control.
“He needs to be punished for his crimes!” yelled Wahaba, the most treacherous of all the Advisers.
“Furthermore, he has lost his mind. He has no interest in the affairs of the Kingdom and is not fit to rule anymore!”
“We should hang him!” blasted another puppeteered Adviser aiming to incite the council.
Shouts of “Hang him!” filled the hall.
“Please,” cried Mahad, tears streaming down his face. He ran shouting towards the center of the room.
“The King is our divinely appointed monarch. He liberated my whole race from the Hazachi tribe who had been slaughtering my people for a thousand years! My whole race is indebted to him,” shouted Mahad attempting to bring sense into the mad crowd.
Mahad was one of the few remaining loyal subjects and was attempting to secure the King’s fate.
“Yes! I have the same views!” said one of Mahad’s allies, Ronaan. Slowly, the few gathered together and various voices joined Mahad in unison.
The Council stood divided and the struggle by the loyal subjects forced the Council to a decision beneficial to their leader – the King was to be exiled on condition that the loyal subjects were to leave the Kingdom at once.
This was a clever strategy by the conspirators so that it was not possible for the loyal subjects to start a resistance movement in the future.
The King was to be exiled to where the Mystic Mountain once stood, left without any food and warm clothing in a place where the liquid water froze very quickly. The Advisers were clever in sending him there as they knew the path which led to the Mountain’s former location was of a harsh landscape and even if the King did not die while attempting to make his way there anyone who attempted to go after him would perish along the way unless they used hover ships – a luxury that was to be banned soon enough for regular folk. The King was successful in making it to the crater of Mystic Mountain but what followed him was sadness that increased in magnitude each step of the way. By the time he made it, the emptiness of the crater reminded him of the emptiness of his own world.
The King, now alone and poor, contemplated over his past in silence. Every passing day he regretted every harsh action he had made in the past, every wrong decision he had taken and the thick barrier around his heart - the barrier to empathy - had almost fallen off completely. His heart was still cold nitrogen ice however but now the gates were open to allow the warmth of love inside. He stayed in the center of the crater all night and all day as the cold icy winds bashed against his tattered clothes flapping them wildly. He never spoke a word and if he did then only the creatures that roamed those planes heard him but understood none. Such was the place where he now resided, far away from the faintest traces of civilization.
The Kingdom was now split up. The Ministers controlled most of the planets and moons whilst the remnants were handed over to the Advisers. The new government’s reign was more terrible than the King's reign ever was. The King's sons and their wives, spoilt and their relationships ever-green, retreated to their own private asteroid resorts not caring a single hoot about their father nor about the Kingdom. The Invaders entered and took over what was left and everyone battered the people of the lands left, right and center.
The people were however, still loyal to their exiled King whom they believed was appointed by the Divine Power that ruled all the hearts in the universe and the universe itself. These were the same people, whose every freedom was restricted by the King in the past and who were kept in abject poverty to thwart the prospect of rebellion.
They were still loyal.
One day, a small group from the former Kingdom, initially 100 families and their accompanying uncommon offspring, decided to brave the harsh landscape of the path leading to the crater of Mystic Mountain.
This particular group was forced by the Invaders to work in the mines located on the Chief Planet, as there was no other method with which they could earn a living. The Invaders now controlled everything and everyone had to pay a certain tribute to them through work in the mines in order to have access to water.
The offspring of these families had gathered together and lead the campaign to push their families to escape the mines and locate the fallen monarch, whom they believed was the Third Sun. The legendary legend of the Third Sun, first narrated by the mystics was handed down to these young-lings. Immediately after a story was narrated to them about the legend of the Third Sun by an elder of their group they would report in the morning with vivid dreams that demanded the people recognize the Fallen King as the Third Sun. Since there were no more mystics left to interpret the dreams anymore, the elders of the group looked for ‘Signatures’ in the dreams – these were individual singular details of future events that were foretold in the dreams. They could be as simple as a particular individual getting sick the next day or as vivid as the appearance of a shooting star in a particular part of the sky. These signs were taken as ‘Signatures’ by the elders of the dreams’ divine nature. It wasn’t long before these dreams were so many that a consensus was reached by the group to go in search of the Third Sun. After the decision was reached, a young boy, just 20 years old, saw a detailed map in a dream. The elders, decided to follow this map which they knew was known as ‘The Path’. The Path led to where the Mystic Mountain once stood and it was rumored that this was where the fallen king was exiled.
“It is very hard to cross The Path on foot,” said Wali Kahn, the eldest of the elders one night in its darkness during a consultation meeting.
“It has to be done,” replied Maareefah, the second in command.
The decision was announced and a group of 100 families responded to the call. They were asked to prepare for the journey ahead.
The families grabbed what they could from their belongings in the living capsules and stealthily moved through tunnels dug under the military camp built by the combined forces of the Advisers, the Ministers and the Invaders to thwart possible escape attempts by the people from the mines. The Advisers running the capital planet had been ordered to stop people from escaping the mines by the nefarious Invaders.
The crater, where the Mystic Mountain once resided, stood deep in the outback continent, the path to which was paved with great difficulties put forth by Mother Nature. It was said that only the bravest of people would cross this great tortuous path littered with the bones of those who had earlier tried to do the same. In the past, the Path was attempted to be crossed individually without guidance resulting in failure every single time.
Many people tried to make their way through The Path after escaping from the mines but none made it to the other side. This was the first time a group attempted to traverse the path and they were met with success.
As they reached their destination, their clothes tattered and their faces covered by soot from working in the mines they all gathered near the once proud King - a shadow of his former self.
The people knew as they looked at him sitting in the center of crater of Mystic Mountain - the True King had arrived - the one the mystics spoke of - the Third Sun. They witnessed the greatest Signature here! The old man was sitting in between the two suns as they arrived!
"The King cannot be blamed for his past wrongdoings!" said one of the members of the group that had led the journey and braved approaching the King one day in the dead of the night. The King was in his usual state of trance staring straight ahead whilst sitting on his knees supported by his decaying staff. Little did the people know that visions of memories of his Middle Son were flying past his eyes and he wished to remain affixed to them rather than engage with the world around him.
"We know that such power he was given gives power to the dark part of the soul," said the man.
"I pledge my allegiance to the Third Sun! That is what the elders asked us to do if he was unveiled to us! Anyone not following me in this act shall be burned to ash!" he exclaimed in a loud dominating voice much akin to an initiation speech. He had raised both his hands up high towards the sky.
"He has thus been purified and purged of the negativity - he has succeeded in battling the dark part of the soul - he is the one the mystics spoke of! The one true King - The Third sun!”
"The King was very kind to me once," said an old lady from the crowd. "He protected me from my abusive husband by sentencing him to a thousand cycles in the ice-prison after I wrote him a letter."
"The King had to do what he did to maintain order!" shouted another young energetic soul. "It was them darn Advisers that were responsible for everything!"
A long deep silence filled the atmosphere immediately putting a stop to the crowd’s chatter. The deep voice had a chilling effect. It rattled the bones of everyone present.
The King had spoken.
There was pin drop silence as he spoke his first words in fifty years. All the people stared at him without expressions, their faces blank as a slate, awaiting his next words to draw emotion from them.
To their despair, he spoke none.
He turned around and retreated to a cave going into the ground a few spaces away from where the group had gathered. Rather than walk to the entry point, he levitated towards it.
"What do we do now?" said a young man from the crowd, addressing everyone that was present, frantically looking towards his surroundings for an answer.
"We wait here." replied the man who had first taken oath. The words seem to be pushing themselves out of him instead of him being the one forming them. A force greater than his intellect was now influencing him giving him only time to think after it had spoken its mind. As if himself in a state of trance, he sat down in silent contemplation.