Blood Wars
Blood ties can be both a nation’s strength and a heart’s deepest wound.
The Resistance Headquarters, Hustrion Province, 17 June, 2845
Baorda’s Journal,
“Hustrion, once a tranquil, untouched paradise, pulses with rebellion now; its stakes are higher than many realise. Surrounded by sprawling coastlines, it also hides gems like the deep Unger Canyon and the lively capital, Flenkia. Sitting to the west of the Central Planetary Government at Iandiv, Hustrion’s key position draws attention from all factions. It's coastlines and water passages are crucial for defense.
Inland, thick forests, sprawling plains, and majestic mountains dominated it. The Unger Canyon served as a shield, guarding Hustrion’s core. Naval barricades patrolled constantly, ensuring no unexpected ships came near, and hidden underwater mines stood ready to thwart any secret advances.
I once stood at the edge of the Unger Canyon, the wind tugging fiercely at my hair, the sheer drop below showcasing nature’s raw power. As I peered into its depths, the full impact of recent events weighed on me. My hand shook; a tear almost escaped, but I held it in, the weight of my duty ever-present in my mind.
Born a twin, I carry the legacy of the First Landers. It’s both an honour and a weight on my shoulders. My family’s roots run deep in the military. Leadership didn’t come to me just because of our bloodline. I’ve strategized, outwitting the Iandivish in countless battles and shielding Hustrion from defeat. While I carved my own path, my family’s legacy ensured the people’s trust. Even as a child, my knack for strategy drew others to me.
In 2155, the First Landers set foot on Throndia, escaping Earth after the devastating Third World War in 2105. Legends say this war nearly wiped out humanity on the Forgotten Planet. Lore tells us that a mere month after the United Nations waged war against the Allied Countries of the East (ACE) in 2050, Earth became a radioactive wasteland. With billions gone and nature in ruins, governments crumbled into chaos.
A visionary group of scientists and thinkers foresaw Earth’s downfall. They built an escape ship, cherry-picking Earth’s finest to forge a new society unburdened by past mistakes. A thousand individuals, the First Landers, embarked on this voyage. On Throndia, they embraced a communal lifestyle. As technology flourished, they unearthed a groundbreaking substance at the planet’s south pole. This anti-aging wonder, named ATSI (Age and Tissue Stress Inhibitor), became a staple for all, marking a rebirth for humanity.
For four centuries, Throndia prospered, largely thanks to ATSI. Originally meant to heal, its surprise gift was longevity. The First Landers, blessed by this boon, lived almost 550 years. In that span, five generations unfolded, each marking pivotal moments in Throndia’s tale. My ancestors hail from the third generation when ATSI’s effects were potent. With access to this marvel, time touched me gently, granting me an extended life.
Yet, with each generation, ATSI’s potency diminished. Though it still lengthened life, its magic wasn’t as potent as before. To balance the population, selective breeding practises took root. By 2511, Throndia’s human count stood at 2500. Despite its smaller size and erratic seasons compared to the Forgotten Planet, this strategy ingeniously kept our numbers in check.
Chaos and destruction, hallmarks of human nature, began unraveling at the First Council of Iandiv in 2564. Some factions had challenged Iandiv’s centralised grip, arguing that Hustrion’s advanced inhabitants on their distant island should have governed themselves, free from Iandiv’s dominating Central Planetary Government.
Predictably, their appeal had fallen on deaf ears. In defiance, the Hustrionians had chosen secession, sparking a 281-year conflict unparalleled in the history of the Forgotten Planet. Fifteen years ago, the tide had shifted when the Iandivish army cornered our troops. But the real turning point had been Unger Canyon’s first battle, a decade earlier. Those memories remain raw, shaping every strategy.
The night following the battle, I visited the eerie silence of Unger Canyon’s battlegrounds. Moonlight had unveiled a grim aftermath: shattered weapons, forsaken shields, and shadows where warriors once stood. Every footfall echoed the heavy toll of war. More than a mere clash, Unger Canyon stood as a testament to Hustrionian resilience and their unyielding spirit to protect their land.
Despite their longevity, the First Landers had sought to broker peace. Their seasoned wisdom had been irreplaceable, yet centuries-old animosities had proven too entrenched to mend. By 2705, the final First Lander had drawn his last breath, deepening the void they left behind. The allure of power had intoxicated both sides, making peace an elusive pursuit.
One golden-hued evening, I sat beside one of the last First Landers. Through eyes heavy with the weight of aeons, he had recalled an era when unity wasn’t a fleeting dream. With profound sorrow, he whispered, “War reveals humanity’s forgetfulness of its own history.”
The Resistance Headquarters buzzed with activity. Soldiers and strategists bustled, their movements sharpened by the imminent clash. Nestled in Flenkia’s heart—Hustrion Province’s capital—the headquarters spoke of our unwavering spirit. Tension hung thick, yet a unified purpose cut through.
Maps, tracing Throndia’s contours, decorated the walls, spotlighting places like Unger Canyon with its sheer cliffs—a bottleneck in strategy. Nearby, the Deiwer Pass silently held the key to Hustrion’s heart. Flenkia’s significance ran deeper; the First Landers founded it, and over time, it flourished, blending culture, trade, and defiance. Its buildings whispered tales from the Forgotten Planet. Meanwhile, to the east, Iandiv’s modern skyline starkly contrasted with Hustrion’s raw beauty.
Eyes shut, I sank into meditation. The room’s edges blurred, giving way to the storm of memories and emotions inside. Each decision, every lost soul, and every hard-fought victory pressed down on my heart. The subtle shuffle of papers and hushed conversations anchored me back, reminding me of reality.
Amidst the quiet reflection, my mind tirelessly wove through strategies. The mantle of leadership, with its myriad lives, loomed ever-present. Yet, in this stillness, I tuned into the planet’s whispers, each message swaying me gently. A past trauma had steered me towards this solace, a haven against overpowering emotions.
Visions of a fallen and toppled Iandivish leader played in my thoughts. While many praised my strategic prowess, I leaned heavily on intuition. I didn’t favour face-offs, especially against their latest unpredictable weapons. My strength lay in foresight, viewing the broad canvas, and nimbleness in change.
Memories of strategizing with Jonita washed over me, her insights a beacon. Once, mid-discussion, an old family photograph surfaced from my pocket. It captured joy—our parents’ smiles, Baordin’s playful smirk, and Jonita’s fiery eyes. Its frayed edges whispered tales of joy and sacrifice. Jonita, a pillar of wisdom, often anchored me.
My meditation was shattered by approaching footsteps. Jonita moved with a warrior’s grace, each step radiating confidence. Though my sister, she was also the chief military strategist of our resistance. The islanders regarded her with a mix of awe and fear. Her rise to such a position wasn’t just due to her sharp military mind; her relentless determination defied the societal expectations that often favoured lineage over merit.
“It’s been a while, Baorda,” she greeted.
“Yes, sister. How have you been for the past two weeks? Any news on the Iandivish?”
Her lips twitched into a faint smile, her eyes reflecting gratitude for the unspoken worry. “Life’s a battle, but we trudge ahead. As for the Iandivish …” She hesitated, her gaze sweeping over the room. “Our spies caught their messages. They’re brewing a major plan.” Noticing my quirked eyebrow, she added, “Their forces are at Unger Canyon, poised to march through Deiwer Pass soon.”
“Good. Their troops?”
“All 200 are GEMs,” she said, her voice edged with concern.
Her hands cupped my face as my breath hitched audibly. Meeting my gaze, her understanding shone through; no words were needed. A tidal wave of anger, grief, and resolve surged within me. The shadows of past ordeals and the impending menace of Iandivish GEMs loomed, yet I anchored myself for Hustrion and its inhabitants.
Two and a half decades ago, as the war threatened to topple the Iandivish, they took a drastic step, forging the GEMs—Genetically Enhanced Mutants. Planetary laws restricted certain armaments, but GEMs lingered in ambiguity.
Not typical weapons, these living entities boasted heightened powers. The Iandivish contended that GEMs, being neither machines nor conventional arms, complied with the laws. These troops, relentless and devoid of sentiment, resembled mechanical beings wrapped in human veneer.
In Hustrion’s shadowed taverns, hushed arguments about GEMs frequently reached my ears. A man, face ablaze with fury, would declare, “They’re monsters!” In retort, another would assert, “The Iandivish twisted the Pact. It’s evolve or die for us.” The ethical quandary of birthing such entities burdened our collective souls.
The GEMs, emotionless, stirred questions about the essence of humanity. I remembered a campfire night with fellow resistors. Lira, a seasoned warrior, remarked, “The Iandivish didn’t just mold soldiers. They stole souls. What defines us, if not our joys, memories, love, and heartaches? Did their thirst for dominance blind them to humanity’s core?"
GEMs changed warfare dynamics. With unparalleled prowess, they dominated pivotal lands, cornering us. Though GEMs existed for over twenty-five years, their dominance only soared fifteen years ago, swinging the war in Iandivish’s favour.
My father fell in a clash with the Iandivish well before the GEMs’ inception. In a subsequent raid, as my mother shielded my sister, she met her end. Baordin, my brother, vanished in those chaotic times. We feared he was dead, but no trace of him was found.
On that doomed day, duty had called me elsewhere, a choice that has shadowed me to date. Days later, a comrade, an eyewitness to the carnage, tracked me down. His voice was heavy with grief, he detailed that day’s horrors, including our parents’ demise and Baordin’s unsettling absence.
Baordin’s disappearance haunted our family. After the raid, whispers spread that the Iandivish had captured him. Some claimed to have seen him in their camps, while others were convinced he’d been killed. That gnawing uncertainty never left us.
Jonita and I would sit in hushed conversations, our minds filled with thoughts of him—wondering, hoping he remembered us. His void underscored the harsh toll of war. Some murmured that he’d been turned into a GEM after being subjected to experiments in the Iandivish camps. But these remained unconfirmed tales, deepening our pain and uncertainty.
My chest rose and fell as I took steadying breaths. Turning to my sister, I asked, “Are the swords ready?” She gave a firm nod. “Tonight, we attack. Prepare your soldiers, Commander.”
From atop the hill, I saw soldiers clutching glowing swords. Moonlight danced on the blades, casting haunting shadows. Their eerie beauty was a stark contrast to the impending doom—the duality of war. Soldiers gripped their weapons, their eyes burning with determination, gauging their weight and preparing themselves. This laser-infused steel wasn’t just a sword; it was hope, our ace against the overwhelming odds.
The pact forbade weapons that ignited flames, but energy weapons? It remained silent. This loophole birthed our laser-infused swords, drawing on light without flames. Grandfather often recounted tales of pre-pact days—cities crumbled, skies darkened with ash, and rivers tainted crimson.
The Weapons Pact wasn’t just rules; it was a solemn vow to future generations, ensuring past horrors remained memories. It reshaped warfare strategies, pushing us towards innovation. After relentless conflicts, faction leaders forged this pact, ensuring that cataclysms like the one that wiped out the Forgotten Planet never recurred. The pact outlawed firearms and explosives, but our laser swords, not producing fire, thrived in this grey area, matching traditional weaponry in lethality.
While the Weapons Pact was a plea for planetary preservation, Hustrion’s heart held its towering testament—a monument echoing hope and unity even in despair. Children frequently visited, absorbing lessons on peace’s value and war’s price. Our laser swords and the GEMs seemed like responses to this pact’s challenge. Not traditional weapons, these swords were our defiance against the pact’s edges—a manifestation of science overstepping boundaries.
In Hustrion’s subterranean labs, I witnessed the birth of one. Scientists channeled potent light into its blade, its first activation flooding the chamber with a radiant glow, symbolising our tenacity. Developed as an antidote to GEMs, these swords balanced the odds against the latter’s augmented prowess. The pact barred traditional arms production, but GEMs, genetically enhanced humans, weren’t machines. They existed in the pact’s shadows, highlighting both factions’ efforts for an upper hand.
The final soldier clasped her sword, and with that, I descended the hill to join them. As I neared, a path cleared for me, and soon I stood at the forefront. I opened the door to one of the magnetic cars—our ride straight to Unger Canyon.
With a definitive nod, I signaled the beginning of our mission. These cars, feats of our engineering, harnessed the planet’s magnetic fields for propulsion. Their silent, swift movements made them ideal for stealth missions.
Once every soldier had settled in, Jonita took the lead, speeding away. Left alone, my thoughts returned to meditation, focusing on the promise of the freedom we sought.
Distant howls pierced the otherwise silent night. The wind whispered the scents of nightflowers into my nostrils, stirring memories of home. Amid this momentary serenity, the rhythmic crunch of boots on gravel revealed our army’s march under the moon’s veil. Soldiers’ eyes, alive with determination, betrayed their yearning for home. The nearing battle’s weight grew palpable, drowning many in contemplation.
Above, stars twinkled fervently, seemingly aware of the impending clash. As Unger Canyon neared, soldiers murmured ancient prayers, tightly held tokens, and exchanged silent nods. The nation’s hope weighed heavily on us. Nearing our destination, Iandivish campfires dotted the horizon. We paused, knowing we’d soon face an unprecedented battle.
Despite our superior weapons, the GEMs proved unexpectedly formidable. Their strength and speed overwhelmed us for over two hours. Through the haze of battle, I witnessed my men fall mercilessly. Swords clashed, lasers zipped, and agonised cries echoed. Amidst the turmoil, bravery shone: a young soldier protected a comrade, a medic braved swinging weapons to aid the wounded, and commanders bellowed directives.
Suddenly, a GEM ambushed me. We tumbled to the ground, my sights torn from the horned commander—the key to our victory. The GEM’s fingers tightened around my throat, delight evident in his grasp. I thrashed, seeking an escape, but my fingers found only emptiness. Darkness threatened, and dread consumed me. What fate awaited my soldiers? Darkness loomed at the edges of my vision.
But the suffocating grip loosened. Blinking to clarity, I found Jonita—my saviour once more—offering a helping hand. As I coughed, gratitude filled me. Our gazes locked, silent tales of shared battles and trust passing between us. “Always watch your back." Her whispered words echoed our age-old promise.
In gut-wrenching disbelief, I watched a monstrous blade pierce Jonita from behind, the cold steel emerging through her chest. As she sagged silently into my embrace, my eyes fixed on her assailant: the horned commander.
Anguish erupted from me as a raw scream, and I charged. Our swords met with thunderous clashes, every blow reflecting our dedication and skill. Beneath our feet, the earth seemed to shake, mirroring our fierce duel.
I whirled around as the glint of his swinging sword caught my eye. Though I tried to sidestep, I wasn’t swift enough. His blade’s tip scratched my cheek, letting warm blood seep down. I felt the wet trail, my eyes burning with fury, and lunged at him. He nimbly stepped back, leaving a stinging cut on my calf. A sharp cry escaped my lips as I squared off with him once more.
Changing tactics, I made a mock lunge to the left. He reacted, but I surprised him from the right. However, his reflexes, sharpened from being a GEM, were unmatched. Our blades met with a loud clang, jarring them from our grips.
Without warning, he delivered a punch that sent me sprawling. As he lunged, fingers aiming for my throat, determination surged within me—I wouldn’t be bested by another GEM. Desperate, my fingers scrabbled in my pocket for any aid.
My fingers brushed against a familiar object—the prototype of our enhanced weapons, a compact army knife. As his grip tightened around my throat, I drove the laser-edged blade into his neck. He immediately went slack, a fountain of blood marking my desperate strike.
Dizzily, I pushed myself upright, trying to gather my thoughts. With shaky hands, driven by a need to see the man responsible for my anguish, the one who took my sister from me, I peeled off his helmet. A gasp escaped me; I was staring at a mirror image.
A horrified cry tore from my lips as I recoiled from the lifeless body. The wind moaned around me, echoing my grief. The battlefield, which once echoed with tactics and clashing steel, now whispered of lost memories and futures never to be.
Then, a chilling truth dawned on me—it wasn’t a doppelgänger lying there but my twin brother, Baordin, whom I’d believed dead. The crushing weight of having killed my own flesh and blood threatened to suffocate me.
Staring at Baordin’s still face, flashes of his melancholic gaze during our duel haunted me. Maybe, beneath that GEM exterior, a fragment of the brother I once knew lingered.
Images of our childhood laughter, shared secrets, and playful chases filled my mind. The overwhelming pain of finding my long-lost brother in such a grim manner nearly broke me.
The subsequent days blurred together—a chaotic mix of guilt, revelations, and the confusing freedom of Hustrion. As a semblance of order returned to my life, I found solace in chronicling my thoughts in my journal.
Flenkia, Capital of Hustrion, 26 August, 2845,
Baorda’s Journal,
“A month has passed since the smoke and dust of Unger Canyon settled. My blade found the GEM commander, causing the enemy lines to crumble and flee. The Iandivish leaders, sensing the void left by their fallen commander, begrudgingly raised the white flag. As Hustrion tasted freedom, they extended an olive branch for me to lead. I gently refused, pointing instead to the upcoming October elections.
Discovering that Baordin, my brother, was the GEM commander, I journeyed to Iandiv, seeking truths buried under layers of betrayal. Amid the remnants of battle, they’d found him lost, memories erased, wandering the field where our parents had fallen. Void of a past, they molded him into the perfect GEM soldier. But even as a blank slate, his tactical brilliance shone. Within a decade, he claimed the title of commander. His meteoric ascent wasn’t just his strategies or leadership; perhaps deep within, a spark remained—a longing to reclaim his identity.
Whispers from captured soldiers had hinted at a unique GEM commander, a shadow at the helm of Iandivish manoeuvres. The gut-wrenching truth unfurled; my very own twin stood as my foe. Flashes of our childhood in Flenkia, paired with the haunting void left by our parents’ demise, anchored heavily to my heart.”
I let my journal fall, its pages whispering against the wooden floor. My gaze wandered over frames, capturing echoes of my lineage: father, mother, sister, and Baordin, a brother known more in death than life. The weight of recognising him as the enemy consumed me. Those frozen faces held stories, lifetimes woven with leadership’s burden, strategic choices, and personal grief.
The recent tempests stirred my soul, compelling introspection into my journey’s grit and fragility. Part of me yearned to reunite with them, but fate had me anchored to Hustrion’s nascent roots.
Battles with blood had drained me. Declining the nation’s reins wasn’t just about leadership; it was facing the ghosts of my past. Now, I will help mold this new nation, one for which my family died for its freedom.
