They Arose from Beneath Humanity

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. There weren’t always iron murals erected around their lands, or a world with two sole empires, and two distinct rulers. Yet again, iron was the only thing that could keep the dragons away, and dragons were the only other kind that remained. There was however, a time when humans were each other's worst enemies. There was a time when dragons lived below the surface of the Earth, unseen by humans, and unaware of the creatures that thrived above their realm. And then Cadence Vanderwall, and Osiah Hawthorn saved humanity through a scientific prediction that was only half true. Together, they created a list of 1,800 scientists, engineers, artists, military leaders, lawyers and government officials that would be amongst the lucky to be salvaged from the catastrophe. But this was centuries ago. Now, the world is inhabited by dragons and humans. Now, there is the yearning for dominion and revenge, and an empire determined to be named victor amongst the creatures, owner of The Lands of the Dragons, and master of the world. Now; 400 years later, there remain 5 ranks; the Scientia, the Ingenium, the Militaris, the Artem and the Veritas, and children aged 12 that on the day of the Citizen’s Occupational Examination, are told they belong to one of them.

“Colonel Zeddan, your gloves”. Madam Azalea Brun stood before the doorway of his office, which was located at the top level of the Leaders’ House in Mandareson, The Vanderwall Empire’s capital. She held the black leather gloves that Colonel Zeddan’s father, and 5 generations before him had worn every year, during the day of the Citizen’s Occupational Examination, or the C.O.E. He looked out through his window into the vast courtyard below, which was surrounded by gardens, and ancient statues. Towards the far left of the building was Quarry D’afine, which he looked at with a look of profound distaste. The children were scampering in the courtyard, and as he looked down and the blazing sun washed his face, he gripped his hands into fists, and bore a contemplative grin.

“Very well then.” He turned away from the window and walked towards the door at the far end of his office, an enormous room with tall arched ceilings covered in Renaissance art. It was furnished with a large oak desk, cedar green walls, and a window that arched at the top of the ceiling and seemed to melt into the redolent oak floors. He passed by rows of books, and the expensive antiques he’d been gifted over the years.

Madame Azalea Brun's gaze was that of assurance, and confidence; the look of a woman that had done this before far too many times; 25 times to be exact, under Colonel Zeddan’s leadership. She wore a dark purple suit, which elegantly complimented her dark skin, and stood in the doorway holding a tray atop which lay his gloves. The Colonel slipped them onto his hands and admired them in awe.

“For 400 years. These gloves have kept the world turning for 400 years.” He moved towards the magnetic globe that spun in the middle of the room, observing the Vanderwall Empire and the Hawthorne Military Base appear into view. Colonel Zeddan adjusted the cuffs of his field green military coat, as he watched the Empire disappear, and the Arkanian oceans stretch before him. Then the Land of The Dragons rolled into view, and he saw the blue expanse fold away from his line of sight. The Land of the Lost, as the Citizens’ called it, stretched on interminably with the color of ashen doom. A series of lands - islands and territories the size of entire continents - were under their dominion. No one knew for sure how their lands were, and least of all, the color and landscapes they bore. They just knew that it was devoid of human enlightenment, and thus, was a land where darkness ruled. Yet no one had come back from expeditions to describe this foreign place, and technology was nonfunctional there for a reason no one had come back to explain either. So, it remained a large expanse of land covered in the ashen blanket of death on his, and the rest of the globes in the Vanderwall Empire.

The Colonel breathed in deeply, and as the sunlight hid behind the clouds, he released strangled breaths of air.

“Tell Mr. Bergman to prepare the children.”

“Right away sir.”

As she closed the door behind her, Colonel Zeddan adjusted the pin in his overcoat; a golden Dragon that was stricken in the chest by a bow. This was the emblem of the Militarium branch.

He walked down the brightly lit hall, past ancient paintings, and antique french furniture. This mansion was a distant relic of the past, and a reminder of all that they had left behind. As the elevator descended to the ground level, he thought about the children. Their academic performance, physical examinations, IQ test results, and histories of violence and aggression. But most of all, he thought about their eyes. There was so much he could tell by looking into their eyes. Hazels and blues tended to fit into the Militaris Division. Green and gray were almost always categorized into the Ingenium or Scientia divisions. Browns and blacks belonged to the Veritas and the Artem Divisions.

Of course, when deciding which branch was most fitting, there were many more important parameters to consider. There was, most notably, the Grand Calibur. A machine that had taken 100 years to perfect. It consisted of an intricate 5 feet tall metal apparatus. When the subject lay down on the mattress below the machine, 2 metallic cables were attached to its temples. The machine targeted the nerves of a particular body part, and depending on which part the subject exhibited the most sensitivity to, a branch would be chosen. In the case of the Veritas and Artem children, for instance, they would often be most sensitive to pain in the eyes, and nose. The task of shocking the nerves of the child was directed by the ionic gloves that the Colonel wore, which had been used by ten generations of presidents of the Children’s Occupational Committee. He liked to think of himself as the leader of an orchestra, sending the peek and lows of the music from violin to trombon, from trombone to piano, from piano to base, keeping the public attentive to when the highs and lows of the music would unravel, and to how the notes and emotions, and euphonious chaos would all tie together. In the same way, he would send the pain to the legs and the nose, the feet and the chest, and the child would always be on the tip of its toes (if that wasn’t were the shock was directed to of course), yet unknowing of when he/she would reach the peak of agony.

Emmanuel Bergman always wore a pastel blue suit on the day of the C.O.E. He was a tall and slender man, with a neatly trimmed mustache that curled upwards at the ends, and his voice was deep, and predictable. He spoke with finality and conviction, and had a thick British accent, much like everyone else in the world. Or at least, 1/4th of it.

“Good morning, future citizens of our glorious Empire. My name is Emmanuel Bergman. Every year, on the day of the Citizens’ Occupational Examination, you take your first step towards contributing to the collective goal of humanity. On this day, you embark on the journey of preserving and spreading the glory of the empire we have built over the course of 400 years. I see within each of you, my dear children, members of Division 59’, future scientists, artists, engineers, lawyers, and perhaps in fewer numbers, members of the military; future governors, presidents, generals and commanders, and members of the elite committees that help make the Vanderwall Empire the place that it is today. I see within each of you, distinct abilities, ones that thanks to our machines, are scientifically discernible. I see within each of you, potential. The kind that inflames the soul. The kind that if infused with passion can light them on fire, and if strewn with purpose can kindle them so that they burn to eternity. The kind of potential that the collective soul of humanity ought to fulfill, so that in the name of the Vanderwall empire, it can explode into the dark voids of our earth and enlighten our planet with the lantern of the human spirit. So, who is ready to discover who they are, and their potential, in the name of our Empire?”

In the city of Mandareson, there stood 2,000 children aged 12, in the Leader’s House courtyard, who raised their hands with pride and expectation. Under the monotony of orange, grey, and black, there stood young bodies unacquainted to pain, and unprepared for what was to come. There stood young minds that believed in the promise, that with the help of the committee, they could fulfill their potential, and bring glory to humanity. And facing them, behind the stage where Bergman stood, the members of the Citizens’ Occupational Committee sat in two neat rows of chairs. Amongst them, was Colonel Zeddan, with a list of names and numbers, a black bag with numbered balls, and a pair of black leather gloves in hand. And amidst the boys and the girls, the blond haired and the dark-haired, the blue eyed and the brown-eyed, there was a sensitive young boy by the name of Verne Morthlosky, who would be picked to be ‘examined’ first.