We Can Never Leave

It wasn’t the stench of filth permeating the foul air, nor the decaying corpses of god-knows-what creatures lying on the street that made Ira’s skin crawl. Rather, it was the flickering of the towering lamps weakly illuminating the vile street and casting unsteady shadows across her vision. Shadows of a man.

Another decade had passed. Another 10 years spent flourishing in The Grand Elysium, where bountiful clouds decorated the glorious skies, and the stars—that was what Ira missed the most each time she descended to Earth for The Rite, the radiant gems strung across the moonlit night sky. A subtle shift in the wind drew her thoughts back to the present.

Ira paused, her heart thundering in her chest as she listened for the footsteps trailing her. They paused as well, waiting, anticipating.

But only for a moment.

Then they advanced, and she was a mere flash of light flying down the alleyway, the wind tearing at her heels as she broke into a sprint, her ebony hair billowing in waves behind her. She kept running, even as her lungs begged for relief, even as her face burned with the air’s numbing chill.

Yet with every step, she felt her strength dissipating, felt the flame raging inside her threatening to extinguish. Ira knew what would come next, knew what befell millions of citizens of The Grand Elysium who likewise partook in The Rite, who fought the lethal humanoids until their death.

Her legs failed and her heartbeat surged as she plummeted to the ground. Pain jolted through her. The man swayed as he approached her writhing figure, his rancid breath pervading the air.

Her russet eyes shone with resolve as they hunted her surroundings for something, anything, to brawl with. She inched toward the shattered remains of a beer bottle lying alongside her. She would not go easily.

He was toned and strong, his black coat scarcely masking the bulging muscles snaking down his forearms. There was no denying the look in his eyes promised a cruel ending, yet she refused to meet her end without a good fight.

He stepped forward and found she was already there, her fingers tightening around his pulsing wrists an instant before he attempted to restrain her with his immense mass, her feet striking his innards as she twisted out of the way. He watched as her hand swung out, the glint of broken glass the last thing he saw before the weapon violently pierced through his flesh, bone, and sinew.

Her fingers still dripped with his blood as she emerged from the shadows, shuddering in disbelief that she was alive.

No one survived the rite.

It was a fact as established as it was that The Grand Elysium was a utopia. Every decade, all citizens were teleported to Earth to complete The Rite, to endure a somewhat painless death by humanoid then arise in their home with a sore back at most. It was a reminder from the gods of how their ancestors once struggled on Earth, how they withered in a world defeated by temperatures that rose so high even the rising tides couldn’t stop the world from burning. She brushed the thought from her mind as she stepped out into the open street.

We all survived.

A gasp escaped her lips as she took in the full scene, hordes of people filling the air with the stale stench of sweat.

“Move!” An elderly lady burst through the crowd, her panicked expression twisting her features. “Micah! Where are you?”

Ira hesitated at the desperation in the woman’s voice, unable to be drowned even by the noise of the crowd.

“He’s probably already back in The Grand Elysium,” she strode toward the woman, offering her what she hoped was a comforting smile.

A look of confusion washed over the woman’s face before she stuttered, “The Grand Elysium? Is my grandson...dead?”

Her last words were whispered, nearly swallowed by the roar of chatter, and Ira leaned in closer to answer her worries.

“No no...he was likely sent back to The Grand Elysium, where we will all return...hopefully soon,” she said, eyeing the sky now filled with menacing grey clouds.

“The Grand Elysium,” the woman repeated, shaking her head in confusion, “I’ve been alive for 87 years, fought my fair share of The Rite, but I’ve never heard about what you’re telling me…”

With that she turned and disappeared into the crowd, continuing to call for her grandson and leaving Ira bewildered. Perhaps...perhaps the woman had suffered memory loss, Ira thought to herself. She couldn’t fathom any other reason the woman didn’t remember The Grand Elysium. Ira approached a young man sitting on the pavement, tapping him on the shoulder to catch his attention.

“You probably think I’m deranged,” she started, suddenly timid at the sight of his tousled black hair and copper eyes. “But…you’re from The Grand Elysium, right?”

He looked up, startled at her unexpected question, and stuttered out a reply. “S...Sorry, The Grand Elysium? I’ve never heard of such a place.”

She searched her mind for ways to describe the beautiful realm to him. “The land of the glowing trees?” He had to know the extraordinary forests of The Grand Elysium; they were the defining feature of the utopia.

Half a millennia had been spent creating phosphorescent trees. First crossbreeding the luciferase derived from fireflies into a unique bulb, then supplying it with bioluminescence, to shed light on a world consumed by darkness. An individual plant, then billions of trees across The Grand Elysium—there was now unwavering, perpetual light.

Ira flushed with pride as she spoke about her home, as she recounted her happiest days spent lying in a field of marigold flowers and the euphoric nights whispering her wildest dreams to the night sky. Yet her panic intensified as the man seemed unresponsive to her descriptions.

“It sounds like a magnificent place,” he offered her a shy smile.

“But truly, I am not from The Grand Elysium. This,” he gestured to the squalid streets, “This is the only place I’ve ever known, the only place any of us have ever known. We can never leave.”

But our ancestors left, she thought to herself, her mind spinning in circles as she recalled the story of her origin. Humanity was restored in The Great Elysium and all lived joyously. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a final piece to the story her grandmother recited, a warning that had been ignored.

She studied the masses of people roaming the street, old and young alike. Those who looked as if they carried the burdens of a thousand others, who knew what it was to pay for the mistake someone else committed.

It all came at a cost, my dear. The cost of others.

No. It couldn’t be. Her grandmother couldn’t have meant—

“You,” her voice shook as she realized what she had not dared to consider. "You've never been to The Grand Elysium. You've never seen utterly clear skies, felt the gentle warmth of the sun on your shoulders. You've never lived a life where there is true and unadulterated joy in simply existing, have you?"

The man did not respond. He didn’t need to, for she could see in his solemn expression that she was right.

At last, Ira could recall her grandmother's devastating words, the story that she, like so many others in The Grand Elysium, had chosen to forget.

We weren't the only ones, darling. She remembered what it was like: the soft lilt her grandmother had spoken with, the hint of shame behind her words. Everyone was supposed to make it to the new world, to The Grand Elysium. Oh, we were so close. All of us. But we had bargained with the Gods, Ira. We'd received our chance to start anew, to rebuild the lives we had lost on Earth. The only thing left was what the Gods asked for in return.

"A life for a life. A thousand in bliss and a thousand in despair," Ira whispered, finishing the tale.

Her family, her people—they weren’t survivors. Not in the way she’d believed. They were traitors, and they had shown no mercy on those they betrayed.

Her knees crumbled, and she sank to the squalid ground, taking in the sea of faces she did not recognize, faces of those who’d been abandoned so that some could live a life in bliss.

Ira—she was the only one descending from The Great Elysium, the one left behind.

At last, the man’s words struck her.

We can never leave.