The Story of One Continent

Prologue: A Nostalgic Face

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The 22nd day of the fourth month of the year 3306 of the World Calendar.

On the planet, there was but a single continent.

The large, oval landmass stretched to the east and west, divided vertically at the center by a great river and a massive mountain range.

The Central Mountain Range began at the great desert at the southern shores, stretching to the center of the continent. Its jagged peaks, some reaching up to 10,000 meters in height, stood clustered together.

The northern half of the continent was bisected by largest river in the world, the Lutoni.

The people of the planet had been split by the mountains and the river, each developing their own cultures, forging confederations and alliances, and warring against the opposing side.

But a historic discovery ended the possibility of a great war between East and West.

And hundreds of millions of people continued to live on the continent, each harboring their own hopes and worries.

“Hah! You, worried? I thought I’d sooner see pigs fly across the Lutoni!” spat a shriveled old woman.

“C’mon, gran! I might look like this, but I’ve got more on my mind than I let on,” replied a bearded man.

The old woman and the man sat on a rug.

The rug was made of wool and bore layers upon layers of complex, intricate patterns that made it impossible to recognize any motif in the work.

The room was tiny with a black ceiling and walls, and it did not have a single window. The only light came from a small lightbulb. It was indeed very dim.

The old woman was curled cross-legged on a seat cushion, her posture making her appear even smaller than she was. Her loose attire was just as unusual as her rug, made as though quilted out of mismatched scraps of cloth.

Only 50 centimeters away was the bearded man, who faced her directly.

The man had the defined figure of an athlete. He also sat cross-legged on a seat cushion, looking like a child before the old woman.

He wore a tattered red-and-black checkered shirt and an equally patchy pair of jeans. his toenails poked out of the holes at the tips of his woolen socks.

His dark brown hair was haphazardly cut and swept back.

The man’s face was neither too sharp nor rough, giving him a nondescript look. His messy beard made it difficult to tell his age. He could pass for a man in his forties or thirties.

“Oh? Like what? Tell me,” the old woman prodded in displeasure.

“Hmm,” the man intoned, unable to answer.

The old woman scolded him. “I’d certainly love to know what is on that mind of yours, calling yourself an adventurer and wandering the world in your mid-thirties.”

The man scratched his head and awkwardly changed the subject. “Granny, you’re supposed to be a fortune teller, not a schoolteacher. And I’m just here to get my fortune.”

“I’m perfectly willing to tell your fortune, provided you can pay me. But where does your money come from? No doubt your parents back home, you miserable little leech!”

The man gravely shook his head. “Nah, I’ve never gotten a single Rox from my folks. Even I’m not bad enough to beg a retired couple for money.”

“Oh?”

“So I get my money from my sister.”

“That’s even worse! Your sister deserves better, the sweet thing!”

“It’s fine. She’s doing good without me. Last time I called she said work was going well and she was having a good time. More importantly, let’s get back to business. I want you to tell me my fortune, gran. Gimme some guidance on my life!” the man asked, taking out a bill from his pocket.

“Hmph. You don’t need a fortune teller to tell you that you need to find yourself a job.”

“C’mon, just a bit of guidance’ll do. Tell me where to go east or west, and that’ll be enough for me. Just between you and me, I never had a lot of faith in your fortune telling even when I was a kid.”

“East, west, does it matter? I don’t need your money, so get yourself straight down to hell, boy.”

“I’m fine for now, thanks. Please, gran,” the man said, putting the bill before the old woman.

“This much money’s only going to get you one answer,” the old woman said, picking up the bill in her bony hand and slipping it into her pocket. She turned and picked up something.

“That’ll be more than enough for me,” the man replied with a shrug. The old woman put a large crystal before him.

The crystal was shaped like a human skull, polished to a shine.

“Whoa. Still as creepy as ever,” the man chuckled.

“And I see you’re still as tactful as ever, boy,” the old woman hissed with a grimace. “Now don’t move. Let me have a look at that hopeless future of yours.”

Taking a match, the old woman lit up a small clump of incense on a small plate to her right. A faint white smoke rose into the air and a strange scent filled the room.

Then, the old woman picked up the crystal and stared into it. With a grim look she muttered in a mysterious language rife with harsh plosives.

“This is it! This is what I’m talking about! Using all this creepy mumbo-jumbo really makes everything seem more authentic.”

“Shut your mouth.”

The woman’s muttering continued for many seconds more in the white smoke.

As the incense burned out, the old woman gently put down the crystal.

“Well?” asked the man.

“Boy. Are you planning to return home anytime soon?” the old woman asked with a sharp glare.

“Huh? No,” the man replied at once.

“Really? Then perhaps I was wrong. Your fortune says that you will meet a nostalgic face by showing kindness to others.”

“Huh. Interesting. That’s very interesting.”

The man grinned. The old woman also put on a smile, her wrinkles deepening.

“I thought you didn’t really believe my fortune telling?”

“‘Never had a lot of faith’ doesn’t mean ‘didn’t have any faith’. I did believe you sometimes.”

“Hmph! Whatever the case, make sure to treat your nostalgic acquaintance well. And try not to let anyone know what a failure of a life you’re living.”

“Why not? I do have a job, and it’s called ‘adventurer’!”

“I’m telling you this for your own benefit, boy. Get your act together. You’ve got your health, if nothing else. You’ll find plenty of work at factories and farms.”

“That’s not my style, though. Oh well. ‘Show kindness to others and meet a nostalgic face’. Sounds exciting! Now where should I head to next?”

The man stood with a smile and picked up the large backpack behind him. It was a long, thin backpack about half his height to which was tied a tent, a sleeping bag, and other camping gear, as well as a leather jacket and a cap.

“Go visit your family before that. And don’t go dying on the streets, you hear me, Silas?”

“Whoa! It’s been a while since anyone’s called me that! Almost forgot my own name!”

“Do you not use your name anymore, boy?”

“Nope. I use whatever comes to mind. Sometimes I borrow someone else’s name or put a little spin on it. That’s generally how things come to mind, you know? By association.”

“Pah. It’ll do you some good to associate with people you can use your real name with. Otherwise you might lose yourself.”

“Like you, gran? You know, I still don’t know your real name.”

The old woman was silent.

“Well, I guess that’s life too. Thanks, gran. It was nice seeing you. I’ll come back and say hi again.”

“Next time you visit this place, I’ll be in the grave.”

“No way. You’ve still got a couple centuries left in you, gran.”

The man called Silas hefted his backpack on his right shoulder, pulled open the curtain, and left the dark, cramped room.

“Hmph. A nostalgic face, eh? Interesting,” the old woman chuckled to herself.

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