Twelve: Day of the Dream

The first flower of fire had sprouted in his garden.

Aftab Ferrara, the man who called himself the Phoenix, sat upon a colorless onyx throne in the center of his garth, gazing up at the bright blue sky–a surprising color for the wintertime–with a heavy heart.

Despite everything he had done for humanity, he was no longer welcome among the societies of man. Because he had become something more. More than human. More than deviant. The word had become flesh, and God was dwelling among mortals.

But did an angel choose to live among mortals? No, they lived in the burning fields of Heaven, supreme above all. So Aftab chose the same. He chose a self-imposed exile, living a life of luxury as he fed and watered his people. Six shows a week at Madison Square Garden, millisecond trading to create buildings of impossible elements and to enhance his portfolio, jetting around the world on wings of fire to meet with economic leaders and government representatives of the World Court.

This is the world, and you are its peoples’ representatives–so heed my words, Phoenix proclaimed. I have given you water to drink and food to eat–but that is not enough! I can do more! And so I shall. So heed my words.

From this day forward, I give you peace and freedom from the aggression that has marked the darkest days of mankind…so go. Build great things, greater than we have ever seen before…but no more weapons…no more machines of death…from this day forward I will no longer tolerate violence from man or deviant. From this day, I declare no more war. Pax utopia.

After twenty years of searching, he had found it: the proof he needed, as the first flower bloomed in his gardens after cleansing fires burned day and night all around the world, painting the sky black with the ashes of the old world and alighting the embers of the new.

The first fire that he had set was in his own garden. He painted the sky of Manhattan red with fire as he sifted through the ashes and the dirt and found it: a flower that had bloomed.

The flower had bloomed. It was proof of the rightness that was his, the Phoenix’s, rule. It came with the bone-deep certainty that he was the rightful ruler of this world. And his cause was just.

Because Aftab Ferrara was no longer human. He was God.

Suffering was a waste of time. It was a human thing. And the Fire Source was not human, was it? They once had their own place, far from this world. But he had a question. When the deviants left humanity–did they think evolution would stop?

Nature abhors a vacuum. There was a reason the universe existed: to fill that void.

Deviants had created another void, and Aftab would fill it with fire. The god of humanity abandoned it, and so the deviants came. And then the deviants abandoned them, so now he came. Through fire. Through blood. Through God.

Phoenix turned to the stone courtyard and stared down at his gardens in the Pointe, his headquarters, in Seneca Gardens, New York. The fragrance of the new flowers drifted through the air–sweet French roses and sweeter West Indian jasmine mingled together, the pale and fragile buds growing in such thick profusion that it poured through the metal lattice of the walls, their red petals unfurling against the titanium and diamondium walls of the complex hidden in the center of Manhattan, in the eye of the world. And with his observations came his contemplations for the future.

His servants, dressed in green robes, watered his plants and sheared away the dead roots and leaves as he sat on his throne and murmured assurances to himself. He thought of Maggie Bawa. A fool and petulant child.

But her true identity was Grandmaster, a deviant cosmic being with unfathomable power. She did not even know what she was. She had been reincarnated into a mortal form, a child, to save the universe.

When he gained the Fire Source, Phoenix studied every book, every scroll, every rune and secret language about the Phoenix. And then he burned it down. He would be the last of his lineage, so he would never be able to be replaced.

He would not have to do this at all, he reminded himself, if she had stopped fighting destiny and embraced what she was meant to be. Destiny was a map, an equation filled with unknown variables. Most people were not able to manipulate the ones and zeroes. But he was able to. That was what it meant to be the Phoenix.

If Grandamster was not so determined to ruin everything with her fantasies of a world of peace between humans and deviants–Phoenix scoffed. Both species would never be able to hold to that. Selim was right about that.

Phoenix stood to his feet and raised his hand toward the bright blue sky. One of the petals from a row of French roses fell into his hair from a slight breeze that wafted through. White upon the deepest black. He smoothed his hair back into place with a well-manicured hand. Recently, the restlessness that had punctuated his entire life had grown to an almost unbearable level. And he knew why.

He was well fed up and disgusted with this world. And then he received the gift of the Phoenix. There was a piece of him in every being, in every star, in every world. He was Creation.

He told himself the same thing he had been telling himself for years, during an invisible conversation with his mother. I am not going to be like you.

His mother’s voice echoed in his mind. This journey will turn you into a Monarch like me. Do not forget: you shall be strong enough to survive, but you must still work hard and grow even stronger. It is my responsibility in the Order of Stars. And soon it shall be yours. You will keep the faith and preserve the memories and the sacrifice of our People. Even if the world forgets, we must never lose our way.

You will be strong enough to survive.

Phoenix had known that God was dead from the day his parents presented Aftab to Him. So instead, what did he do?

For God’s sake, you must stop! A voice in his memory rang out.

There was no God. That’s why he stepped in.

The Order of Stars was the religion behind the Eternity Corporation, people that worshiped deviants as their new gods. On the Winter Solstice, one of the most sacred days to deviants in the old days, they heard, he had been excited as the rest of his peers who had survived the sixteen winters and summers it took to be proclaimed an elite member of the Order of Stars.

Aftab had fasted for three days and prayed. He hunted through untouched forests and brought his sacrifices of deer antlers and wolf pelts to the Temple in Taymyr, Russia–the first place that he burned down. He had taken off his clothes and entered the temple at the heart of their city and climbed up the staircase to the center of the confluence of rivers.

The chamber had been filled with the sweetly pungent smoke of cedar wood that had been stacked in the corner. The bones of deceased Elders who had been sacrificed for the fires of the Order were carefully stacked against the walls of the room, forming intricate decorations to show the People’s pleasure in their God’s bounty. It was all for deviants. A religion and pastime that existed only for them.

This had been the right time for Aftab Ferrara. He had lived in Taymyr since he was no more than a toddling, whining child. He had been selected and trained and taught not to complain when his father rejected him in favor of money for the Eternity Corporation. Instead of being surrounded by wealth and a life of luxury, he had been sent out in the cold dark of night or the sweltering heat of the midday sun. He learned to cope with starvation, how to build fires in the middle of a forest, how to track scents with your eyes closed and hunt to survive. He needed to know what it was like to have nothing to have everything, as his father put it.

That was what the Order of Stars taught everyone. They learned about pain and strength and the need to exorcize his demons.

And he hated every moment of it. He had seen deviants, walking in the streets, attending school, and playing in parks. How could they be gods? They were just ordinary people. He hated the idea that one species was superior to another. Perhaps that was why he followed the dream.

That day, one of the Elders had led them to the deathless waters, perhaps one of the only places left on Earth where magic was still ripe, not overtaken by technology–the void humans left behind. Aftab had not been worried. He knew he had been strong enough. He had plotted to rule the Eternity Corporation’s chess board–not as the Black King, but as the Monarch.

He knew he had been strong enough. If what you call fate is just an equation, then he controlled the variables. Right place, right time. Or for some, the wrong place at the wrong time.

Earlier that day, he had looked upon the paintings and carvings of previous Black Kings of the Eternity Corporation. They had walked among the elite of the elite, the cream of the crop, and had conquered the world’s criminal underworld from the shadows of politics and economics. These Kings and Queens held terrible, incalculable power. And what did they do with it? Nothing. Same as Grandmaster.

He had looked upon those paintings and carvings and thought, I am not going to sit by like you and hold only a fragment of power, a faint echo of what was–of what should be. We have the power to remake the world as it should be. I am not going to sit by idly like you all did and bow down to this tyranny, and expect nothing in return.

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I am not going to be like you.

Then, his final test.

He had emerged from death the first time, gasping for air to fill his lungs before he submerged into the icy waters. They had met beneath his feet as he waded in deep, the waters rising to his ankles, his knees. River of soul; river of the heart, blood and deep; river of immortality, bubbling with the green of life and the gold of the ageless. The seven forces of the universe confluxed here.

The rivers of the living. Rivers of the dead.

He knew how a breath unspooled could lead a man’s mind from his flesh and deep into the grasp of the depthless waters. In this chamber, his body had sat cross-legged, back straight and eyes fast shut. He had breathed in one time, then took the plunge in the confluence of rivers–the sangam, holiest of sites–his soul made its way to the meeting place.

And deep in the water, he opened his eyes.

He had seen the world. The world as it should be. A place that was once of myth, a world beyond the mortal realm, filled with immortals and dragons and phoenixes. It was a place where the seven forces of the universe met, and the cosmic race of beings were born; where once, the Order of Stars would have been able to walk. Where the Eternity Corporation’s Kings would have been able to walk in. But no more.

That was when Aftab Ferrara knew.

God did not hear him because God did not exist.

His glory would not be bestowed upon him. As the others were granted with magnificent wonder, and he was left with nothing–just this void within–he knew the truth. He had looked up to God once more, really seeing Him or Her for the first time. He had imagined he had met God’s gaze with his own and with all the force in his mind, screamed at Them.

If you were really alive, you would not tolerate this! he shrieked in his mind. If you were really alive, if you really existed, you would have made me strong. You would have transformed these years of faith into something more. Deviants are the new gods and I deserve to be one too. You would make me into a deviant! There is no God. You are dead.

Aftab clenched his teeth and remembered how he just stood there, wishing he was wrong. Even if it meant that God had chosen that moment to strike him down for his blasphemy. But he was not wrong.

So more often than not, this place was for the dead, rather than the living.

He had to lie to and kill and manipulate and cheat his way here, but it had all been worth it. He had been made into something greater than a deviant. And now he would show them, he would show them all.

Enough of this consternation! Aftab roared, the roar of a phoenix, causing the servants to raise their heads in alarm. They quickly finished their work and disappeared, leaving him alone.

He noticed his hands were engulfed in flame and quenched them as he dismissed the memory, for only the weak-minded spent more than a few moments reminiscing about the past. He lifted it to stroke the three puckered scars that ran down the side of his face, as if he had been slashed by the prongs of a trident. It was the scar he had gained after becoming the Monarch of the Eternity Corporation, sweeping the board clear.

A terribly familiar lethargy had begun to seep through his muscles. It was the beckoning to release, to raze the world to ashes, but he bared his teeth against the seductive pull.

So he recited the words, the words he told himself over and over.

“I will not succumb to this.” Phoenix forced the words from between the cage of his clenched teeth. “There has to be more than this, more to this pitiful existence than this never-ending cycle of life and death and death and death and death with nothing in between except blood and pain. There has to be another way. Since God is dead, She has been reincarnated in the form of a spiteful little girl. I will create the answers myself. I will find my own signs. I will make my own sacrifice. I will take it to the rest of the world.”

“Well, I know we spoke to each other about the future…but that’s a new one,” a voice remarked.

Phoenix spun around, transforming his clothes from plain robes into a red-and-gold battlesuit with a phoenix emblem on his chest. He smiled–his first genuine smile in what felt like years–as he gazed at Will Morgrant, also known as the Teacher.

“Hello, Aftab,” the Teacher said to him.

“Will Morgrant.” Phoenix gazed at his friend, still smiling. “It is good to see you, my old friend. I’ve been expecting you. Welcome to the Pointe.”

His smile grew even wider as he snapped his fingers and the flowers in his garden bloomed.

Rose and oleander bushes burst with color, mingling with hyacinth and gladiola; and somehow, despite the severity of the climates of the Manhattan summers and winters, he had found a way to maintain a row of megaflora found only in the hothouse-like environment of the Sanctuary, the bizarre world nestled in the state of Montana where native tribes still fought for survival each day, and dinosaurs and mythological creatures roamed, completely unaware they were supposed to be ashes and dust and had reset the timeline to extinction for their kind.

Phoenix nodded, pleased with what he saw. It was an orderly, beautiful garden, one that would quietly come to reflect the world around it.

His order. His world.

“Of course, I have seen it on television, but in person–my God–the scale of this place–” the Teacher breathed.

“Yes. What a magnificent thing I have built, isn’t it, Will? Great deeds by the greatest of men…it doesn’t seem that long ago that it was impossible to not think of them as children, just our children…”

“The Sun Knights may have evolved into the Star Legion, but I still see that as my children,” the Teacher said softly.

“You shouldn’t,” Aftab said suddenly, sharply. “We had the same dream. The four of us. You and I and Kieran and Eva. Eva betrayed us. Kieran deserted his post when he started to suffer from ELDS. My views changed, and you…you changed as well.”

“There is not a day that goes by that I don’t regret giving Grandmaster up to that monster Selim,” the Teacher said fiercely. “But it is my role to look at the greater good, and the job is to save as many lives as possible, no matter the cost. I did that. If I had to do it all over again, I would make the same choice.”

“And therein lies your problem, Will Morgrant. You are a good man, and that is the most dangerous thing in the world. Because you will not stop until you prove how good you are–no matter who gets hurt.”

“I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt the innocent. I’ve let the Silent King get loose. But I am trying to do better. I am not perfect. I know that I could die at any minute, that I could be diagnosed with ELDS too, Aftab,” the Teacher said. “But I still believe in them. From me. My Legionnaires. And they could be yours, too, if you let them…”

Phoenix stepped forward and cradled the Teacher’s face in his hand.

“My love,” he said. “You are a good man. That is fine. While you can be the good man, I can be the man who does the things necessary for the dream–for our dream. Because any dream worth having is worth fighting for.”

“Aftab, the things you are doing…what are you thinking?”

“Do you know what I think? I think that your student nearly killed your brother. She actually did kill him, and he had to hold his body together with an electromagnetic field to survive. But she is not a child anymore, Will. Let me put it simply–she is power incarnate, in the form of a teenager, of all things.”

“Grandmaster is not a teenager. She is an adult–”

“Whose entire life has been compiled into the tenure of a teenage warlord. I only possess a fragment of her power, Will! Imagine if she reclaims it. Imagine if she becomes what she is always meant to be. If she knows of everything you have done…of everything we have done. Would she still trust you then?”

“She doesn’t trust me anymore,” the Teacher said bitterly. “I thought she would understand when I gave her to Blackstar…but that changed her, Aftab. He did something to her, something that she won’t even talk about. It broke her into pieces, and six months later, she is still picking up the pieces. And it’s my fault.”

“Does she know about us? Do any of your Legionnaires know about us?”

“They do not know that I am here,” the Teacher said. “I don’t know if it’s me making this decision, or the Star Legion, but that cat has to say in the bag, Aftab. That was a long time ago–do you hear me?”

Aftab spun around and gazed at the city. “I know why you are here, Will. I can see it in your mind. Excellent mental shields, by the way. If I hadn’t had this power, I wouldn’t have been able to penetrate it.”

“Then I am sure you understand my concerns perfectly. The power you’re wielding…” Will began. “The ultimatums you are giving…people are frightened, Aftab. You annihilated Taymyr–”

Aftab raised a finger. “I destroyed the City, not the entire land. That City deserved to be destroyed. They are feeding innocent children lies, playing with forces beyond their control–”

“Just like you’re doing? Do you really believe this power can be controlled?”

“I believe that every force of destruction is a form of rebirth. There has to be ashes before the flames can be rekindled,” Phoenix answered. “You told me that we should never fear tomorrow, Will. This is a new day. You, a good man–a great man–taught me the value of having a singular vision, of seeing the world as it could be. I would never want to lose that, Will.”

“That is not what I meant–”

“I know,” Aftab replied, resting a hand on his old love’s shoulder. “It is something better. I am remaking the world into something better. I am transforming it into a paradise for all living things, both human and deviant. They will not fear us, Will. They will thank us.”

“There will still be fallout.”

“Of course there will be. The old ways oppose change. Most, however, will bend. Remember what you taught me, Will: they will change. Mankind will accept the future. I may not be one of you, but I understand that. I always have and I always will.”

“I know. I wanted this too, but…not like this, Aftab!” Will said finally, raising his arms in protest. “This is like cheating. It has cost nothing.”

Phoenix tilted his head. “Cost nothing?” he repeated incredulously. “No, Teacher. Deviants and humans have paid too high a price for too long. Too many years of pain and greed and suffering have culminated into nothing but pain and hurt. Now, the real world is molded to my every whim. Reality itself…what I want it to be.

“Can you not see?” Phoenix spread his arms majestically. “The day you have always longed for is here, Will Morgrant. This is your dream. For I have given it to you.”