Kingdoms of Immortals
Everyone envied them; The Chosen.
I mean imagine how itd feel to be handpicked by a group of envoys claiming to represent Immortals from a higher realm. Right?
I also happened to envy them, that is until I was made aware of that one fact; my mother has about a decade left to live.
I am young, smart, hard-working, rich, and most of all; filial.
I wanted to use my resources to secure my mother a few more years of life till I found her a cure, but the envoys came knocking the day after, congratulating me for my luck and fortune.
After like five minutes of petrification under the eyes of those near-perfect human beings, I finally realized how much I regretted enlisting as a chosen candidate. Alas, it was already too late, and they didn care how I felt.
At least, they allowed me to finish up this letter.
Mother, it was never my intention to abandon you.
Mother, I promise Ill make it back within 10 years.
I know youve heard similar words from a man you once loved but never came back, a family you once cherished but never came knocking, and now a son youve sacrificed the world for but might…
Lets not be pessimistic, look at the bright side.
Your son is now one of The Chosen. Your son might grow into an Immortal, and then make an Immortal out of you. By the time you wake up and our android reads this letter for you, Id have long ascended to the Realms of Immortals.
Wait for my news, Mother.
Yours truly; Leonardo.
The Interstellar Supreme Court governs the ascension of mortals into the Kingdoms of Immortals on a daily basis. Countless candidates of all races file into the establishment from all across the universe in the lower dimensions for a chance at empowering themselves, and their families, or leaving behind a legacy that extends for many generations to come.
Planet Earths yearly quota of 196 candidates was scheduled for today, and the branch office of the ISC was holding an auction to delegate these young talents to the mortals slaves market, as usual.
A massive hall vast enough to host an audience of thousands of people bustled with discussion over the upcoming and new candidates from the lower dimensions. These representatives that come from organizations, major families, royalties, and even individually rich and resourceful immortals are in the trend to buy mortal slaves.
Among the crowd in the VIP chamber on the second floor, an old man and a young heroic lady stood in a dignified posture. Although the occupants of the VIP chamber kept their distance from the pair, it didn contribute to their distinct, overwhelming aura. No, it is more or less derived from their identities and backgrounds.
As exalted as their identities are, it remained a puzzle as to why their clothing was so plain and casual; haggard even. Forget the old man, the young maiden who appeared to be in her mid-twenties wore a long black dress with a pair of cut-short sleeves, bare feet, and a rustic scabbard loosely bound to her waist. However, a dense bloodlust radiated from her petite figure, as though a primal beast in a temporary slumber as she stood their eyes closed.
By her side, the old man was snoring quietly while his old and bedraggled body swayed with the rhythm. Oddly enough, everyones heartbeat fell in sync with his swaying, and their inhales and exhales fell in sync with his snores. It was a bizarre, frightening experience to say the least.
Batch after batch of slave candidates recycled the stage, and the bidding wars broke loose all gates of pretentiousness in mere moments. The candidates who experienced a rude awakening from their delusions about immortality and power stood on the broad stage, as rigid as they were scared, but we
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