The glow of the monitor painted the room in cold blue light.
Arthur Justus sat motionless at his desk, elbows resting on scattered papers and history books. The screen reflected faintly in his glasses. Outside his window, the night was quiet — too quiet — the kind of stillness that pressed against the ears.
His room smelled faintly of old paper and incense from the shrine he had visited earlier that day.
Seventeen years old. A devout Aelion (A religion that believes in the power of a divine lord and His scriptures). No classmates. No football games. No loud laughter in hallways.
Arthur had long ago left the traditional school system. His parents said it was safer that way. Instead, he studied Aelion scriptures in the shrines, memorizing sacred texts and ancient teachings. At home, he studied history obsessively — revolutions, fallen empires, persecuted minorities, great leaders who rose from nothing.
On the wall above his desk hung portraits clipped from books: conquerors, martyrs, warriors.
He admired men who endured.
A notification blinked on the screen.
GlobalNews Network — Breaking Report.
Arthur clicked.
Civil unrest breaks out in Ledoria.
Aelion extremist factions reportedly responsible for localized violence.
Casualties minimal. Situation under control by Ledorian Army.
The article was short. Too short.
Three paragraphs. No names. No footage. No numbers.
Arthur leaned closer.
"That's it?" he murmured.
His fingers hovered over the mouse before scrolling down to the comments section.
Most were predictable.
"Terrorists."
"It's always them lmao."
"Army should finish them."
Then one comment stood out.
User: AelionWarrior123
"This is a lie. The situation is very different from what you think. Text this number if you want the truth — 09xxx3333210x."
Arthur's pulse quickened.
His eyes flicked to his bedroom door. Closed.
He stared at the number for a long moment.
Curiosity outweighed caution.
He picked up his phone.
"Hello. I came from the comment section."
The typing indicator appeared almost immediately.
"Greetings. Are you here to know the truth?"
Arthur swallowed.
"Yes. What is happening in Ledoria?"
The reply took longer this time.
"It is not a war."
"It is a massacre."
Arthur sat upright.
His mind flashed to the history books stacked beside him — propaganda used to justify slaughter, governments rewriting narratives, minorities labeled as threats.
"What do you mean?"
The reply came
"Thousands are dead already. Tens of thousands taken. Labour camps. Entire neighborhoods wiped clean. The regime calls it counter-terrorism."
Arthur felt something tighten in his chest.
The article had said minimal casualties.
Minimal.
"Is there nothing anyone can do?" he typed.
A pause.
Then:
"There is something. We created one."
Arthur stared at the message.
Before he could react to it, his screen dimmed. A notification popped up.
Parental control activated — 10:00 PM.
His mother's voice echoed faintly from downstairs.
"Arthur. It's bedtime."
He hesitated.
The message glowed on his screen like an unfinished sentence.
Created what?
He locked his phone and set it face down.
Sleep did not come easily.
________________________________________
The next morning, sunlight crept through the curtains in pale stripes.
Arthur reached for his phone before even sitting up.
Two unread message.
"Do you think we would just let them slaughter us and do nothing?"
"We are Aelions."
Arthur read it twice.
There was anger in the words. Pride. Defiance.
But also something else.
Invitation.
His reflection stared back at him in the black glass of the phone screen.
He thought of the shrines. Of sermons about patience and resilience. Of history books filled with people who waited too long — and paid for it.
He locked the phone.
Left the message on read.
He dressed quietly and prepared for the shrine.
He pulled the curtain aside and let the morning light spill into his room.
Across the street, students his age walked together in loose clusters — backpacks slung casually over their shoulders, laughter rising in careless bursts. One boy shoved another playfully. A girl rolled her eyes and smiled.
They belonged somewhere.
Arthur stood still behind the glass.
It was a feeling he had never known — only observed.
He let the curtain fall.
The ride to the shrine was quiet.
His Father drove. The radio murmured softly in the background, some political commentary he wasn't listening to. His phone rested in his lap, screen dark.
But the words from last night echoed anyway.
He stared at his reflection in the window. The passing buildings blurred.
Somewhere inside him, something had begun to stir — not anger exactly. Not yet.
But unease.
The shrine stood calm and untouched by chaos — white walls, arched windows, the faint scent of sandalwood and old paper lingering in the halls.
Arthur took his usual place near the front.
Lessons began.
The Book of Faith was recited first — philosophical passages about the nature of God, purpose, patience.
Then the Book of Rules — the discipline of conduct, the shaping of character, what an ideal Aelion should be.
Finally, the Book of Law and War.
That text was rarely emphasized in modern times. The war chapters were considered historical context — relics of a more violent era.
Yet today, something different happened.
The lecturer paused mid-lesson.
"If a brother among you is oppressed," the elder said calmly, "it is not optional to feel concern. Brotherhood is not symbolic. It is responsibility."
Arthur felt the words settle heavily in his chest.
His mind drifted to Ledoria.
To the message.
To the word massacre.
He quickly forced the thought away.
He was seventeen.
Not a scholar. Not a leader. Not someone qualified to judge political conflicts.
He returned his gaze to the text.
But concentration did not return.
On the ride home, he unlocked his phone.
The message was still there.
"Do you think we would just let them slaughter us and do nothing?"
"We are Aelions."
His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
"What do you mean by that? Perhaps you are one of the criminals creating chaos in Ledoria."
He pressed send.
The reply came almost instantly.
"I know you are not foolish enough to believe we are the villains."
Arthur's heartbeat quickened.
"What do you know about me?"
A pause.
"If you were foolish, you would never have reached out."
Arthur hesitated.
"I cannot help you. I am not even an adult."
The typing indicator blinked again.
"It is not about your ability, It is about whether you truly an Aelion"
There was a long pause before the next message arrived.
"{When news of battle reaches you and the blood of Aelions is spilled, your faith is measured by your decision.}
Book of Law and War — Chapter 3, Verse 26."
Arthur's breath caught.
He did not need to check the book.
He knew the verse by heart.
He had memorized it years ago.
The words had once felt historical.
Now they felt personal.
The car continued moving.
Outside, the world looked ordinary.
Inside, something shifted.
For the first time, this was no longer just a conversation.
It was a doorway.