Another day another round of explaining to people what’s going on. I’ve been doing this for years now. Going to wherever the Stones are now, telling my story, giving people hope. The World Stones let me find them wherever they are. And under the cover of night I can traverse whole planets. I meet with new people every day. And it’s so strange. And after all this time, it doesn’t get any less strange. It doesn’t get any less sweet. It doesn’t get any less surreptitious. All that has happened is that I expect these feelings now. And I expect the strangeness that comes with them. 

Right now I am in Felikum. It is full of mountains, reaching up tall. Everything is built on these mountains. The ground I am sitting on is slanted hard. I am thankfully on the bottom of the slant, and am able to lean on the walls. We all lean on each other, forming a sort of structure with all of our bodies that gives us strength and support. Which is really poetic, I suppose. It’s amazing how one can find such profound poetry in the most mundane, everyday of experiences. 

“So what are the ways to channel our magic through the stones?” A young woman named Avaldi asks. She is breastfeeding an infant that isn’t actually her’s, while her permanent infant is asleep in his father’s arms.

“You basically have to really feel your magic,” I answer, “really know your magic. And you have to know how your magic connects with the Stone. You have to feel how your magic connects to it.”

“How do we know?” A little boy named Dalliv asks. 

“Good question,” I answer him, “people used to know. All people across the galaxies used to know. But that knowledge has been lost in time, in all the many centuries that we’ve been here, under the boot of the Empire.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, though,” a young man named Caliv responds. 

“You’re right, so it doesn’t,” I agree. “What we have to do now is we have to really feel our connection with the Stone. We have to understand our connection to it. And we can then use that connection to win.”

“So should we practice magic?” An older woman named Karlvi asks. 

“I think we should,” a youth named Afalv answers, “but we should only use it in secret, subtle ways. Ways that the Empire would never find out about.”

“It’s important that the Empire never knows,” A woman, Salavi, echoes. 

“There are small things we can do, subtle things that the Empire will never notice. Things that can help us.” Parvali smiles as they say this, all adolescent hope.

“Like increasing our food stores,” an older man named Dallen says, “that would help a lot.”

“Exactly,” I answer, “and our magic can help us do that. It works mysteriously. It definitely works mysteriously. But it can help us.”

“And when we’re strong enough, when the whole galaxy is strong enough, will we fight?” Dalliv asks. 

“We sure will,” Salavi assures. 

“But how will we make sure the time is right?” Calve, a person in his thirties, asks. 

“I’m not quite sure yet,” I answer honestly. 

“I’m sure the Stones will let us know,” Karlvi answers. 

“Yeah,” Afalv agrees, “we’ll know when the Stones know, we’ll know through our connection with the Stones.”

“And if that fails,” Dallen begins, “I’m sure we’ll be able to find a way to plan and communicate with the others.”

“Yes we will,” Caliv agrees, “we might be able to send someone through the void to communicate with the other planets. We’ll say that they committed suicide. It will definitely be strange that they would choose such a disturbing method to commit suicide but it can be explained.”

“Exactly,” I agree. “We can figure things out.”

One of the two babies, Baivee, is passed to me. And she coos in my arms, reaching her tiny hand up to grasp my nose. She is so sweet. So sweet. I hope we can grow a new world for her, after burning this world down. I hope that she can grow up to inherit the new world. I hope that all the children can. Because they deserve better. They deserve so much better. They deserve to not ever know the bonds that bind us all, the pressure that we struggle to breathe under. 

———

I am hidden away in a hut on the steep mountain sides of Felikum. I am helping the people to feel their power, to channel their power. Hopefully I’m helping the people learn that they have power. Because it’s important for them to know. It’s important for them to know since it gives them hope, it gives them confidence, it gives them courage. It gives them the confidence to do what they need to do in order to become free and it gives them the courage to challenge the status quo. 

There is humming all around me. There is low chanting all around me. I can feel the power pulsating in us, through all our veins. I can feel the power flowing between us, flowing from person to person to person until it flows out into the world. It grows stronger and stronger as it flows between us, flows through us, flows out of us. And with it my energy grows stronger. It grows forever. It grows in ways that I am not able to explain. 

I remember when I used to believe that I had no power. The memory haunts me. It destroys me. It strengthens me. I still often find myself falling into the old pattern. The old pattern of believing that I have nothing, that I am nothing. But I know, deep down, no matter how many ghosts haunt me, I know deep down that I have power. That I am power incarnate. That I am so much more than power incarnate. We all are. 

And I have Arji to thank for me knowing that. Arji and so, so many other people. 

The magic inside of me, inside of all of us, it’s only getting stronger and stronger. And I feel bewildered, ecstatic, untethered. It grows and blooms inside my soul. And then suddenly I’m not here anymore. I am here, absolutely here, tethered to this place and these people, but I’m not here anymore. 

I am standing on a steep mountainside, bathed by lush forests. The forest rises in the gray air as the clouds above us billow. The mountains are rugged and haunting and altogether glorious, tall and jagged and flaming over with emotion. The forest stands tall and green around me, rugged conifers poking out towards the sky. Around me there are shrubs taller than I am, glittering green in the soft light. The ground under me is soft and tangled in roots, dusted over by pine needles, the darkest brown I have witnessed. 

This land is free. This land is sacred. This land is exalted. This land is filled with glory and power and ferocity, simmering with a fierce protective rage against anyone that would strip it bare and leave it for the vultures, with a fierce protective rage against anyone that wouldn’t give it the veneration that it deserves. The rage is for the people, just as much as it is for itself. For the land knows, the land knows that the people need the land. All the trees know. The soft earth knows. The full shrubs know. The pine needles that dot the floor know. The mosses know. The jagged rocks know. The stretching mountains know. 

And I know too. As I stand here, I know beyond doubt that these lands are sacred. I know beyond doubt that these lands are necessary. I know that the lands all around us need the people. And I know that the people need the lands. I know that the people need the lands the way that they need air, the way that they need water, the way that they need each other. I know that they need the lands the way that birds need to sing and the way that trees need to grow. 

And I am home here. I am safe here. I am wanted here. I belong here. Sure, it might not be my original home, the place where I was born. But this place loves me and welcomes me and wants me to be free, to be in love, to be in love with all of the people in all of the galaxy, minus the Imperials of course. This land welcomes me and I belong here, just as I belong on all the colonized planets the whole galaxy over. Just as I belong with all the colonized people the whole galaxy over. 

I feel safe here. I always feel safe when the World Stones transport me to the lands the way they were before, the way they will be after. I still feel the danger in the back of my mind, the danger I have had to live with for all my life, the danger that I will likely have to live with forever. But I know that I am in a place of no danger. I am in a place where I am cared for. I am in a place where I can be, where I can be me, where I can be with everyone. 

The day turns to night and all the conifers are shimmering with stars. It is beyond words. Beyond any type of expression. The mountains are silhouetted dark black against the deep blue of the sky. Somewhere far off in the distance, wolves howl, and it is a haunting melody, reverberating with unity and power. The night is both dark and light as all the thousands of tiny dots of stars glimmer all around us. Each planet has different stars. Which is part of why I love each planet with all of their uniqueness and all of their oneness. 

The night turns back to day and I am sad to leave this world but I understand that much needs to be done in my own world. Much needs to be done in order to create this world. I look at my people, the people all around me, and they are amazed, and they are smiling. We are back in the small room. And we have each other. We have each other. And we have all of the people the whole planet over, all of the people the whole galaxy over. 

The World Stone is covered in jagged rocks. A tiny thing. A dull thing. An unassuming thing. Yet despite that, an unimaginably powerful thing nonetheless. Or perhaps precisely because of that. 

———

I am in Omilia. The water planet. And the rain pours down in great sheets on the roof and walls of the metal hut, sending a calming metallic beat all around. The people around me are the light grey of monsoon clouds. And their deep brown eyes hold secrets beyond the comprehension of the Imperials. I am amazed by them. I am amazed by each and every enslaved person I meet. I am amazed by everything I have seen in my journey throughout these lands. 

In my arms, there is a baby, named Lacita. In the arms of the person across from me is another baby named Callevi. The babies are squirming and giggling, and it fills my heart with a deep contentment that they are here, they are with us, and, most importantly, they have some measure of joy. They still have desecration. They still are hurt in ways that no baby should ever be hurt. They are away from their guardians for most of the day. They are sick and sickly. But still. Still. They can be in our arms nonetheless. They can laugh nonetheless. And that means everything. 

Also around me are people who are brimming with excitement, brimming with surreptitious hope, brimming with secrets. There is Angali, who is a teenage boy with long brown hair and long eyelashes. There is Fayla, his girlfriend, who has a clever grin and sharp eyes. There is Glaya, a girl in her twenties, with eyes much darker and more full of shadows than any twenty-year-old’s eyes should be. And Ginico, who is a person in their thirties with a softness behind their eyes, behind their entire face, that anyone could find comfort in. There is an older man, Clafi, who is soft and kind and worn down, incredibly worn down. 

And of course there is six-year-old Galina and seven-year-old Clalico, who are excitedly conversing with each other, and conversing with whichever one of us joins their adorable little games. They are full of energy, despite being tired. Despite being hungry. They are full of energy because, no matter how undernourished they are, they are still children, and children need to be able to have fun whenever they can, however they can.

It’s something that was always denied to me as a child. 

“I’m so angry.” Ginico’s voice is smouldering. Their eyes are dark. I understand them. I understand the anger they feel. 

“We’ll get our reckoning,” Fayla asserts, “the time will come for them to be afraid instead.”

“And we’re working towards that reckoning right now,” Clafi adds, “we’re working towards the day when they can feel fear.”

“Yes,” I echo, “we are working towards that. And our power will only grow with time. It will only grow as we continue building it. As we continue building our resistance. As we continue building each other.”

“Will our power grow?” Glaya asks, voice solemn, “or will we be defeated again, just as we were defeated before?” 

“No!” Galina states, “we won’t be defeated. Not this time. I promise that we will not be. You will see.”

“But how?” Fayla asks, “the Imperials are so powerful. They defeated us once before, they could easily do it again.”

“Our power will grow,” Angali tells her, “it will grow far beyond their power. We will make it grow far beyond their power. We will work hard and we will work together and we will be ready to fight one day.”

“Yeah!” Clalico pipes in, “we’re all going to try our best! And we’re all going to help each other try our best. Trying our best is what matters and trying our best is what can help us win.”

“We’ll be more organized than before,” Clafi adds in, “all the galaxy will be fighting as one this time. All the galaxy will be fighting together. We were conquered before because we were not all united as one, all of the planets. We were fighting our own fights. But this time we’ve had a lot of time to realize that we are one. This time we will all be fighting as one.”

“If our power is so strong,” Fayla begins, “if our power is so powerful, then how come we have not been able to win up until now? How come we are suffering, and we are suffering, and we are suffering so much? If we are so great, if we are so indomitable, then how come we are suffering so much?” And she has a point. She really does. Her ideas are really well-thought out. This is exactly what I used to think when I was much younger. But still. Still. Just because she has a point doesn’t mean that she’s right.

“Listen,” I start, “I know how you feel. Believe me, I do. It’s exactly the way that I used to feel before. But let me tell you something. The power that the Empire has is built on force. It’s built on superiority. Built on elitism. Built on prejudice and lust and most importantly, greed. All of these things are not sustainable. Their power is not sustainable. It starts out strong. And it stays strong for a long, long time. But it doesn’t last. It eventually crumbles into nothing.”

“Our power isn’t like that,” Glaya adds in, “our power is made of community. It’s made of unity. It’s made of loving each other. It’s made of helping each other. And that is more strong in the long run. That type of power is more strong in the long run. It’s more sustainable. Because that type of power lives and breathes and grows. It grows and it grows and time can only make it stronger, time can only make it bolder. It does not crumble eventually with the years. It sustains itself and builds itself and it rises. And we will sustain ourselves and we will build ourselves and we will rise."