Fan Fiction ❯ Forgotten Past of a Dreamer ❯ Prologue (Revised) ( Prologue )

Prologue

"The Legend of the Nomacians"

Step through the door of eternity and you will find me. I am Renecia, Holy Angel and protector of this world and all of its realms. I keep watch over all those below me and follow only Celestia, the Supreme Being, and the ruler over us all. Although, I wasn't always what I am today - the Holy Angel, that is. I was once normal - or as normal as you can be, being a Nomacian, a child of Celestia.

You see Nomacians are like super-humans. We have the ability to manipulate matter. All matter. The more that exists, the more we are, the more we can become.

But to be given such a power is some-how a reason to have a price put on you and to be hunted like deer during the hunting season. That's what happened to my people. We were chased to the ends of the earth, then killed. Our screams were heard by no one as we were beaten to death by the hands of men who killed us only because they feared us.

That is how I came to be the Holy Angel. I died long ago at the hand of some beast that dares call himself a man. I was beaten with a wooden club until my ribs were broken and I could no longer breathe. I didn't struggle, however, and I didn't fight. It would have been against the laws of my people. Anyway, to have done so would have made me no better then them. I had taken a vow to never slay a human soul, as did all of my people. And we died because of it.

To become the Holy Angel, you had to have once been alive. You had to know that the Holy Angel was always Nomacian. Only those with Celestia's blood could be the Holy Angel. You also had to know that they wouldn't remain the Holy Angel forever. Even in their spiritual form, Holy Angels grow weak, like all things do over time. So, a replacement is in order after a century. Nothing is ever constant in the realm of eternity.

The first step to becoming the Holy Angel however, is the mark of Celestia's blessing. I had a mark on my shoulder in my physical form, which symbolized the fact that I had the ability to become the Holy Angel. When I was killed, there was no guarantee that I would ascend to become her. I could have gone to heaven like everyone else. But the previous Holy Angel chose me and I took her job. Only the present Holy Angel or Celestia can choose the next Holy Angel.

So here I am, Holy Angel for this existing century, but I am worried. The Nomacians are almost gone. There are less than two-dozen of my kind left on this planet. Most are in hiding, hoping the normal humans have forgotten about them. They are without hope, holding on to only the stories of our greatness passed down from the elders.

But we have one thing on our side. If a human mates with a Nomacian, their offspring will always be Nomacian.

As a Holy Angel, I have been able to see all things for what they truly are. Not all humans are bad. But what if the Nomacians can't put the ancient grudge behind them? Will we die out? I cannot remain Holy Angel forever. My powers will gradually cease to exist and without a Holy Angel, this planet will collapse into nothingness.

I have but one hope. Two years ago, my kind made a reappearance. There was a secret war between them and the norm (our word for normal humans). We fought back - something we had never done before.

Oh, this is too difficult trying to explain this to you. Come here and I'll let you see with my memory what happened two years ago………

2 Years Ago, the year 2000

The air was hot and dry in the barren wasteland where two cloaked figures stood, but there was a gentle wind, and they were thankful.

"In the middle of a desert?" a young man dressed in a deep tan hooded robe asked. "Why would they pick the middle of a desert?"

"Because…" began the girl beside him who wore a hunter green robe, "there isn't much that we can use to protect ourselves with."

"That's not true. We could summon a wall of sand. If they dared to walk into it, they'd be crushed to death."

The girl looked up at the sky. "I trust they won't be coming by foot. Anyways, they know about our pact. They know we would never kill them."

"But they also know that we won't go down easily." He threw off his robe exposing bright, emerald-green, spiky hair, matching emerald green eyes, and light mint colored skin. He wore normal clothes, though. He had baggy jeans and a loose black tee shirt on. He rose, floating above the sand. "Come on, now. Don't be shy. Our foes will be arriving soon."

The girl nodded and threw off her robe as well. She was entirely green as well. Her hair, however, was long and wavy and rested just above her hips. She wore black pants and a purple and black striped top. Neither of them looked like they were going to battle.

A jet plane roared above them, and inside the pilot prepared to attack them. He had urgent, top-secret instructions. He would bomb them with both explosives and chemical weapons. He was to be sure they died. But curious like any other human, he had heard that Nomacians were not like any other humans in appearance and had to get a look for himself. He dove down low as to better his view when he realized something. He grabbed his radio. "I can't do this! They're only children!" he called.

An angry voice came answered him. "Just do it. These are dangerous people. They may appear to be children only to fool you. You have been well informed of their shape-shifting capabilities. Anyways, if you don't do this, you're as good as dead."

The pilot gulped and readied his missiles. "Yes, sir!"

Down below, a third figure joined the two children. This was an older man, a Nomacian like the others. "What are you doing here?" he exclaimed. "Our kind agreed not to meet the norms like this. No one is supposed to be here!"

"We can't keep running!" the boy cried back. "We can't keep allowing this abuse. We can't even be born in regular hospitals because we have to fear the norms taking us away when we're babies! I refuse to live like this any longer. This is not how I want to live!"

The pilot locked onto his targets. "I'm going in…" he told headquarters.

The girl turned to the two men fighting. "Stop this! They're going to attack now. We have to run!" She was ignored.

The missiles launched, and the two were still arguing.

"We are going to die!" the girl screamed.

"Well isn't that what you wanted for coming out here?" the man yelled, finally paying attention to her. He turned, and then saw the missiles. His face became pale with terror. "I think this is it," he whispered.

"No! I will not be taken down like this." The boy raised his hands and the missiles turned back and struck the plane, causing it to explode. All three were thrown off their feet and fell to the ground. The boy was already unconscious from using so much power, but the girl and the man weren't.

"Daddy…" she said weakly. "I'm so sorry… so sorry. I just wish I could forget…everything…"

That has been the story of my people's lives for many generations. It is a prime example of everything we have had to go through. No matter what we seem to do, it gets us dead. But that is what is remarkable about this story. Those three lived. We fought back and lived.

We lived.

So, now I leave you to learn about my people through the eyes of another. One girl. One girl who wanted to forget.