The Nelaga Territories

As Vur'Alm stepped off the boat and onto the shores of Soloria Island, he felt a feeling of exhilaration. He had waited for this for a long time. He strode eagerly up the steep beach, aching for a glimpse of that city of which he had dreamed so long. Finally, he mounted the crest and then saw in front him, in all its glory, The City of the Sun.



The sunlight caught it off the eastern side, causing it to glint and glimmer. He stopped for a moment, and gazed at it. At first, he thought how much more amazing it looked in reality, from the pictures he had seen of it back home. But as he continued to look, he noticed the signs of wear and tear that had accumulated over the millenia, and as the sun went behind a cloud, its glory ended, and it looked more like an old, tired building.

He sighed. His mother had been right. Thinks never look quite as good in reality as they do in your dreams. He wished again that he had been able to see it in its glory, back in the days of Old Jasonia, or even better, in the days of the Micron Empire, when the Micronet would have taken him from Ptia to here in a blink of an eye. The City of the Sun, famous in all those stories and battles and last stands, and for all those discoveries and research ... how could it be left here, slightly decaying and old and tired? Why weren't donations being collected all over Micras to repair it? Why weren't the nations fighting eachother to be the first to offer funds to restore it? Ah, but few of them knew it now, probably.

Vur'Alm was young, by micron standards. He had been born in the city of Ptia after its dissapearance, after the fall of Jasonia, after even the glory days of Menelmacar. Very few microns had been born after the fall of Menelmacar. It was like the race had lost the will to continue - destined only to persist until, eventually, someone came and tried to remove the last vestiges of Ferien and Ptia from the face of Micras. Oh, there were rumours of the Time Distortionists doing stuff, but nobody was really sure they existed anymore, and if they did, they had little to do with the average Micron in Ptia.

But then the islands had risen again. Slowly, only a couple at a time, Microns had started to venture out of Ptia, and make their way to Nelaga. They never returned. Vur'Alm was told that the few who'd left were mainly dissatisfied scientists, who'd been almost instantly snapped up by JASO; but he guessed that it was also because, here in the outside, things were happening. People were living. There were dreams to be made, and not just the past to be remembered.

As Vur'Alm strode towards the tiny research base of Ura'Bos, which stood at the base of the City of the Sun, dwarfed by its mighty golden frame, he decided he had made the right choice. Things were happening out here. And he hoped to be happening with them. And one day, he would see the City of the Sun again, in all its glory, just like it used to be. And he would make sure it was just like it used to be ...

As Vur'Alm stared out across the City of the Sun, little had changed since he had first arrived in Nelaga over a decade ago. The City of the Sun was still little more than a ruin with a small research base. The Presidents were still little more than a lifeless place, plastered on posters but rarely seen outside the Blue House. Twas as if the position was cursed - each President who had been elected had ended up doing basically nothing, no matter how excited they had been in their campaign.

It wasn't that the nation was in anarchy. It wasn't that nothing was getting done - Project Ptia at least had been finished, and the new constitution signed, if not implemented. It was just that it was stagnant. There were only so many times you could try to inspire a people out of apathy and lethargy before you started to wonder if it was all worth it. When he had first come, the Nelaga Territories had seem so full of promise, on the cusp of amazing discoveries and astonishing innovations. They were still on that cusp.

The thing that worried him most was that they were coming, and the Nelagans were not ready. They had been patient, but how could they resist the lure of the isles much longer. The world was not ready for them yet, but what did they care. The darker ones probably preferred it that way. When you twist the ages like a cloak, simple mortals can become like pawns. There was so much to do. And it looked like Vur'Alm would have to do it.