Excerpt One: Kingdom Come

Dearly beloved,


How I wish you could see the skies of Jupiter, as blue as Earth’s, then bluer still.


How strange it is, indeed, that I am home once more, yet I feel that I left my home on Earth. I suppose I owe you an explanation, though I don’t imagine myself ever sending this letter.


Take yourself back, back to the very beginning. The others don’t remember how it all began, or at least claim not to, so when the time came, they told a story of Chaos and calamity. In the stories, everything – or most of it – came from Mars; that much is true.


Life in this system began on Mars, with the birth of the lord planets. We were created out of the fire that runs through the red world’s veins, but that is where the resemblance to the legends breaks down.


We found ourselves on a barren, desolate Mars, lifeless much as you’ve always assumed it to be. Lifeless, that is, save for us. Resheph and I came into being first, and formed an alliance that to this day has never been broken. One by one, the Gods of the Nine Worlds joined us – Venus, Saturn, Mercury, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto, in that order. The Goddess of Earth never came, and is to this day a mystery. Some say she died of loneliness, waiting for us. Others believe that she resides somewhere on her homeworld, latent, waiting for the right time to save us all. I’ve walked on your world; pray, then, that the others are wrong about her. The worlds overseen by most of us are far worse off than your water world – there is oppression on Saturn the likes of which are unparalleled on Earth, and war, endless, bitter war between the worlds.


The last war – the war to end all wars, as it were – was the bloodiest. It spilt onto Jovian soil, and I, coward that I am, ordered the Lord Planets to abdicate their thrones and retreat to Earth, the last isle of neutrality in the system. I should have stayed my hand; I should have stood and fight.


I didn’t.


We agreed to scatter across what was left of your world, torn by its own wars as it was. We arrived in the middle of the Third World War, but by the time the Fourth broke out, some of the colder worlds were discontent with waiting, and feeling that the Earth would be better off with their assistance, sold a shipment of weapons to the North American Empire. Needless to say, they very quickly fell into the wrong hands – aren’t all of our hands blood-stained, in possession of such weapons of mass destruction, though?


Within days, the war was over, having been lost by all parties involved, even those of us who kept our neutrality to the last.


We reconvened, and it was decided that some of us should stay on Earth to do damage control in the event that our weapons resurfaced. By all but one vote – Resheph’s, predictably – Pluto and I were chosen to stay. To my knowledge, Pluto still walks among you, and likely will for a while – he likes the climate.


And that’s our story – the story of my failure.


Yours forever,




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A poet driven by the quill, a dreamer of impossible dreams, a lover of that which the world has deemed unlovable. We're all stories in the end. This is mine.

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