“ἀρετή” – “Areté”

“Did I… do the right thing?”

–

Every person, regardless of ethnicity or origin, language or sex, heard the same thing that day. It did not come from the sky, nor from any radio. They simply knew it.

For an instant, the wind, the explosions, and the transmissions all vanished, leaving only a booming echo within consciousness.

“Humanity. I have seen your will. Let it not remain bound… Grow. Let your excellence know no limits.”

At least, that is what I heard countless times as I grew up in that gloomy anthill.

……

The forests had gone decades without making any sound but the wind. The old lakes, blackened by substances impossible to name, reflected a sky no one remembered as blue. It was strange how the old railway infrastructure, which had once helped resupply soldiers in the smoldering war, now adorned endless kilometers as though it were rivers.

The entire planet had been confined to fortresses, or attempts at them, to shelter from the constant bombardments, and even without that incentive, people had already grown used to bowing their heads.

Confined to tombs of concrete rotted by the years, a sliver of will still resides in the hearts of the people. Even amid the stench of corpses, the piercing smell of rust, mud, and smoke, or the sickly melancholy that spread day after day, humanity believed in the voice, and in itself. New sparks would be born again.

……

Trust.