They Erased My Name from History — Now I Burn Their World
Chapter One: Ashes of the Forgotten
They dismissed it as a mere clerical error — an innocuous slip in the grand machinery of governance.
Just a single lost record, one solitary name adrift in the labyrinthine systems of bureaucracy. A singular life, irretrievably snuffed out from the meticulous archives of the vast and indifferent Dominion.
But I remember everything. Every detail remains seared into my memory, each moment agonizingly vivid.
I remember the terrifying flame that claimed my family, an inferno that consumed not just flesh and bone but also love, laughter, and the very essence of home. I can still feel the weight of the heavy, army-style boots that trampled through the ashes of my past, smothering any shred of hope I had left. The suffocating silence that enveloped me in the aftermath of the tragedy is a haunting afterthought; it's the dispassionate void I fell into after crying out for justice, only to be met with the metallic indifference of a system designed to overlook pain and suffering. In that moment, I knew I wasn't merely forgotten.
I was systematically erased.
Methodically, they stripped my name from the census rolls, rendering me invisible in a society that prides itself on order and historical record. They obliterated my existence from the sacred temple registries, ensuring that my birth would forever fade from collective memory. They incinerated the archives — charred remnants of school rosters and city permits — where once my face smiled back at the innocent seasons of youth, a face that now lay buried in the ashes of their treachery, as if I had never inhaled the sweet air of life, never bled when scraped, never shed tears in moments of despair. It was as if I had existed as a phantom, stripped of all meaning, all significance. As if I were nothing at all.
But I am still here, lingering on the peripheries of their carefully curated paradise.
I exist in the unseen cracks of their ostentatiously perfect world — a ghost weaving through the ruins they fought so hard to conceal. The Dominion, in its overweening arrogance, believes itself invincible, clad in sleek polished chrome and capable of entrancing speech delivered in synthetic tones so devoid of warmth. Yet, beneath the sterile shell of its proclaimed ideals, it bleeds like any living entity, as vulnerable as the very people it seeks to control. I have seen that blood spill, dark and visceral, staining their shallow facade. And soon, it will drown in its own lifeblood, a retribution long overdue.
Tonight, I return to the citadel where my nightmare began — a place steeped in memories of grief and betrayal.
The air is thick with the sharp scents of iron and ozone, a foreboding blend that speaks of high-voltage death mingling with the polished veneer of tyranny. The watchtowers loom imposing against the twilight, their silhouettes sharp as jagged teeth against the fading sky, while drones flit about overhead like ominous steel locusts, ever watchful and ever hungry. I move stealthily in the shadows of their palpable arrogance, embodying the silence of a predator awaiting the perfect moment to strike — patient, observant. Just as they trained me to be, back in the days when I was a weapon forged to serve their endless wars. Before they so callously turned on me, transforming me from ally to enemy.
The access node to the heart of the city still pulses beneath the expansive surface plaza, an undercurrent of power waiting to be tapped. It lies buried beneath the towering statue of Supreme Architect Mavros, a false titan who signed my erasure with the flick of a pen — the very man who gleefully abolishd my existence. His bronze visage looks down upon me, radiating an eerie calm, forever frozen in time, untouchable.
In a fit of defiance, I spit on its cold surface.
With fingers worn and calloused from a lifetime of survival and hardship, I deftly twist open the ancient interface. The technology is old but still recognizes the unique signature of my DNA. They may have scrubbed my name from their bloated databases, but they have failed to erase the essence of my being rooted deep within my blood.
Identity not found. Access granted.
Excellent. They constructed their empire atop the ashes of forgotten souls like mine — now it's time to turn their arrogance back against them.
The Dominion has taken everything from me: my home, my name, my dreams of a future that now seem impossibly distant. And now?
Now, it is my turn to reclaim what is rightfully mine.
Let the world burn.
To be continued...