The
sequel to Dawn of the War
It had been long since they had taken up this task. The Guardian had, of nowhere, arisen and proclaimed that the task of the Princess was his to undertake. And yet, his proclamation was not of nowhere. Perhaps his motivation could be said to be "divinely inspired," if all that is surreal is divine. But it is not necessarily. Divine, no – enigmatic, without doubt.
And perhaps had it not been for this enigma driving the Guardian, the world would have already been lost. It had led him to the Grand Conservatory, where he had been able to find Relics which, along with the wisdom of Charles in the final hours, had arguably deferred the destruction of the chief opposition to the Robotnik tyranny, which would have left that tyranny unchecked – and it had possibly deferred the gradual destruction of the world as well, at the hand of Chaos as wielded by Robotnik with his great Tower, the Tower which had been incapacitated in a cataclysm of titans.
And now this enigma had led him here. To realize his duty. He was, after all, Guardian of the once-floating Angel Island, and of the Emerald of Chaos that had suspended it in the sky not so very long ago. Was it not, then, as the enigma implored, his obligation to pursue its return to the dais, that the island might ascend again? And also that the power of Chaos might not fall to Robotnik – to evil – and propagate Entropy?
And so it was this that had brought him, and his companions, here, in bleak search of the emerald. Day was breaking again; the search was now routine, but no less tireless, draining, and dull. Day in, day out.
They had not kept track of how long it had been since they began the undertaking of this seemingly-hopeless search, which had been intended, through Charles' planning, to have been made easier, and of a smaller radius, than it would be for Robotnik, but still seemed like the search for the needle in the haystack. Perhaps, though, they were just unlucky. To his companions, the Guardian did not seem to tire, though within he still carried the burden of resentment. The tumultuous events of recent history had exacerbated this burden, but long had he bore an emptiness caused by the loss of his father and his home. The latter still existed, yet did not. The Island of his home still was, but its population was not. And the lack of an explanation for their disappearance sucked at his soul. But recently his burden had grown heavier. When Angel Island – the Floating Island – had been invaded by armies of machines, this was the beginning. When he had been guiled into relieving the dais of the emerald in order to save his friends whom Robotnik held captive, opening the Chaos chamber for the despot, his world had fallen apart; Robotnik had kept his promise to free his friends – the only "family" he knew on the now-desolate island – releasing them, with great laughter, off the edge of the falling Island, separating the Guardian from them – and he had set out in search of them, and also subsequently the Emerald, which – now reunited with his companions – he now sought with renewed strength.
And somewhere in the midst of it all, the enigma, the voice which spoke to him in his mind, had appeared to instruct him, yet leave him yearning for light in a darkness of ignorance. And he had felt as a puppet, his will and volition at the whim of the tugs the enigma made on the string. And still his actions were directed by this enigmatic voice. Still he lacked the understanding of the big picture. Still the Guardian was left perhaps more in the dark than in the light, satiated just enough to keep him in check.
And the way in which the Guardian was being watched was not new; it had been the way for many generations now. But the current Guardian faced special circumstances in the disappearance of the people of Angel Island.
And while he carried these burdens, he still remained determined in his mission.
"Alright, it's time to get up," ordered the Guardian. "We've got more ground to cover today."
The crocodile he was instructing rolled over wearily, and seemed to open his eyes and look up at his waker before rolling back onto his side, without a word. Clearly he was not thrilled at the prospect of leaving his sleep right now. Perhaps he was dreaming some especially pleasant dream, and by closing his eyes the dream was perpetuated, and the shattering of the dream and the memory of the dream so often caused by waking was deferred for a while as he tricked his mind into continuing the sleeping consciousness. It didn't last long, though, as he was violently shaken – by what appeared to be nothing at all! Shaken by an invisible force. The crocodile's eyes shot open as he seemed to be experiencing an earthquake whose radius contained only him. The Guardian smirked, knowing full well what was going on.
"W'zat?!" The crocodile looked panickedly about, trying to, through the groggy cloud that hung over him in his just-now-awoken state of consciousness, identify the source of his violent rousing. Finding none, he angrily gritted his teeth and pointed an accusatory finger at the Guardian. "Are you behind this, Knux?!"
The Guardian smirked, and, turning his palms skyward with a slight shrug of his shoulders, simply stated, "I didn't do nothing."
A "humph" was heard, but it had no visible vessel; and then its vessel appeared. A chameleon materialized, unshrouded of his cloak.
"Espio, you bastard," barked the crocodile.
Espio smirked wryly, but said nothing.
The crocodile, still in a state of stupor, not fully awake, simply stood, and also said nothing.
And there was a silence.
So the Guardian broke it. "We should get going." He crossed his arms. "Let's get the others up."
"Should I do the honors?" leered Espio.
The Guardian's mouth turned up slightly on his left. "Nah, I'll wake up Mighty. Feel free to startle Charmy if you'd like though."
The Guardian turned around and approached the sleeping armadillo on the ground. "Alright, Mighty, let's go." The Guardian nudged him slightly with his foot, and Mighty the armadillo was soon on his own feet.
A buzz flitted by the Guardian's left ear, and he knew that Charmy the bee was awake.
"Alright, guys, what's our game plan for today?"
Espio unrolled a map upon the soil. The map had been printed for the Princess by Sir Charles, and when the Guardian and his companions had taken over the task of the Princess' appointed task force, they had handed the map over to him. There was a circle printed on the map by machine, and this was the radius which Sir Charles had predicted the hovercraft containing the emerald should have fallen within. Then there were hand-drawn lines, forming a grid pattern, and these were the sections which Espio, Charmy, and the Guardian had fabricated and delineated in order to make their planning easier. Espio had marked off the gridboxes which they had already searched. From outward appearances, it would seem they were not quite halfway done with all the map's areas. Of course, they could X off every box on the map and still not find the emerald. This would mean that either the emerald had landed within Charles' radius, and they had simply failed to find it; in this case, they would have to start the search all over – or, it could mean that Charles had miscalculated the erratic crash landing of the unmanned ship which contained the emerald, and that it had landed outside of this radius; in this case, they would probably find themselves almost as lost as Robotnik, who was searching for the Chaos emerald about false coordinates Charles had planted in order to lead Robotnik away from the Princess' – and now the Chaotix's – real search for the emerald, and they would have to continuously enlarge the radius until they found the emerald. If they reached that point, things would probably seem more hopeless than they already seemed.
"As always, we're going to try to cover two sectors today," said Charmy in his childish voice that betrayed his true sophistication. "But we'll stop at one if we need the rest."
"This one first." Espio pointed. "Then this one if we have the time and energy."
"Vector and Charmy, you take the first column," said the Guardian. "Espio and Mighty, you take the second; I'll take the third. Make some noise if you find anything. Otherwise we'll all meet at the other end and decide if we want to try for another section."
The Guardian usually tried to alternate the groups so that he got a chance to work with different friends; he tried to create pairs so that if the emerald was present, and one person missed it, the other would hopefully notice it; but he would often also work alone, as he did today, because he knew that in reality he was not alone, and thus when he worked alone there were three pairs. And now he took this opportunity to walk alone in order to converse.
"Okay?"
"Alright, Charmy, l'zgo," said Vector with a nod.
"Alright, we'll meet up later," said Espio with an okay of his hand.
They set out.
The Guardian began into his appointed third, scanning and pacing in search of the emerald. And once he was alone, he also now listened. He was listening for he who made him not alone. But while he listened, he persisted in his vigilant search.
And then his listening was answered.
"Koukennin."
"Yes."
"Your patience is waning."
"No, my patience is not waning. My want to know is growing."
The Guardian carried out this conversation while still focusing his energy and concentration on searching out, as thoroughly as possible, every spot of his assigned area with the hope of finding the downed hovercraft that should contain the emerald, or if the emerald had been separated from it, then the emerald itself. Finding the hovercraft, though, even if it did not still contain the emerald, would provide a great boost in morale and also a substantial clue to the location of the emerald; it should not have landed so far from the hovercraft, or at least this was what he hoped.
"Have I not nourished you?"
"You told me about echidna history, and about the Conservatory. You told me I must fulfill my duty. But you haven't told me why! There are so many questions I have asked you but you only answer what you can answer without cluing me in to something more. Tell me, then, if you wanna nourish me, who are you? I know you won't answer that question, so let me ask some more: tell me, why must I retrieve the emerald? It is my duty, but why is it my duty? Is the Island not perfectly fine as it is now, an island in the water? Or tell me why all the people of the Island are gone! Tell me what happened to everyone that lived on the Island. I knew and lived with them in my childhood, but one day they just weren't there anymore!"
"I have answered your question. Chaos holds enormous power, and it must not fall to evil."
"But you want the emerald to be put back on the Island. You want a Floating Island again. What does that have to do with evil?"
"That is not important. The place of the jewel is upon the dais."
"Then answer my other question: what happened to all the people of Angel Island?"
"That question is inextricably linked to the first. It is why the Island must ascend."
"That's not an answer. How can you call this nourishment? All you do is whet my appetite!"
There was a pause. The Guardian, still intent on his search, sought not to fill the silence, and simply left the emptiness hanging, replacing it with his visual search and his present assignment.
And so he continued, in his narrow zigzagging pattern, trying to cover as much ground within his allotted space as possible. The conversation dropped off with that awkward, unanswered implorement. And the Guardian, because he was preoccupied with his task, did not feel anger at this point. But later he would have time to be bitter and resentful at being left so much in the dark, so unable to have his questions answered and his mind filled.
It was in this dark place that the proposal was made to
me.
"You have a choice," they told me. "You can choose life, or you can choose death."
Who would choose death? Those with the knife of the fate Atropos, wishing to cut all the strings attached to this polar proposition.
And wasn't I dead already? She was gone; and I had told her with great love that I could not live without her. And now I had been banished from Haven, into this place of darkness. I could not even discern my addressee who offered me life.
"I have a choice?" I asked.
"You have garnered some sympathy from a few."
"All I want is to see her again."
"The girl? I'm sorry, but you can never return to the earth. The Brotherhood would destroy you; they hold the Eye of the City."
"Then I choose death."
The
Guardian met up with his companions rather uneventfully as they concluded their
search of the sector.
"Well, guys, up for another one?"
"Sure, I guess," Mighty shrugged.
"Nah, lez give it a rest," Vector the crocodile dissented.
"And let the rest of the day go to waste? We made good time!" contested Espio.
"He's right," said Charmy. "We did finish quicker than we usually do. We might as well take advantage."
"Whatever. I don' care," resigned Vector.
Now that he had had a chance to break from his intense concentration on the search, the Guardian's mind had wandered… and it had returned to his conversation with the enigmatic voice. Now the Guardian recalled this conversation, and was filled with anger. Before, it had been that the voice would simply tell him "I cannot tell you now," or "now is not the time," or "that is not important." But this time it had flatly refused to answer. He had implored to know what had happened to the people of Angel Island, and, upon insisting for a real answer, the voice had simply severed communication. Cold silence is atrophic. The voice hadn't even dignified him with a response. It had spoken with cold silence. And cold silence is atrophic.
So the Guardian was so buried in his own thoughts that he didn't even hear Espio calling his name. "Knuckles! Knuckles?"
Espio tapped him on the shoulder, and he was started from his thoughts. "Yeah?" he said nonchalantly.
"We're going to go for another sector. That alright with you?"
He shrugged. It would probably take his mind off of the anger, but, he realized, it would also mean he was complying with the voice. By continuing the search for the emerald, he would be complying with its wishes, and thus implicitly condoning its treatment of him. But, he decided, he wasn't about to just give up the search now after having worked for so long on it; he wasn't about to waste all that time just yet. The voice would speak to him again, and he could express his disapproval at that point. For now, he would continue on. Of course, he realized, he had long been expressing his disapproval. And it hadn't won him any more information. He put that aside, though, and turned to Espio. "Yeah, alright, let's go."
When they
had concluded their search of the second sector for the day, they set up camp
for the night. They made small talk, and Espio X'd off two more boxes on the map's
artificial grid. Often they'd even sit
in a circle and play a game of cards, be it poker, or pusoy, or bridge, as the
sun set. But there wasn't all that much they could do for entertainment while confined to one place
in preparation for the adjacent search tomorrow. It was just another day. And they did tonight what they had done every
other night since the beginning of this undertaking.
It had been long since they had taken up this task. The Guardian had, of nowhere, arisen and proclaimed that the task of the Princess was his to undertake. And yet, his proclamation was not of nowhere. Perhaps his motivation could be said to be "divinely inspired," if all that is surreal is divine. But it is not necessarily. Divine, no – enigmatic, without doubt.
And perhaps had it not been for this enigma driving the Guardian, the world would have already been lost. It had led him to the Grand Conservatory, where he had been able to find Relics which, along with the wisdom of Charles in the final hours, had arguably deferred the destruction of the chief opposition to the Robotnik tyranny, which would have left that tyranny unchecked – and it had possibly deferred the gradual destruction of the world as well, at the hand of Chaos as wielded by Robotnik with his great Tower, the Tower which had been incapacitated in a cataclysm of titans.
And now this enigma had led him here. To realize his duty. He was, after all, Guardian of the once-floating Angel Island, and of the Emerald of Chaos that had suspended it in the sky not so very long ago. Was it not, then, as the enigma implored, his obligation to pursue its return to the dais, that the island might ascend again? And also that the power of Chaos might not fall to Robotnik – to evil – and propagate Entropy?
And so it was this that had brought him, and his companions, here, in bleak search of the emerald. Day was breaking again; the search was now routine, but no less tireless, draining, and dull. Day in, day out.
They had not kept track of how long it had been since they began the undertaking of this seemingly-hopeless search, which had been intended, through Charles' planning, to have been made easier, and of a smaller radius, than it would be for Robotnik, but still seemed like the search for the needle in the haystack. Perhaps, though, they were just unlucky. To his companions, the Guardian did not seem to tire, though within he still carried the burden of resentment. The tumultuous events of recent history had exacerbated this burden, but long had he bore an emptiness caused by the loss of his father and his home. The latter still existed, yet did not. The Island of his home still was, but its population was not. And the lack of an explanation for their disappearance sucked at his soul. But recently his burden had grown heavier. When Angel Island – the Floating Island – had been invaded by armies of machines, this was the beginning. When he had been guiled into relieving the dais of the emerald in order to save his friends whom Robotnik held captive, opening the Chaos chamber for the despot, his world had fallen apart; Robotnik had kept his promise to free his friends – the only "family" he knew on the now-desolate island – releasing them, with great laughter, off the edge of the falling Island, separating the Guardian from them – and he had set out in search of them, and also subsequently the Emerald, which – now reunited with his companions – he now sought with renewed strength.
And somewhere in the midst of it all, the enigma, the voice which spoke to him in his mind, had appeared to instruct him, yet leave him yearning for light in a darkness of ignorance. And he had felt as a puppet, his will and volition at the whim of the tugs the enigma made on the string. And still his actions were directed by this enigmatic voice. Still he lacked the understanding of the big picture. Still the Guardian was left perhaps more in the dark than in the light, satiated just enough to keep him in check.
And the way in which the Guardian was being watched was not new; it had been the way for many generations now. But the current Guardian faced special circumstances in the disappearance of the people of Angel Island.
And while he carried these burdens, he still remained determined in his mission.
"Alright, it's time to get up," ordered the Guardian. "We've got more ground to cover today."
The crocodile he was instructing rolled over wearily, and seemed to open his eyes and look up at his waker before rolling back onto his side, without a word. Clearly he was not thrilled at the prospect of leaving his sleep right now. Perhaps he was dreaming some especially pleasant dream, and by closing his eyes the dream was perpetuated, and the shattering of the dream and the memory of the dream so often caused by waking was deferred for a while as he tricked his mind into continuing the sleeping consciousness. It didn't last long, though, as he was violently shaken – by what appeared to be nothing at all! Shaken by an invisible force. The crocodile's eyes shot open as he seemed to be experiencing an earthquake whose radius contained only him. The Guardian smirked, knowing full well what was going on.
"W'zat?!" The crocodile looked panickedly about, trying to, through the groggy cloud that hung over him in his just-now-awoken state of consciousness, identify the source of his violent rousing. Finding none, he angrily gritted his teeth and pointed an accusatory finger at the Guardian. "Are you behind this, Knux?!"
The Guardian smirked, and, turning his palms skyward with a slight shrug of his shoulders, simply stated, "I didn't do nothing."
A "humph" was heard, but it had no visible vessel; and then its vessel appeared. A chameleon materialized, unshrouded of his cloak.
"Espio, you bastard," barked the crocodile.
Espio smirked wryly, but said nothing.
The crocodile, still in a state of stupor, not fully awake, simply stood, and also said nothing.
And there was a silence.
So the Guardian broke it. "We should get going." He crossed his arms. "Let's get the others up."
"Should I do the honors?" leered Espio.
The Guardian's mouth turned up slightly on his left. "Nah, I'll wake up Mighty. Feel free to startle Charmy if you'd like though."
The Guardian turned around and approached the sleeping armadillo on the ground. "Alright, Mighty, let's go." The Guardian nudged him slightly with his foot, and Mighty the armadillo was soon on his own feet.
A buzz flitted by the Guardian's left ear, and he knew that Charmy the bee was awake.
"Alright, guys, what's our game plan for today?"
Espio unrolled a map upon the soil. The map had been printed for the Princess by Sir Charles, and when the Guardian and his companions had taken over the task of the Princess' appointed task force, they had handed the map over to him. There was a circle printed on the map by machine, and this was the radius which Sir Charles had predicted the hovercraft containing the emerald should have fallen within. Then there were hand-drawn lines, forming a grid pattern, and these were the sections which Espio, Charmy, and the Guardian had fabricated and delineated in order to make their planning easier. Espio had marked off the gridboxes which they had already searched. From outward appearances, it would seem they were not quite halfway done with all the map's areas. Of course, they could X off every box on the map and still not find the emerald. This would mean that either the emerald had landed within Charles' radius, and they had simply failed to find it; in this case, they would have to start the search all over – or, it could mean that Charles had miscalculated the erratic crash landing of the unmanned ship which contained the emerald, and that it had landed outside of this radius; in this case, they would probably find themselves almost as lost as Robotnik, who was searching for the Chaos emerald about false coordinates Charles had planted in order to lead Robotnik away from the Princess' – and now the Chaotix's – real search for the emerald, and they would have to continuously enlarge the radius until they found the emerald. If they reached that point, things would probably seem more hopeless than they already seemed.
"As always, we're going to try to cover two sectors today," said Charmy in his childish voice that betrayed his true sophistication. "But we'll stop at one if we need the rest."
"This one first." Espio pointed. "Then this one if we have the time and energy."
"Vector and Charmy, you take the first column," said the Guardian. "Espio and Mighty, you take the second; I'll take the third. Make some noise if you find anything. Otherwise we'll all meet at the other end and decide if we want to try for another section."
The Guardian usually tried to alternate the groups so that he got a chance to work with different friends; he tried to create pairs so that if the emerald was present, and one person missed it, the other would hopefully notice it; but he would often also work alone, as he did today, because he knew that in reality he was not alone, and thus when he worked alone there were three pairs. And now he took this opportunity to walk alone in order to converse.
"Okay?"
"Alright, Charmy, l'zgo," said Vector with a nod.
"Alright, we'll meet up later," said Espio with an okay of his hand.
They set out.
The Guardian began into his appointed third, scanning and pacing in search of the emerald. And once he was alone, he also now listened. He was listening for he who made him not alone. But while he listened, he persisted in his vigilant search.
And then his listening was answered.
"Koukennin."
"Yes."
"Your patience is waning."
"No, my patience is not waning. My want to know is growing."
The Guardian carried out this conversation while still focusing his energy and concentration on searching out, as thoroughly as possible, every spot of his assigned area with the hope of finding the downed hovercraft that should contain the emerald, or if the emerald had been separated from it, then the emerald itself. Finding the hovercraft, though, even if it did not still contain the emerald, would provide a great boost in morale and also a substantial clue to the location of the emerald; it should not have landed so far from the hovercraft, or at least this was what he hoped.
"Have I not nourished you?"
"You told me about echidna history, and about the Conservatory. You told me I must fulfill my duty. But you haven't told me why! There are so many questions I have asked you but you only answer what you can answer without cluing me in to something more. Tell me, then, if you wanna nourish me, who are you? I know you won't answer that question, so let me ask some more: tell me, why must I retrieve the emerald? It is my duty, but why is it my duty? Is the Island not perfectly fine as it is now, an island in the water? Or tell me why all the people of the Island are gone! Tell me what happened to everyone that lived on the Island. I knew and lived with them in my childhood, but one day they just weren't there anymore!"
"I have answered your question. Chaos holds enormous power, and it must not fall to evil."
"But you want the emerald to be put back on the Island. You want a Floating Island again. What does that have to do with evil?"
"That is not important. The place of the jewel is upon the dais."
"Then answer my other question: what happened to all the people of Angel Island?"
"That question is inextricably linked to the first. It is why the Island must ascend."
"That's not an answer. How can you call this nourishment? All you do is whet my appetite!"
There was a pause. The Guardian, still intent on his search, sought not to fill the silence, and simply left the emptiness hanging, replacing it with his visual search and his present assignment.
And so he continued, in his narrow zigzagging pattern, trying to cover as much ground within his allotted space as possible. The conversation dropped off with that awkward, unanswered implorement. And the Guardian, because he was preoccupied with his task, did not feel anger at this point. But later he would have time to be bitter and resentful at being left so much in the dark, so unable to have his questions answered and his mind filled.
"You have a choice," they told me. "You can choose life, or you can choose death."
Who would choose death? Those with the knife of the fate Atropos, wishing to cut all the strings attached to this polar proposition.
And wasn't I dead already? She was gone; and I had told her with great love that I could not live without her. And now I had been banished from Haven, into this place of darkness. I could not even discern my addressee who offered me life.
"I have a choice?" I asked.
"You have garnered some sympathy from a few."
"All I want is to see her again."
"The girl? I'm sorry, but you can never return to the earth. The Brotherhood would destroy you; they hold the Eye of the City."
"Then I choose death."
"Well, guys, up for another one?"
"Sure, I guess," Mighty shrugged.
"Nah, lez give it a rest," Vector the crocodile dissented.
"And let the rest of the day go to waste? We made good time!" contested Espio.
"He's right," said Charmy. "We did finish quicker than we usually do. We might as well take advantage."
"Whatever. I don' care," resigned Vector.
Now that he had had a chance to break from his intense concentration on the search, the Guardian's mind had wandered… and it had returned to his conversation with the enigmatic voice. Now the Guardian recalled this conversation, and was filled with anger. Before, it had been that the voice would simply tell him "I cannot tell you now," or "now is not the time," or "that is not important." But this time it had flatly refused to answer. He had implored to know what had happened to the people of Angel Island, and, upon insisting for a real answer, the voice had simply severed communication. Cold silence is atrophic. The voice hadn't even dignified him with a response. It had spoken with cold silence. And cold silence is atrophic.
So the Guardian was so buried in his own thoughts that he didn't even hear Espio calling his name. "Knuckles! Knuckles?"
Espio tapped him on the shoulder, and he was started from his thoughts. "Yeah?" he said nonchalantly.
"We're going to go for another sector. That alright with you?"
He shrugged. It would probably take his mind off of the anger, but, he realized, it would also mean he was complying with the voice. By continuing the search for the emerald, he would be complying with its wishes, and thus implicitly condoning its treatment of him. But, he decided, he wasn't about to just give up the search now after having worked for so long on it; he wasn't about to waste all that time just yet. The voice would speak to him again, and he could express his disapproval at that point. For now, he would continue on. Of course, he realized, he had long been expressing his disapproval. And it hadn't won him any more information. He put that aside, though, and turned to Espio. "Yeah, alright, let's go."