The Moon Strut

Eight years later…

[The Year 2185 – 2nd of April. Genf - Grand Central (Previously called European Union)]

"Audio check!" the audio engineer called out, his voice echoing in the grand hall.

"Video check!" chimed in the video engineer from the control booth.

"We are going live in 10 minutes!" the camera crew announced, their voices overlapping with the hum of machinery.

The stage was alive with activity. Crew members ran between cables and equipment, their movements efficient and precise.

"Everyone, take your positions!" ordered the site manager, her voice cutting through the organized chaos.

In front of the curtain, a young and elegant man in his late 20s stood motionless. His dark blue suit clung to him like a second skin, its sharp lines accentuating his commanding presence. The spotlight overhead made his short black hair shimmer like strands of gold. He reviewed his notes with an air of calm detachment, his face a mask of composure.

"Sir?" The site manager's voice broke the silence. She approached with measured steps, her appearance immaculate—crisp suit, hair neatly coiffed. Her Nordic accent lent a clipped precision to her words.

The man did not respond immediately, his attention fixed on his notes.

"Sir Noah?" she repeated, her tone firm.

Finally, he lifted his gaze, his expression cold. "I've already told you to stop calling me by that name," he said with quiet authority. " Alexithymia. My name is Alexithymia."

"Pardon me, sir… King Alexithymia," she corrected herself, bowing slightly. "Once again, I wanted to congratulate you on your election. And, I just found out today is your 27th birthday. Best wishes!" She offered a polite smile.

"Is that all you have to say?" His voice carried a sharp edge, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Y…Yes. I…" She hesitated, caught off guard by his abruptness.

Without a word, he turned away, his polished shoes clicking softly against the stage floor.

"Actually," she continued, stepping in his path, "I wanted to remind you that we are going 'LIVE' in 10 minutes."

"I am not deaf. I heard," he replied, his tone clipped.

"Oh… Ehm… Is there anything I can help you with? Here is your glass of water, by the way." She extended the glass toward him with both hands.

Alexithymia stared at the water, his reflection distorted by ripples. The spotlight overhead bathed his face in a celestial glow, rendering him almost otherworldly.

"Please, take it," she urged, her voice faltering slightly.

"King Alexithymia, as soon as the curtains rise, all the cameras will be on you!" a cameraman shouted from near the stage's edge. The lens of a nearby camera trained on Alexithymia, capturing his every move.

Alexithymia walked slowly toward the podium hidden behind the curtain.

"Eight… years," he muttered, his lips curving into a bitter smile. "Eight long years to reach this high." His smile widened into a nervous laugh, echoing eerily in the cavernous space.

"King Alexithymia, sir, is everything all right?" the site manager asked, hurrying after him, the forgotten glass of water still in hand.

"Eight years! Do you even realize how long that is?" His voice rose, trembling with emotion, his hands trembling as they crumpled his notes.

"Yes, I do understand. Eight years is indeed a long time," she replied, her tone softening in an attempt to console him.

"How many times I had to start over, and over, and over again! And now, finally, I am here!" His voice cracked.

From the back of the hall, a smattering of applause and cheers erupted as some mistook his outburst for a triumphant declaration.

"You deserved all of it," the site manager ventured, her voice tinged with empathy. "I too lost my parents in the war of Slagveld."

Alexithymia's eyes darkened. "Just look around you. Everything—everything around you. From today, I own it!" He spread his arms wide, gesturing toward the stage and beyond.

"Yes! It is all yours indeed, and I am your humble servant!" she said, eager to appease him.

"Eight years..." he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Soon, I will see her again."

The site manager tilted her head, puzzled. "I'm positive that all of your time and sacrifices were worth it," she said cautiously.

Abruptly, Alexithymia stopped in his tracks. The site manager, trailing close behind, collided with him. The glass of water in her hands spilled, splashing across the red carpet.

"Huh?!" His notes crumpled in his fists as he turned sharply toward her.

"My time? My sacrifices?!" His voice was a dangerous growl. "Do you even have the slightest idea of what your silly mouth is talking about?!"

"Sorry! I didn't mean—" She stepped back quickly, her eyes wide with fear.

Without warning, Alexithymia slapped her across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the silent hall.

"You ignorant livestock!" he spat. "Your life is an apology in itself! A mere pawn like yourself—don't you dare speak of sacrifices in front of me!" His eyes blazed with fury as he grabbed her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze.

The site manager's face burned red, her body trembling. Her lips quivered, but she said nothing, her spirit visibly crumbling under his harsh grip.

"Look at me," he snarled, his voice a venomous growl that coiled around her like a tightening noose. "I am one of the 'Four Kings' of the new world. The entire Grand Central lies crushed beneath my heel, its fate dictated by a mere flick of my finger. And you?" He leaned in closer, his eyes burning with contempt. "What have you ever achieved in your wretched, insignificant life? You crawl in the dirt, your hands stained with the filth of servitude, scurrying about like a rodent."

His lips curled into a cruel smile as he continued, his voice dripping with malice. "Useless. Pathetic. That's all you are. Your sole purpose? Carrying water for the likes of me, groveling at the feet of your betters. That's your legacy—a nameless slave, clinging desperately to the scraps I let fall." He gestured toward the glass in her trembling hands. "Even this—this pitiful offering—is tainted by your inadequacy."

He let the words hang in the air, each syllable slicing through her like a blade. Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he slapped the glass from her grip, sending it shattering to the floor. "Clean it up," he hissed. "On your knees, like the vermin you are."

"Y-Yes, sir," she stammered, barely able to keep her balance.

After a tense pause, Alexithymia released her. "Somebody clean this mess before someone gets hurt," he ordered coolly, his composure returning as quickly as it had snapped.

"You… What's your name?" he asked, his tone now almost indifferent.

"L… Laura," she whispered, her eyes fixed on the ground.

"Laura," he repeated. "Bring me another glass of water. The show is about to begin."

"Yes…" Laura turned and hurried toward the refreshment table, her movements stiff and mechanical. The murmurs of the crew filled the silence, their unease palpable.

"WE ARE LIVE IN 60 SECONDS," someone shouted from the control room.

Laura returned with a new glass of water. "Here… your water, sir—"

"Silence," Alexithymia hissed, placing a finger against her lips. She froze, her eyes squeezed shut, bracing herself for another outburst.

"Listen," he whispered.

The curtains began to rise, revealing a sea of faces on the other side. The crowd erupted in a thunderous chant: "Hail to the new King!"

Alexithymia leaned close to Laura, his voice a soft, venomous whisper. "Do you hear it?"

Her breath hitched, but she nodded slightly.

The operator's voice counted down: "Fifteen… Fourteen…"

"You know," Alexithymia continued, "I envy people like you. You live within a bubble, entrusting everything to one man. You dedicate your life to pleasing him, hoping for recognition. Like a pet."

"Ten… Nine…"

"I shall give you that recognition. That world. The salvation you've sought for centuries. As your master, I will give it to you."

"Five… Four…"

"And you will obey me. Because I will make you obey."

The countdown reached its climax. The projector lights flared, and Alexithymia stepped forward.

"Rejoice," he declared, his voice booming. "You are witnessing the rise of the new era."

The crowd's roar swelled as Alexithymia vanished within the dazzling light.