Express Vision

Hopeful lingered in his seat a moment longer than the others, his gaze lost in the now-blank screen. The image of Lowna still haunted his thoughts—the peaceful beauty of it. His heart was torn between the harsh reality of the warzones he knew and the uncertain future he had been sensing for so long.

Ilane, noticing his distraction, nudged him gently. "Come on," she said, her voice soft but firm, "It's time to go. We've got enough to think about already. Let's not stay lost in there."

With a deep sigh, Hopeful stood, following her as they made their way out of the cinema hall. As they reached the exit, their friends were already gathering, exchanging quiet words, laughter, and farewells.

"Well, that was... different," Jarn said with a grin, his wife beside him nodding in agreement. "Peace, huh? I thought we might see something more... exciting."

Riva, a southern commander to Macus, one of Hopeful's friends, looked thoughtfully at Briella, Jarn's wife—a southern commander to Jarn. "I don't know about excitement, but there's something beautiful about their way of life. It almost feels like... it's possible to live without all this constant fighting."

Hopeful glanced at her, then at the others, before speaking quietly. "Maybe it's not about avoiding the fight," he said. "It's about knowing what to do when it finds you."

Ilane shot him a knowing look. She understood—his thoughts were already back in their own warzone, thinking of the challenges to come.

"Well, I'm glad you came out with us tonight," Jarn said, clapping Hopeful on the shoulder. "We'll need you in the next round, but even the strongest need a break."

Hopeful gave him a small, appreciative nod. "Thanks. I'll... think on it."

With a final wave, the group split off, heading in different directions. Hopeful and Ilane walked together, the city glowing with a light as if it were day, though the brightness lacked the intensity of midday. The familiar hum of engines and distant rumbles of conflict greeted them as they passed through the boundary fence.

As they moved through the streets, Ilane spoke, her voice quiet but certain. "You know, Hopeful, seeing that place—it doesn't change anything for us. But it's a reminder. Not all worlds are like ours. And you, more than anyone, have the ability to shape the future of ours."

Hopeful was silent for a moment, his steps slow and deliberate. "I don't know if I'm ready for it yet," he said quietly, the weight of uncertainty heavy in his words. "But I feel something approaching. The king's command—everything. I can't ignore it. I won't."

Ilane's gaze softened, a reassuring presence beside him. "You'll be ready when the time comes. Not because you're perfect or because the challenge won't come. But because you've been preparing for it your whole life, whether you knew it or not."

Hopeful looked up at the dark sky, where stars flickered faintly above the looming silhouettes of their warzone. He felt the weight of what lay ahead—leadership, strategy, the balance of power. The challenge was close, but he had a role to play in it, a choice to make.

"I'll be ready," he muttered, more to himself than to Ilane. "Not yet. But soon. When the time comes."

Ilane's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "That's all anyone can ever do, Hopeful. Step forward when it's time."

Together, they continued walking, the future ahead of them uncertain but undeniable, the echoes of the cinema's other worlds fading into the background. The challenge had not yet arrived, but Hopeful knew it was only a matter of time. And when it did, he would be ready.

The path to their warzones was familiar and quiet, the dim city lights casting a cold glow as machinery hummed in the distance. Ilane and Hopeful, though walking together, were already retreating into their respective territories, the weight of their duties pulling them into solitude.

Their warzones, side by side, were separated by a boundary wall of ancient, shimmering energy. Each warzone, stretching over six hundred feet in length and five hundred feet in width, was divided into northern and southern arenas. The northern halves of each warzone housed their fortified homes—massive, tank-like fortresses that rolled and shifted with mechanical precision, designed not for comfort but for sheer functionality. These utilitarian structures were equipped with all manner of life-supporting technology, from command centers pulsing with holographic data streams to quarters for the weary warriors. Storage silos, brimming with provisions and munitions, stood like monolithic sentinels, ready for the next inevitable conflict.

The southern halves were battlefield zones, covered with training fields, fortifications, and weapon caches, where tanks could mobilize in response to threats. The north was sanctuary; the south, a proving ground.

Ilane stopped at the entrance of her compound, her gaze meeting Hopeful's. "Take care," she said softly. "You're not alone in this."

Hopeful nodded, his voice quiet. "I'll be ready." He watched as Ilane activated her remote control with just a thought, and the heavy gates of her compound opened, closing behind her with finality.

He turned toward his gate, activating it with a familiar motion. The heavy, rusted doors groaned open, revealing the cold, metallic expanse of his warzone. At the far northern end, his home—a towering mobile fortress—hummed softly, alive with purpose. Passing through the gates from south to north, Hopeful felt the familiar weight of solitude close in as they slammed shut behind him.

He walked the silent corridors toward his command center, the stillness both a shield and a cage. From there, he made his way to his quarters, his apartment greeting him like an old friend. The lights flickered to life, and a soft voice echoed in the stillness: "Welcome, Hopeful." It was simple, brief—a tone he'd chosen for its efficiency. Too tired for further pleasantries, he collapsed onto his iron bed. His eyelids closed, and the world faded as sleep claimed him.