Expo Dream

Hopeful's eyes fluttered open, the remnants of a strange, vivid dream still clinging to his senses. It was a dream that felt almost like an expo-dream, one of those rare, shared visions that connected war-tanks across Higna. But this wasn't that. It wasn't a vision of collective futures, nor a guided strategy—no, it was something deeply personal. Something tied to him, alone.

A chill ran through his spine as he sat up, the soft hum of his war-tank's heart beating steady beneath his metal plating. His mind spun with the aftermath of his sleep, trying to piece together what had just transpired in the recesses of his dreamscape. The vision had been cryptic but unmistakable: the feeling of being incomplete, of waiting for something or someone. It gnawed at him.

He could hear Ilane's voice in his head as if she had been speaking directly to him in that moment, grounding him: "You'll never know until you step forward."

There was no more time for lingering thoughts. His mission had been clear even before waking: gather frut, engage the compound tanks, and—once finished—prepare for his journey north. He needed to face the southern warzone today.

He stretched, his body groaning slightly as it adjusted to the weight of the armor encasing his muscles, and then he heard the familiar noise of his internal systems powering up. The northern side of the warzone, where he resided, was a place of solitude. The southern side, however, would require his focus—the task at hand was larger, heavier. It wasn't just about maintaining the warzone but testing his resolve. The compounds were coming, and they weren't just another series of machines. They were his challenge. His proving ground.

Hopeful came out of his private warzone that morning and made his journey toward the boundary wall that divided the northern and southern spaces of his warzone. The long boundary wall had a round archway with a gate that opened to the south. Hopeful met Ilane there that morning. She didn't know she would meet him at that point, as she thought he would still be in bed. Her presence that morning radiated a mother's care.

At the gate, Hopeful turned to her, his voice low but steady. "Good morning, Ilane. I am heading south now."

"Don't brood too much," Ilane said, her tone playful yet serious. "The southern warzone needs your protection, Hopeful. Go and face the battle. But don't forget—sometimes, the battle isn't just about the fight."

He nodded, feeling the weight of her words even as they lingered in the air. The battlefield, his constant companion, would demand his attention—but she was right. It was more than just war. And now, as he stood on the edge of his warzone, Hopeful knew that there was more at play than just tactics and combat. The dream, the call from the king, his unfinished business—everything was converging.

As Hopeful made his way into the southern warzone, his mind buzzed with residual thoughts of the cinema. The live transmissions of faraway planets, where peace reigned and the burden of constant conflict was absent, had stirred something within him. The images of Lowna, so serene and untouched by war, contrasted sharply with the constant grind of his world. Was balance ever truly possible in Higna?

In the distance, the southern warzone stretched before him, a vast expanse of iron walls, jagged rocks, and the looming presence of compound tanks that encroached upon the territory like a dark tide. Hopeful's senses heightened as he approached the gates. The southern warzone was alive with the tension of an impending battle, and he could almost feel the heat of the engines churning through the walls.

He entered through the southern gate, and immediately, the sounds of metal grinding and engines whirring hit him like a wave. The compounds were already here, their massive forms casting long shadows against the iron backdrop of the warzone. Hopeful's focus narrowed. He was no longer the mere war tank—today, he was a commander, though incomplete like others, as they all had their southern commander tank. He could hear the hum of the engines in his bones as his war tank came to life.

The battle began with an explosive clash as the first wave of compound tanks surged forward. These were no ordinary machines. They were built for destruction, heavy and monstrous, each one a fortress in its own right. The first tank fired. Hopeful reacted instinctively, ducking low and rolling to the side, avoiding the blast. His weapon—long and precise—whipped through the air, a blur of lethal efficiency.

He moved with the fluidity of a creature born for war. Each motion was deliberate, calculated. His strikes were precise, sharp—each tank he destroyed fell with a resounding crash. But more emerged. With every enemy downed, another took its place, seemingly endless.

As the battle raged on, the compounds grew more formidable, their weapons firing in synchrony, a hailstorm of metal and fire. Hopeful's body vibrated with the power of the engagement. His war-tank instincts were in full swing, his mind working with the clarity that only battle could bring, collecting elements dropped to the ground.

And then, it happened. The final compound tank—the largest, most monstrous of them all—rolled forward. Its hull was nearly impenetrable, and its weapons could decimate anything in its path. Hopeful knew this battle would be different. His heart pulsed faster. This was the moment that would define the day.

He charged.

The ground trembled as Hopeful closed the distance, every fiber of his being attuned to the task at hand. His movements were a blur, a dance of raw power and calculated precision, honed over countless battles. His weapon, forged in the fires of endless wars, gleamed as it struck again and again, each blow aimed to pierce the monstrous compound's formidable hull.

The tank before him roared as it retaliated, weapons flaring in a chaotic storm of fire and shrapnel. Hopeful's instincts kicked in, his form dodging and weaving between the attacks, closing the distance with each pulse of adrenaline. The compound was no ordinary machine—its weapons were designed for annihilation, for destruction without mercy. Hopeful's body ached, but he pushed forward, his thoughts sharp as ice, his movements guided by the vision of victory.

With a final, powerful strike, Hopeful drove his weapon deep into the compound's core. The giant tank shuddered, its massive frame groaning as it began to crumble. Hopeful pulled back, narrowly escaping the explosion that followed. A shockwave rattled the air, shaking the very ground beneath his feet. But Hopeful didn't falter. The battlefield fell silent as the last compound tank crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust and debris.

Then, something unexpected happened. As the compound tank's destruction reverberated through the battlefield, a strange icon appeared on the ground—a green lantern, glowing softly at first, its light pulsing like a heartbeat. Hopeful's gaze locked onto it, drawn as if by some invisible force. The green lantern seemed alive, swirling towards him with an uncanny familiarity, as though it recognized him from a time long past. It moved with purpose, winding through the air, and then, without warning, it sank into him.

A surge of energy coursed through his body, and Hopeful gasped as his mind expanded. It felt as though his thoughts had grown in size, as if they had stretched to the vastness of a kingdom. His understanding deepened, his perception sharpened. He could see the world through the eyes of a ruler, understanding the intricate dance of strategy and decision-making like never before. The wisdom of kings flowed into him, filling him with knowledge he had never known. His entire essence seemed to transform, glowing with the same green hue as the lantern. The front part of his tank hummed, resonating with the energy coursing through him, a green glow radiating from it and illuminating the battlefield in a soft, steady pulse. He was a tank—his form human-like, yet not truly human—his body partially encased in iron. From his humanoid shape, he could transform into a tank, and now, on the battlefield, he was in his tank form.

But then, as suddenly as it had started, it all stopped. Hopeful blinked, feeling the energy recede. The light at his chest flickered and went dark. He stood still, stunned, the power and clarity lingering within him, like a fading echo of something greater. He had never experienced anything like this on the battlefield before, and the feeling was disorienting. But there was no time to dwell on it. He had faced the tank, and now, something greater had awakened within him.