Aedis: A Country Falls

The Ceremony

The year is 2230. The third world war left less than a tenth of the worlds population alive. With all governments either dismantled or barely hanging by threads, people of all cultures were gathered to a new country. A place called "Aedis," governed by the ones who created it: The Reign Foundation.

Within, several capital cities stand tall and powerful.  The largest populated, with just under half a million residence, a city named Bastion. This is where we begin.

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A suttle flame lit the damp ground of grass and ashened dirt. Resting on a small pile of kindling, its yellow flames sent silhouettes dancing up and down the stone walls of two parallel buildings. The alleyway between the sky scrapers was tight and cluttered with bins and plastic litter. A stench of piss filled the air, ever present, even through the smoke of the flame. It was there at midnight, beside the fire, a young boy crouched.
"Que."  A voice that sounded as if it had been gargling cigarettes for the past decade broke the silence abruptly from behind him.  He spun around, as a reflex to his name being called. His hair was scruffy, baring black and grey colour, resembling the ash that covered the earth at his feet. Complexion  was pale in the fridged breeze and eyes a faded, light blue. 

Que now faced the one who had called his name. Still crouching on the ground, he rubbed his eyes, adjusting them to the dark. After pondering into his fire for so long, his eyes could not cut through the darkness around him. Through the blurred dark, Que could only just make out his older sister, Claire. Her appearance resembled his quite a bit, even though she was about a foot and a half taller than him. Her long hair, black and scruffy like his. Her skin, paler than his and that would stay the same even without the icy tempurature. Her eyes were light blue aswell, however they were not faded and calm like his were.  Beneath the charcoal hair that fell across Claires face, they were piercing orbs that nobody could bare to stare into. For if they did, they would witness the devil herself, with two beady pupils, staring through them, into your soul.

Though past all of that, she was still quite a looker for a seventeen year old bitch.

"Quinton Payne." She repeated his full name this time, acusively, knowing full well he had hear her the first time.   "Cut the shit Clair. What do you want?" He replied irritatedly. His voice was shaky. But not because he was afraid of her like many others were, it was just the cold. Cold air was almost burning his chest now that he had faced away from the warm fire.

Without warning, Claire lunged forwards, sending Que jumping out of the way, hugging against the stone wall beside him.  With one high swinging kick, she smashed her foot into the fire. Fire and coal was sent flying everywhere and the small blaze was extinguished in a sweeping gust of glowing ash. The smoke filled the area where the two were standing, leaving Que coughing and spluttering into his shirt. Claire  however, remained dead silent. As the hot smoke was cast out of the allyway by the wind, Claire stood there waiting for Que to stop coughing. A smaller fire settled for a few moments at the base of her black, ripped jeans. The two of them beamed at it, as if they were moths, both about to fly into the small light. A gentle breeze blew and that flame too was gone.

"We're going home." Claire ordered sternly. "Mother and Father have-" "Mother and Father are overly obsessive pieces of trash Claire." Que rudely interrupted.  A moment of silence fell over the alleyway. 
Gathering her words, Claire took a long breath in. Then exhaled. "They're just very focussed at the moment. Blakes ceremony is-"

"At the moment? They have always been this way to us. Blake this. Blake that. Never Us! ...Don't think just because they're worse now means they were ever any better. They were just...  less bad."

Swiftly, Claire whipped around to mirror Ques face with her snake like eyes.
"Silence is golden Quinton." She said gravely, as if her words were a piece of advice.
This was something mother had used to say to her. In the same terrible tone, Claire had inherrited those words. She hated it just as much as he knew Claire use to. The words and the way they were said never failed to force someone to stop and think. It was as if it didn't mean that silence was a good thing, but rather that speaking any further would be the same as ingesting cyanide.  "Understand that I know how things are, more than you. And if you don't care about our brother than fine, be that way. But you will be at that ceremony tomorrow. Even if it kills you."