There’s no easy solution to my dilemma, no cure to my artistic freedom. I want to escape from a world I know too damn well, but for what outlet? Running without a goal seems pointless. Achieving nothing but the simple action of being brings only tears to my soul. I have to find my truth. I have to locate the source of my revolution.
I need to build a fantasy world.
I remember the Greek mythology and Prometheus. He’s known to be a Titan and is credited with the creation of man from clay and the theft of fire for human use, an act that triggered progress and civilization. Zeus punished Prometheus as a consequence of his theft, and sentenced him to eternal torment for his transgression. The immortal Prometheus was bound to a rock where each day an eagle, the emblem of Zeus, was sent to feed on his liver, only to have it grow back to be eaten again the next day…
Prometheus became a figure who represents human striving, particularly the quest for scientific knowledge and the risk of overreaching or unintended consequences. He inspired authors and artists who saw in him the lone genius whose efforts to improve human existence could also result in utmost tragedy.
My heroes will believe in dying for a cause rather than living for nothing. If the mind can be taught the art of constant adaptation and relentless survival, anyone can achieve anything. The only enemy is the ego. Check: my heroes must learn to stay humble. But will they succeed? Not if they have evil counterparts.
So here I strive. I’m ready to sweat and bleed on paper, to show my battle scars and reopen wounds that will fuel my craziest fantasy dreams. I always start from scratch. How I felt when I entered a place for the first time. How I saw things and what they made me think of. The way people shook my hand. The way they looked into my eyes. The way they stood, sat, ate, spoke. I give my main protagonists dimension and depth. I make them either live forever or die from an evil spell. I provide them with powers. I watch them all sleep and feed their nightmares. I can sometimes tell when my characters hate me, and when they want to rebel, they usually give me the writer’s block. Yet, they always forgive me… after a few days.
Prometheus and his plight couldn’t be worse than my own MCs’ doom. To be worthwhile, the journey isn’t supposed to be easy. My MCs want to find the truth of their own creation. They want to debate the existence of God and ask a million times who came first? The chicken or the egg? Their inner struggles meet worldly challenges. The end of the universe becomes the beginning of a new mission. They seek answers. They seek a purpose. They mostly seek faith.
Backdrop: a planet located millions of light-years away from Earth.
MCs: an alien-astronomer named Azthul, a human girl carrying the fate of the world named Esperanza, and a fallen angel unaware of his condition named Beau
Number of volumes: three
Genre: science-fiction, fantasy
Do I really know where I’m going with this? Sure I do. Prometheus’s tale inspired me to be fearless. As a fantasy writer, I’m supposed to break boundaries.
So I begin.
The Manicheans 