"Since the inoculation of this world, neither truth nor lies have existed; only an authoritative reality that we are witnessing with our eyes. Regardless, every being in this world lives misrepresenting only convenient 'facts' as truth, or what we want to hear... The reason? They have no other way to live, they know no other way to live. But for the powerless, who make up the majority of this world, the inconvenient 'facts' they affirm through themselves is entirely the truth because the sources of those facts are always someone or something else..."
— King Alexithymia, 2185
[Year 2185 – 2nd of April, Genf – The capital of the Grand Central (formerly known as the European Union)]
King's election speech.
The wind howled in the cold, carrying a biting edge as Alexithymia stepped onto the podium. A sea of faces, both hopeful and hollowed by years of suffering, stared back at him. Their eyes held stories of loss, of hunger, of families torn apart by wars that had raged far too long.
"Let me begin by saying thanks to all of you who've traveled, from far and wide, braving the cold today," Alexithymia began, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. "It is with my greatest pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, that I stand on this historical podium, a place where our former leaders gave their very first acceptance speech, as I am doing here today." He bowed, a motion both humble and deliberate.
"As some of you may know, I am the child of Gregory Chronis, the genius scientist and physicist who discovered 'the Gan' virus when it first emerged in Antarctica back in 2031..." His words hung in the air, heavy with the memory of a catastrophe. He paused for a moment, eyes scanning the crowd, feeling the chill of their silence. "Who would have thought that a dormant virus, freed by rising temperatures, would cause such devastation? We all thought it was just another respiratory illness, something we could weather. Yet… it wiped out more than half of humanity, and triggered the third and fourth world wars." He shook his head, an almost imperceptible motion, but one filled with dark remembrance. "Unbelievable."
The crowd stood in frozen silence, a thousand faces staring back, their expressions unreadable. No applause. No cheers. Only the muffled sound of a million's souls drowning in the enormity of the past.
Alexithymia's throat tightened as he continued, forcing the words out. "The scientists say the virus is still with us. We're surrounded by it, even now." He raised his arms wide, gesturing to the world he had inherited. "But humanity has never surrendered. We've adapted. We've evolved. Our bodies have become stronger, faster, more resistant than ever before. We're no longer at the mercy of nature's deadly designs. We are our own salvation."
There was a pause, a flicker of emotion on his face, but he quickly concealed it. "But everything comes with a price. Countless victims have lost everything in this struggle. My own parents were victims of the Gan, and many of my friends... lost to the war for the Atlantic Ocean. The 'Slagveld,' the bloodiest conflict humanity has ever known. I was just a child when they died... When the war consumed everything we had left. But we survived. We've made it this far. We won't stop now!"
He clenched his fist to his chest, his voice rising with fervor, calling upon the ghosts of the past. "We are the future! We are standing here today, representing the new generation. The generation that will rise above this darkness. The generation that will rewrite history!"
His voice cracked with the weight of his own words as the crowd remained still, their eyes empty of hope, filled only with the specter of a reality too painful to face. A few tear-streaked faces stood at the front rows, their lips trembling, but no one dared to speak.
"I've heard your prayers, and I am willing to fight against this cruel world," he declared, his voice strong, resonating through the silence. "From this moment onward, I, Alexithymia Chronis, accept the mantle of King of the Grand Central." He paused, lowering his gaze for a brief moment, gathering his thoughts, before lifting his eyes once more—steel resolve burning within them. "Together, we will rebuild. Humanity is not defined by its losses, but by its evolution. I will lead you to new heights, to the promised lands that were stolen from us." He bowed once more.
The crowd finally breaking their silence with restrained applause. But even as the sound reverberated through the air, it felt hollow, like a ritual that had long since lost its meaning.
[Year 2185 – 13th of August, Genf – The Capital of Alexithymia's Lands]
Six months have passed since the acceptance speech...
The streets of Genf were far from the image Alexithymia had painted. Despite the promises of peace and stability following his election, after the 4th world war, famine ravaged the land, and hatred simmered in every corner. The broken remnants of society staggered under the weight of their own survival. Families who had once lived in comfort now fought for scraps, their homes reduced to rubble, their lives turned to dust.
Anarchy reigned in the territories that remained untouched by the war. The weak were consumed by the strong, and new conflicts erupted daily between native populations and the migrants who now crowded the streets. The scarcity of resources—food, water, shelter—had pushed humanity to the edge, where desperation ruled.
Amid it all, Alexithymia, once a symbol of hope, had fallen silent. For six months, he disappeared from the public eye, leaving the world to spiral into further decay. No one knew where he was, or what he was doing, but rumors spread like wildfire. Some whispered that he had been assassinated, others that he was a foreign spy, and there were even those who claimed he was the Anti-Christ, come to herald the end of days.
And then, on the 13th of August, he reappeared. His voice echoed through the capital once more, cold and piercing.
"My fellow citizens," he began, his tone devoid of warmth. "For centuries, humanity has turned to an unknown entity, the so-called Creator of the Universe, seeking solace in prayers and rituals. But tell me this: why has your Creator never helped you when you needed it most?" His eyes locked onto the crowd, challenging them to meet his gaze.
"You pray for miracles, for salvation, yet what have you received? A mere coincidence, nothing more. Where was your Creator during the Gan outbreak? Where was He during the wars, the bloodshed, the suffering? And where was He when you were fighting for a glass of water?" Alexithymia's voice rose in anger, his words sharp as knives.
"I am the son of science, not faith. I do not believe in some invisible force watching over us. I believe in the power of humanity. We have the strength, the intellect, to shape our own destiny. Why should we wait for a miracle when we can create one ourselves?" His words were a challenge, a call to arms against the very foundation of belief that had sustained the world for so long.
"And if you disagree with me, tell me: where was your God during the Slagveld genocide? Where was He when millions died, and for what? A land of water to sustain the old elites so they could survive the Gan pandemic?" He spat the words, contempt evident in every syllable.
A dead silence fell over the crowd. Alexithymia's words hung in the air like a cloud of poison, the weight of his disillusionment crushing any flicker of hope. "We are not powerless. We are not waiting for divine intervention. We are the miracle. We are the ones who will save ourselves."
With those final words, he turned and disappeared from the podium, leaving the crowd to digest the venom he had injected into their veins. The rumors, the hoaxes, the speculations—they only grew louder. But one thing was certain: Alexithymia's reign had begun in earnest, and with it, the dawn of a new, terrifying era.
Another year passed...
No further word had come from the King, until the day he signed the peace agreement with the other kings. With it, he renamed the Grand Central to "The Lands of Alexithymia." And in that same announcement, he revealed his first order: The Emotionless Behaviour—a policy that would reshape the political landscape and mark the beginning of a new age, one where survival would come at a cost greater than any the world had yet paid.