Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


By the fireplace of a dark room, a man wearing an 1800's Civil War Union uniform of a general is seen sitting on a chair looking out of the window, thinking contemplatively about something. He was an old man; somewhere around seventy years old, having a short white hair, and white skin.

Sometime later, he heard laughter. The laughter he'd always sought himself in great consulation. He turned around from his chair to see his son, as a little boy, playing with boat-like airships - schooners with rocket propelled engines and Man-o-Wars but with propellers instead of sails that he kept clashing against each other to make it look like two pirate ships battling out the skies for glory and gold. But what's strange for the both of them is that they aren't the same skin colour of their race.

His father is a Columbian (fictional name for Caucasian) and the son is an Erebusian (fictional name for African). But they never looked down upon each other like minorities but as an equal family. By the room's wall, a giant painted portrait of them are seen. The father is seen standing beside his son dressed in full Military attire with his sword sheathed on his waist and the son sitting on a very fancy chair dressed like a rich frenchman during the eighteenth century. Both of them are also seen smiling at the painter.

"Father?" the son cried out, calling for his attention.

"Yes, son?" the father asked.

"Could you tell me a story of one of your daring adventures?"

The father chuckled softly before replying. "Yes, my son." And then began his story.

The room fades into black and then woke the King from his sleep... or half-way from waking up. The son, all grown up and somewhere around his thirties, snores in his sleep on a ragged and crude bed. He moves to the side but fell off from his bed. That surely woke him up as he stood straight up from the floor but he immediately slouched from his back and lazily went to his small hut's bathroom. He took a good and warm bath and brushed his teeth nice and shiny like silver. He fixed his dreadlocks - combing them over and adding hair spray all over it. After he did everything for his bodily needs except breakfast, he wore his Union blue jacket and tucked inside his coat from neck to knee. Standing near his door, he twists the knob and exited his small home to feel the new morning into his veins. The king is ready to alleviate freedom's burdens.


Well, that's a prologue. I hope you enjoyed it!