Chapter 34: Fighting for Change

Eight years later. The room hadn’t changed much. There was the same chipped paint along the corners, same faint hum from the light above the door, same old bunk beds pushed awkwardly against the walls. The only thing different was them.

Aku sat cross-legged on his mattress, back resting against the wall, eyes watching the dust drift lazily in the soft morning light. Sicrus rested his head on his pillow, staring at the ceiling. Josar sat near the window, elbows on the sill, gazing out at the orphanage courtyard below. No one spoke for a while. They didn’t need to. This kind of quiet had always felt normal to them like the silence knew them just as well as they knew each other.

Josar: It’s weird. I thought I’d feel more excited. But now that it’s here… it just feels like another day.

Aku: You’re really aging out, huh?

Josar nodded.

Josar: Next week, I’m gone.

Sicrus: Guess we never got adopted, huh?

Josar: You both still have two more years. There could be a family out there for you two.

Aku shrugged, eyes dropping to the blanket in his lap.

Sicrus: That’s unlikely.

Aku: Doesn’t really matter. We still had each other.

Josar smiled at that. Not big. Just enough.

Josar: Yeah. We did… and you know, we still do.

Sicrus: So, have you decided what you’re going to be?

Josar: You mean like what I’m going to do out there?

Sicrus: Yeah. Where are you going to go?

Josar sighed slowly.

Josar: Well… I remembered Grandpa said he used to help at the homeless shelter. They pay some money. Not a lot, but enough to live, I think.

Aku lets out a slow gentle sigh.

Aku: Grandpa…

Silence.

Sicrus: It’s already been three years without him, huh?

Aku nodded.

Sicrus (to Josar): Do you think the homeless shelter would even take you to work there?

Josar: I might just mention Grandpa.

Sicrus: But, you don’t even know his real name. None of us do.

Josar: Right… I guess I gotta figure something out.

Sicrus: Sucks that you have to be two years older than us. Aku and I are still stuck here.

Josar: Two years will go by fast. What do you both plan to do when you get out?

Sicrus: I dunno. Probably find you and work with you.

Josar: Aku, you good?

Aku: Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m fine.

Josar: You’re kind of quiet all of a sudden. Sorry if mentioning Grandpa would get you upset.

Aku: Oh no, it’s not that.

Josar: Care to share what’s on your mind? I won’t be around much longer.

Aku: I was just thinking… that’s it.

Josar: About?

Aku: About us… this place…

Josar: What about it?

Aku: It’s sad we all had to be put in a place like this… Is the world that bad out there?

Josar: You mean, is it so bad that we can’t even be with our own families?

Aku: Yeah…

Josar: Well, we know there’s war going on out there.

Aku: Yeah, but I want to know why.

Josar: Are you thinking about getting yourself involved in that?

Silence.

Sicrus: That’s a bit much, don’t you think?

Aku: I have to learn about being a politician right?

Josar: I mean, that’s one of the steps.

Aku: I have to come up with policies that may change the world for the better, right?

Sicrus: Or, we can just keep it simple and feed the homeless. We essentially are the homeless after all.

Aku: And we won’t have to be.

Josar: You have ideas on how to fix the world?

Aku: I mean, sort of? I have a lot to learn, I know… but once I learn how the world works, maybe then I can push for a good change?

Josar: Don’t you want to find your brother?

Aku: I do. And I will find him one day. But can you imagine what it’d be like for them to have enough wealth so they don’t ever have to suffer again? I imagine it was hard having to give me up because of something as small as money. But what if I search for a solution so there won’t be anymore kids like us.

Sicrus (jokingly): Your optimism is sweet.

Aku (defensively): Well, at least I’m trying something.

Sicrus: No, no. You’re right. My bad.

Aku: I want to run orphanages out of business.

Josar: Orphanages exist beyond the scope of financial suffering. Sometimes it’s abuse—

Aku: Yeah, I get it. I know. What I’m saying is, I just want to help. That’s it. I don’t know how I’m going to do it. I want to.

Sicrus: Fair. That’s noble.

A small pause.

Aku: I am a bit scared of the bullies out there though.

Josar: You mean the ones Grandpa mentioned?

Aku: Yeah… he said there are bullies out there just like the ones in here… the only difference is they have power now.

Sicrus: Which is honestly why I think the three of us should just stick together. We’ve had each other’s back for as long as I can remember.

Josar: We’ll see how it goes. This is just talk like we always do. I’ll be the first one out.

Sicrus: You gotta let us know what it’s like.

Aku: You better not forget about us, Josar.

Josar chuckled.

Josar: How could I forget? Even if I were to try, it’s kind of hard to erase everything we’ve been through.

Silence.

Sicrus: I wish… I wish Grandpa was still here with us… We could’ve talked to him about this… He might of given some advice.

Aku: You really mean that? Even when he lectured you the most?

Sicrus: You make it sound like I was a bad kid.

Aku: Well, he did always have to sit you down.

Sicrus: I just had a colorful language, ok? I express with all the colors of the rainbow.

Josar: Haha. That’s a funny way to put it.

Sicrus: Not like I was one of the bullies. Besides, we all got lectured.

Aku: Barely Josar though.

Sicrus: Yeah. Grandpa’s favorite was definitely Josar.

Josar: Nah, he liked all of us.

Sicrus: Whatever. The most you got in trouble for was forgetting to put food back in the ice cooler.

Josar: Yeah, and because of that, some of the kids couldn’t eat.

Sicrus: Whatever, whatever. We’re getting off tangent. The point is, Josar is leaving and in a couple years, Aku and I will be leaving too.

Aku: We’ll be ok though. We survived the bullies. No one adopted us. But we made it. We’ll still stick together, even out there in the big world… just like how we did in here. We’ll be ok.

The silence returned, soft but full. It wasn't bitter. Just understood. This was their life. No fairy tale. No family waiting with open arms. Just a bond forged through shared meals, bruised knuckles, and long nights under one roof.

Two years later, Aku stood beneath the faded concrete overpass in the heart of Luria, arms streaked with ink and glue as he pressed another sign against the wall. The paper crackled as it adhered, the bold black letters shouting over the gray:

"REDUCE THE FEES — LET US BUILD OUR FUTURE!"

Around him, the sounds of city traffic mingled with murmurs of protestors and the occasional honk of support. The movement had grown slowly but steadily. What had begun as frustration among a few street vendors and young workers had swelled into something more organized—something Aku helped shape with dedication.

Beside him, Norad balanced on a rusted step ladder, tapping another sign into place. Tyla, crouched by a supply crate nearby, sorted stacks of flyers and handed them. Her calm steadied Aku. She rarely spoke, but her presence was constant. Aku wasn’t the loudest in the crowd. He didn’t chant the slogans, but he listened. He understood. He worked late into the evenings helping draft proposals, rewriting slogans, sitting in dim cafes with Norad and Tyla as they mapped out the most strategic locations to post signs or distribute flyers. For Aku, it wasn’t about being seen—it was about being useful. These weren’t just signs—they were hope. They were possibility. A speech was going to begin. Aku, Norad and Tyla looked to the podium.

Queen Lessa stepped up to the podium. Her crown was modest, a thin band of silver draped over coiled hair, more symbol than status. She stood with stillness, letting the murmurs of the crowd settle before she spoke.

Lessa: Oh, voices of Luria! For too long, we’ve taught people that to survive, they must first obey systems built to profit from their exhaustion. We’ve told creators to monetize their passion, then taxed their breath. We’ve built cities of opportunity lined with toll booths, and somehow, we call this freedom. But freedom is not a document. It is not a permit. It is not a line item buried under a fee. Freedom is the ability to live your purpose without apology. We need a world that stops measuring worth by output. One that doesn’t ask you to prove your value to exist. One where a child with a dream is not seen as a liability, but a light. So let us rewrite the rulebook. Not with more rules—but with more humanity. Let there be space for creators to breathe. For families to thrive. For freedom to mean something again. This is reclamation.

In the crowd, Aku didn’t move. Her words didn’t just resonate—they cracked something open. For the first time in his life, someone in power had spoken directly to him, to the child who was given up. He didn’t have a voice yet. Not like hers. But he would. This speech? It wasn’t just inspiring. It was permission.

Lessa: Oh, I can’t do this alone. No one can. I’m seeking people. Ten brave souls who believe in this vision, who want to work beside me to help work with President Kyto of Krutone that change is not only necessary, but possible. If you feel called to fight for a world where creation is not punished, where freedom doesn’t come with a receipt… step forward. Let me see you.

The crowd stirred. Voices rose.

“Queen Lessa!”“Pick me!”“I’ll stand with you!”

Hands shot up like sparks in a dry sky. People surged toward the barricades, shouting their names, holding signs higher, stepping up onto benches and crates. Aku raised his hand immediately. No hesitation. His arm stretched high above the others, fingertips trembling with urgency, but Lessa didn’t see him. Not yet.

She pointed first to a woman near the front with a bullhorn slung across her chest, the one who had led chants all morning. Then to a middle-aged man who had organized the permit for the protest. Then a youth who had helped design the flyers. One by one, she called the most visible, the loudest, the planners. Aku’s arm didn’t lower. His voice didn’t rise. He just stood there, still and unwavering, his eyes locked on hers like this was the only thing that mattered.

Finally, as she neared the end of her count, Lessa’s gaze swept across the quieter edge of the crowd and paused. Her eyes met his. There was something about his stillness, his certainty, the resolve in his eyes. She raised her hand and pointed. Aku blinked. Slowly, he stepped forward. The crowd parted around him like a tide. He walked toward the stage, his breath shallow, his steps steady. He was the eighth person selected, then two others after him. When he reached the podium, the others had already formed a line behind Lessa. She smiled and gestured for him to take his place. As he stepped up, Aku felt the weight of the moment settle over his shoulders, not as a burden, but as a mantle. He wasn’t a shadow anymore. He was here. He was seen. And he believed he was going to change the world, one step at a time.

A week had passed. Josar and Sicrus moved quietly through the back halls of a small church-turned-shelter on the city’s poorer edge. Their days began early scrubbing pots, sorting donated clothes, and preparing hot meals. Their days also ended late, often in silence, the exhaustion settling in their bones. The work gave them purpose.

Josar: It was nice that Aku visited last week.

Sicrus: Yeah…

Josar: He’s actually doing things.

No response.

Josar: I wonder if he’s in Krutone right now.

Still no response.

Josar: I guess he really meant it when he said he wanted to run orphanages out of business.

Sicrus remained silent.

Josar: You good?

Sicrus: I’m fine.

Josar: You’re upset.

No answer.

Josar: You’re upset that we’re here and Aku’s over there.

Sicrus sighs.

Josar: I mean, I get it, you’re stuck with me, but I’m not that bad, right?

Sicrus: It’s not you, Josar.

Josar: I know. Just trying to get you to talk somehow.

Sicrus: Aku’s out there doing stuff, and we’re just here.

Josar: We’re doing stuff too. Maybe it’s not as grand as Aku, but it’s still necessary.

Sicrus: There are others who can do this.

Josar: True, but right now, it’s us.

Sicrus doesn’t reply.

Josar: And that’s ok. Aku will return at some point. We can let him know all the crazy things we’ve seen here at the shelter, and he can share with us his stories. I’m sure he’ll come back with a lot to tell us.

Sicrus: It’s not that.

Josar: Then what?

Sicrus: I guess what I’m saying— no, what I’m asking is: Is this life?

Josar waits for more.

Sicrus: Is life outside this orphanage this bad? Grandpa did always say life doesn’t get any easier, but I didn’t know I’d be taking care of adults who had no direction. We were once kids without any guidance, but it doesn’t change out here? You’ve been here for two years, so you tell me.

Josar lets out a small quiet laugh.

Josar: We were lucky.

Sicrus: You call this lucky?

Josar: We were lucky because we had Grandpa. I wonder if having him made up for not having parents, you know? All the times he lectured us, all the times he gave us his little speeches about love and kindness… not every kid gets them. We got it because we were close to Grandpa. Yeah, he’s not around anymore, but at least we were raised somewhat decently.

Sicrus: And so what, since we were close to Grandpa, we’re responsible for those that didn’t have him? Or at least people like him?

Josar: Well… at least we’re doing something good now.

Sicrus: Even though it’s just helping aimless humans?

Josar: You’re so cruel. You don’t have to work here with me.

Sicrus: Sorry, it’s just, I’m bitter, I guess.

Josar: Look, I just knew that I wanted to be a good person somehow. If it means helping these so called aimless humans, then so be it. Why are you here if you’re so bitter?

Sicrus: I thought that was obvious. Because you’re here. Where else would I go?

Josar: You could’ve joined Aku.

Sicrus: Yeah, I suppose I could’ve. Guess I didn’t.

Josar: Did you want to join him?

A paused.

Sicrus: No, I’m happy here.

Josar smiled, slightly rolling his eyes.

Josar: Sure.

Sicrus: No, I really am. I just… wanted to amount to more… like Aku.

Josar: What you’re doing now is still important. Grandpa would be happy to see you doing this.

Sicrus: Ha! Yeah, sure buddy.

Over at Krutone, Aku stood amidst the other nine chosen, eyes wide as the towering spires of Krutone gleamed beneath the evening sky. The city pulsed with life—holograms dancing across glass skyscrapers, sky-trams humming overhead, markets brimming with colors he’d never imagined. It was beautiful. Overwhelming. Terrifying. His breath caught as he tried to absorb all the sharp lines of power and the perfection of wealth. He wasn’t just far from the orphanage now. He was in a world that once existed only in stories. Behind them in the far back, Queen Lessa and President Kyto stood side by side.

Lessa (quietly): Oh, how cute. It’s always so adorable to see outsiders so fascinated by your world. Will we be taking our sweet time again, or are we taking care of it as soon as possible?

Kyto (quiet, firmly): We don’t have time to eliminate them this time around. Only if they plan to leave Krutone.

Lessa: Oh, new agenda?

Kyto: If any of them prove to be useful, we keep them. Otherwise, they live here or we remove them ourselves.

Lessa: Oh, I don’t know who’s worse. You or Osin?

Kyto: You’re sure you profiled each of them carefully? They have no family back at home waiting for them?

Lessa: Oh, you know I always do my job. They’re all lost causes that need purpose. They have no home to return to. I’m just glad I can finally get them off my streets. They rally too often, but now that the organizers are here in Krutone, I’ll have less noise to deal with.

Kyto doesn’t say anything more. His silence spoke for him. Everything was understood and in motion, just the way as intended.

A couple weeks later, Aku sat across from a new ally— Mayzen— inside one of the dim briefing rooms of Prism Tower. The walls were lined with glowing data panels, projections of trade routes, income charts, and infrastructure maps pulsing softly in the blue light. Mayzen moved like a whisper between them, his voice calm but sharp, fingers tracing along projections of Krutone’s stockpiled wealth. Together, they were dissecting the economic chokeholds that kept places like Eztan and Troita impoverished.

Aku: So, really what it comes down to is, if we divert two percent of Krutone’s surplus towards labor opportunities, we can redistribute millions without triggering red flags from the central treasury. Am I getting that right?

Mayzen: That’s exactly it.

Aku: Incredible… Then, places like Eztan, Troita… and Clyden can be like Krutone.

Mayzen: After a few decades or so.

Aku: That’s totally fine!

Mayzen: The President of Troita would be grateful knowing one of his own citizens is making good change.

Aku: President Andin.

Mayzen: Have you ever worked with him?

Aku: Only once. It’s how I first got started with everything.

Mayzen stands and looks out the window over Krutone.

Aku: When do I get to work with President Kyto? Do I ever get to?

Mayzen: As time goes on, maybe you will.

Aku: You’ve worked with him before, right?

Mayzen: Many times.

Aku: What is it like to work with someone that powerful? He’s done so much here in Krutone.

Mayzen holds back.

Aku: Is he demanding?

Mayzen: President Kyto is efficient. He understands his mission and executes.

Aku absorbs Mayzen’s words, unsure if he should be inspired or intimidated.

Aku: Well, since we’ve been working together for quite some time, I have a question I’ve always wanted to ask you.

Mayzen: What do you wish to know?

Aku: Why is Krutone like this, but the rest of the world is…?

Aku pauses, unsure what wording to use.

Mayzen: Perished?

Aku: … yeah.

Mayzen: Difference in government. That is all.

Aku: But, why doesn’t Krutone help the world?

Mayzen: The different governing philosophies don’t offer each other a hand to shake.

Aku: I see.

Mayzen: Do you… believe what I say?

Aku: I think?

A moment of silence.

Mayzen: Why do you push for change?

Aku: Huh?

Mayzen: Why do you push for change? Why are you here?

Aku: Sorry. I heard you. It’s just, you usually never ask me questions like that.

Mayzen remained emotionless.

Aku: Well, I never had the best upbringing… and I want to make sure others don’t have to go through what I did. I think it’s as simple as that. I think?

Mayzen: You’re unsure.

Aku: Well, also, I have two best friends who are rooting for me.

Mayzen: You have best friends? Are they here in Krutone?

Aku: No. They’re in Troita right now, helping homeless. I think they’re still doing that.

Mayzen: What are their names?

Aku: Josar and Sicrus. We met when we were orphans. We’ve been friends since then.

Mayzen: You all have no family?

Aku: Well, I do. Sort of. They’re in Clyden.

Mayzen: Is that why you mentioned Clyden earlier?

Aku: Yeah. I want to make it so other parents don’t have to give up their kids just because they couldn’t afford it.

Mayzen: You weren’t affordable?

Aku: I guess not.

Mayzen: And because of that, you never had family.

Aku: Well, I sort of had a family.

Mayzen: You mean the ones that gave you up?

Aku: No. Josar and Sicrus. They’re pretty much my family.

Mayzen didn’t respond.

Aku: I’m supposed to have a twin out there.

Mayzen: You’re a twin?

Aku: Yeah. I’m supposed to have a brother in Clyden. Parents too.

Mayzen: And because of that, you want change.

Aku: Yeah.

Mayzen: And that’s why you’re here in Krutone. You’re looking for a source to support your cause.

Aku: Exactly.

Mayzen: And what if you don’t get your way?

Aku is stunned.

Mayzen: What if things don’t change? What if everything is the way it is? What if this is how it was always supposed to be?

Aku: What do you mean? Where are you getting at?

Mayzen: These are just questions.

Aku thinks.

Aku: Well… at least I tried.

Mayzen: But trying isn’t the same as succeeding. You believe trying equates to success?

Aku: Not always…

Mayzen: Then the attempt was meaningless.

Aku: Unlike you to ask me these kinds of questions…

Mayzen: I question your intentions because I want to know how grounded you are in your beliefs. That is all.

Aku: I believe I’m grounded.

Mayzen: To what measurement?

Aku: What do you mean?

Mayzen: How far will you go? How much will you try? At what point do you—

Aku: I’ll give my life.

Mayzen: So, you measure it with self-sacrifice.

Aku sighs quietly.

Aku: Yeah. I suppose so.

Mayzen: And how can anyone believe that?

Aku pauses. The room was silent.

Aku: My life has no meaning.

Mayzen looks to Aku.

Aku: I was thrown away at birth. I was trashed before I was given a chance to prove my worth, so giving up my life wouldn’t make a difference to the world in the first place. I already have no value, so I might as well give my life some sort of meaning. I’ll give myself purpose.

Mayzen looks back out the window.

Aku: So yeah, I’d give up my life if it means change for the world… All I’m missing is… power to do anything.

Mayzen remained by the window, unmoving, his gaze tracing the skyline of Krutone. He didn't speak or nod. He breathed in the silence, letting in the weight of Aku’s confession. For all his knowledge, for all the memories he had stored in his mind, this Aku— so certain in his worthlessness yet relentless in his purpose— was unlike anything he’d ever archived. Mayzen wasn’t impressed. He was intrigued.