Cyril of Cyrilopolis (Prologue)

            CYRIL OF CYRILOPOLIS

                          Prologue 

                   Written by Plank.

THE MOMENT EVERYTHING STARTED

The universe, in its infinite wisdom, occasionally decides that something extraordinary needs to happen. When it does, it rarely announces itself with fanfare. This time around, it announced itself with a lightning bolt striking a stork in a sudden rainstorm over a jungle on a planet that nobody in particular is watching at this moment in time.

The stork had a name Gerald and Gerald had been delivering eggs for forty-seven years without incident. He took immense pride in this. Not a single mistake, not one error of judgement . Never a late arrival. Gerald had flown through hurricanes, electrical storms, and once an inexplicably angry flock of geese, and he had never, not once, not ever had a bad day, because being a stork had pressure, pride and everything needed to be perfect for the delivery of the packages involved. 

As Gerald was flying happily above the jungles below, the skies above in an instant turned dark, in a multitude of colours swirling clouds winds and flashes of light and rain.

Gerald dropped the egg.

It happened in the space between one lightning bolt and the next, a flash, a yelp, the lightning struck Gerald’s rear, sparks flying through every cell of his body, straight into his beak in which Gerald held the bundle gently swaying below. 

Gerald squawked as 121.74 GigaSquawks of unwanted electricity passed through him faster than an out-of-date cheesecake on an empty stomach, and thus the bundle slipped from his beak, and a look of particular horror of something that has never happened before happened all at once.

The egg spun out into the grey sky, a perfect little oval, a greyish-white and small and still sparking from the lightning strike and the contents of the egg were entirely and completely unaware of what was about to happen.

Below it: the jungle of Aquila Prime, which was growing ever closer! At a rapidly increased speed, Green and enormous and ancient, stretching in every direction like a wild place that had never been looked upon by anyone or anything’s eyes ever.. 

At the jungle’s heart, half-buried in root and vine and three hundred and sixty-nine years of enthusiastic vegetation, patiently waiting, was Aquila primes Elder Forge.

The Forge had been dormant for a long time. Long enough that the jungle had mostly forgotten it was there. Long enough that nobody alive in the universe would remember why it had been built, or who had built it, or what it was supposed to do!

It had simply been there, waiting, humming quietly to itself in the dark beneath the ferns and the canopy of the vast ancient jungle.

As if by chance, the sparking egg that Gerald had dropped landed bang in the dead centre of the ancient and pulsating glowing forge.

There was a solitary beat of absolute silence, the kind of silence that exists in the half-second before something enormous happens, much like when the universe takes a breath.

Then the Forge responded.

Orange light blazed outward into the dark rain-filled forest like a sunrise that had gotten confused about the time of day. The energy was warm enormous, instant and three hundred and sixty-nine years of accumulated potential released all at once, an energy that cleared the rain in its path. 

This surge washed out through the jungle in a wave that knocked the jungle vines off the trees and made the flowers briefly glow and caused Gerald the stork, now significantly higher above and considerably fluffier than he was this morning, to make a sound that no dignified stork should ever have to make or would ever repeat ever.

The egg pulsed as it sat in the hot ancient forge shaking, moving growing, then all of a sudden shook and bounced from the forge in a split second.

Inside the pulsing egg, molecules whirled into chaos! Electrons leapt into higher states, DNA unravelled and rewove itself into mesmerising new patterns, and proteins refolded into one-of-a-kind forms. The passengers genetic code underwent a series of epic mutations, insertions, reversals, and sudden surges that supercharged his neural pathways, which embedded the extraordinary ability of molecular mimicry!

The egg cracked

First, a single, perfectly formed orange foot emerged from the cracked shell, quickly followed by the next. A small grey head appeared, it's eyes bright and alert, blinking rapidly as they took in the expanse of the jungle.

The small creature gazed out with the unmistakable look of someone encountering existence for the very first time, utterly fascinated by this strange and vibrant place.

The winged creature that would be called Cyril (who is a pigeon) stood in the ruins of the Forge, looked out and into the jungle, The Forge lay scattered with twisted vines and moss-covered stones, while the jungle beyond hummed with unseen life and dappled light Cyril looked at the now clearing sky above, then looked at his orange feet, he smiled.

Around his neck a bright red tie, he straightened it, smirked, then he coughed, and spoke his first words to a universe that was, for the first time in three hundred and sixty-nine years, listening:

“Coo, cooo cooool.. said Cyril !!”

He removed the remaining eggshell, smiled then happily bounced off into the jungle, because there was a jungle and he had feet, and those two facts seemed sufficient reason for him to explore.

Three weeks after Cyril first emerged from the egg, and after exploring, molecules inside finding the correct space and time to mend and intertwine perfectly he finally stepped out of the dense jungle. During those weeks, he had happily and joyfully wandered through the undergrowth, discovering new sights and sounds, smells and as he did so, he grew in confidence, eagerly absorbing everything the world had to offer.

Cyril arrived at the outskirts of a city, a city that shall be henceforth be called “Cyrilopolis” with the sort of enthusiasm and zest and excitement that one would expect from someone experiencing everything for the first time. 

Cyril approached the city with boundless energy and inquisitiveness, entirely unburdened by any sort of plan. The city itself was peaceful and inviting, its warmth radiating from the lights that danced across the ancient cobblestone streets in an array of colours some of which were unfamiliar to Cyril, who had yet to name them. Periodically, steam vents released gentle clouds of smoke into the air the streets extended in all directions, empty and open for exploration. Cyril found this sense of possibility utterly thrilling.

Cyril walked up to the first intelligent thing he had seen. It was standing upright with a glowing head straight and very tall, curiously and enthusiastically said with a huge grin on his beak.

"My name is Cyril," he said. The lamp post said nothing. Cyril had never seen a lamppost before.

"I'm a pigeon," Cyril continued, because the lamp post seemed to Cyril like it might benefit from further context. "I have been in the jungle, and now I am here. Have you seen my red tie (he grabbed the tie, straightened it up, smiling) SEE!

I've had it since I hatched. I have a nest that has a fantastic rooftop view of the city below," He paused. The lamp post almost seemed not interested, and continued to remain silent. “Thanks for listening," said Cyril. "I'll see you around." 

He joyfully wandered off down the street to explore some more and hopefully have a chat with a few more of the still and silent inhabitants. The lamp post, which had been standing in Cyrilopolis for three hundred and sixty-nine years without once being introduced to a pigeon, had no comment.

A few days later on the morning that truly marked the start of this story, Cyril found himself on the rooftop. With a sandwich wrapped in feathered fingers and the city sprawling out before him, he felt a quiet sense of contentment. The city below glimmered with a gentle radiance, its lights soft and inviting. From scattered vents, steady streams of steam curled upwards into the air, adding to the morning’s sense of calm and possibility. Everything, it seemed, was just as it should be. 

Cyril had always found his way, even when the city seemed a maze of unfamiliar streets and the jungle a labyrinth of tangled roots. He felt a sense in his beak, a shimmer if you like, and a subtle hum beneath all the usual sounds and a collection of senses he couldn’t name, but which guided him with uncanny certainty. He didn’t know the words for these things yet, but to Cyril, it simply felt like excellent instincts. 

The street was empty. The city was quiet. The sandwich was approximately 2 bites consumed and showed genuine promise to be a very tasty snack. Just then, as he looked out into the quiet city's skyline, he looked at his sandwich decinduous, scrumptious he thought, as he prepared to take another peck……………..

(No AI bots,data centers were used in the creation of Cyril of Cyrilopolis)