Lodestar Swordmaster - Fake

What defines a human? The Ironclad stood upon the summit of Gasping Cliff. Beneath his falcon-like gaze, every movement in the valley below lay exposed. The wind carried moonlight onto his mask, or rather, his face. That bronze visage, almost never removed, had long since become his true face. When bronze forms half your stride, half your spine, and half your very core, and when you can neither stand nor survive without the clatter of machinery, can you still be called human? Yes. He told himself that he was more worthy of that title than many born to it. One is born of man, yet birth alone does not grant humanity. The child in the cauldron was not treated as human, and those huddled around the fire possessed no humanity to speak of. Nor did the guards who herded those starving beasts outside the gates to devour one another, nor the silk-clad elite feasting at lavish tables, nor the servants who discarded surplus grain and fine flour. Years ago, his sister, too, was denied her humanity. Does a cripple count? Does a fool? Is a witless child, fit only to squander rations and offering nothing in return, who recoils from the fire a heartbeat too late, truly worth the grain that could save a healthy life? Even cats and dogs know to flee the flames, yet your sister lacks even the sense of a beast! Open your eyes! People are starving to death before you, yet you waste life-giving food on a... Yes. His answer rang with the certainty of iron. Clutching his hard-won rations amidst the curses and pleas of the dying, he placed them into her unknowing hands. Because his sister was human, too. It was not until a wanderer descended upon an azure bird that he realized the world held more than men and beasts. It also held Immortals. Immortals... What kind of humans were they? They dwelled at the pinnacle of drifting clouds. Beyond their celestial peaks, the parched earth, wildfires, floods, and cold iron devoured human lives. Even the sun, moon, and stars seemed to open their ravenous maws. Yet within the mountains, bronze servants and stone maids walked the halls. Wooden oxen and gliding horses served without complaint. Even the elements of sun and moon, water and fire, had become faithful and submissive companions. Overnight, his sister was transformed from one deemed unworthy of humanity into an Immortal by birth. She stood among them beneath the star-strewn skies, radiant and sublime, as though she herself were a goddess. Within those sacred peaks, he too found parents, a master, freedom, and glory. He mastered a blade art that became his pride, and he found companions whose hearts beat in harmony with his own. The world beyond was too bitter, and he had been too young when it first scarred him. Thus, he buried himself beneath the sheltering wings of his newfound kin, allowing the storms beyond the mountain and the wounds upon his body to slowly fade. Until the day a falling sun reduced everything he loved to ash. "Child, where do you intend to go?" "To find her." "To seek vengeance?" "To protect her." "...A heart of pure innocence. Someone like you should see what lies beyond these mountains before you return." "...As you wish." And so, the brother she once knew never returned. In his place stands the Ironclad of today, watching from Gasping Cliff as the wind carries the same question back to him: What defines a human? Some are denied their humanity by their own kind. Yet those who refuse to see the humanity in others forfeit their own. Of this, he has no doubt. But now, are these Immortals, separated only by a mountain's breadth, truly "human"? His sister and the entire celestial house were enshrined upon golden thrones. Yet those who reviled her as a beast and those who worshipped her as a goddess shared the exact same failing: neither ever saw the person she was. If these Immortals understood that "humanity" is a myth, that there is only a creature who becomes a beast in purgatory, a god upon the peaks, and a "mortal" burdened by mundane woes in the world below, how would they view the so-called human race? And what of the one who broods over the nature of humanity, yet divides his fellow beings into ranks and castes, judging by his own decree who is "human" and who is not? Can such a judge truly claim that title? For the first time in his life, the answer eluded him. Until, with a thunderous roar, the sun flared and bloomed before him once more. In that instant, all notions of "human" and "non-human" evaporated from his mind. His limbs, his hands, and even the tears upon his face no longer obeyed the dictates of his logic. He was but a common mortal, his heart torn apart by a thoroughly human grief.