For the Hopeless

The war between the humans and the nonhumans was just beginning, yet the nonhumans were already disappearing at an alarming rate. Families were being torn apart, entire communities were dwindling down to nothing, innocent people were dying, and all because humans had no idea what they were doing.

They called the newly discovered nonhumans the Novipopulus, the New People, even though they were old, possibly even older than the human race itself. The general public referred to each individual as a Novi, a group of them as Novies. At first, the nonhumans had hated the name, had done everything they could to stop people from using it, sometimes even resorting to violence, but everything had changed after only a month. They realized that they had no choice but to accept the name, and after another month, most nonhumans were even using it.

That didn't mean they accepted what the humans were doing to them, however. Who could accept such an atrosity? The humans had reacted to the discovery of these new species in the only way they knew how to: with violence. They were set on capturing the Novies, determined to rid the world of them. They locked them up, experimented on them, then discarded them as if they did not live or love, laugh or feel. Some didn't even get the chance to go through the first steps. They were killed on sight, shot down like rabid wolves.

Yet the nonhumans have never even tried to fight back. They flee, but they know they'll never make it. They hide, but they know they'll be discovered someday. Nonhumans who haven't been captured live in fear, the ones who have in agony.

The humans have no idea what they're doing. They don't understand that these individuals are just like them, just humans with extra abilities, not dangerous beasts to be slaughtered. They'd never even harbored any negative feelings toward the human race. Their friends had been humans. They'd grown up with humans. They could have been the humans' allies, their friends, their companions, but no. Now, they have no choice but to be enemies.

The Novipopulus have only one hope, one chance to escape extinction, and it all rests in the hands of a few select members of the nonhuman population. These individuals are incredibly few, especially considering the size of the human's compiled army, including both humans and members of various other species who have made deals to escape the fate so many of their own meet every day. The nonhumans who have become traitors to their own kind are called just that: Traitors. But the ones upon whom the various races rely, the ones who protect their kind and seek to bring about the end of this bloody, foolish war, have been given the title of Guardians. The former are shunned, the latter idolized.

The war thus far has seemed futile on the side of the Novipopulus. Their numbers shrink with each passing day, fear a rapidly growing entity among them. But what they don't understand is that the war has only just begun. The Guardians have only just emerged. And with each passing day, their numbers slowly grow as more and more Novies decide to stand up and fight.

The war is not yet lost. And if the Guardians have anything to say about it, it never will be.