In the mystical yet unforgiving land of Escen, otherworldly powers awakened within humanity. As if bound by fate, monsters evolved alongside them, and both came to wield abilities known as Contracts. Over the past thousand years, these powers continued to grow and change.
With each generation, these Contracts grew more potent. Those gifted with strength rose, while the weak were forced to submit. Humanity prospered and expanded under this new power, but it came at a cost: lands were destroyed, and countless lives were caught in the wake of its growth.
The empire of Kyiosk was built upon this truth. It revered strength above all else. The powerful gained honor and status, while those deemed weak were abandoned and forgotten.
That was the story written on paper.
In reality, strength was often eclipsed by wealth and influence. Royalty and noble families quietly restrained those beneath them, ensuring their dominance remained unchallenged. It was a truth rarely spoken aloud.
So the question remains: is strength truly the greatest power in Kyiosk, or is something far darker ruling from the shadows?
~~~
Civilians bickered amongst each other. A cold, sharp wind cut through the alleys and broken-down houses. The slums of Kyiosk were alive as ever, yet suffocating as always.
Roako still heard the voices when he closed his eyes. The orphanage's promises were all a lie.
The pain and memories clouded his thoughts. The voices of the children who had died could still be heard. Their screams as they begged for their lives, tears flowing down their faces, cursing those who condemned them. The horrors he had experienced still sent shivers down his spine.
The orphanage was supposed to be his second chance, an opportunity to live. Instead, it taught him fear. It had taught him disgust for both the world and for himself. His eyes wincing as if in pain as the memories flowed into his brain.
The orphanages allowed Roako to become strong.
It had also broken him.
The orphanage had taught Roako everything this world demanded: prove your worth, or be discarded. Those who prove their worth would be treated well, while those who fell behind were left dead.
Roako didn't want to be grateful for the orphanage. But he knew the cold, bitter truth. He wouldn't be alive without it.
Sweat beaded across Roako's forehead, his body twitching and shaking at the memories. He had worked so hard to survive as instinct had taken over. Yet today was the day he could finally leave this life behind him. Guilt tightened in his chest as the thought of abandoning others entered his mind.
Leaving behind so many children, children who would never escape. But if he stayed, he would never be able to leave and die with the rest of them. He would be another forgotten slum.
The orphanage that let him live would finally be a past that he could leave behind.
It was a scar that would be permanently etched into his brain. A memory he won't ever forget.
Roako knew that if he didn't leave today, he would never have another shot. The strong had to live; if Roako wanted to protect the weak, he had to live. In order to destroy this corrupt system, he had to be strong enough to be able to do so.
Roako lay inside one of the slums' torn-apart shacks. He was a young, frail-looking boy who had run away to escape from the grasp of the orphanage, yet remained bound by their shadows. Roako had hidden out in fear of the orphanage, yet today he was determined to escape.
The underworld was an equally cruel place, perhaps even worse. But with few options, Roako had chosen it to be his best chance.
At the age of eight, his parents vanished, leaving him with a necklace, a family photo, and a blank scroll. With no other option, his only choice was to follow the orphanage, and with the help of the orphanage, he had survived nine harsh years.
Nine years of suffering and growth, he had sharpened his body but fractured his mind.
Roako had awoken from a short nap with a sour expression. He had messy blond hair and vivid purple eyes, which seemed unfitting of the slums. Skin as pale as a ghost, and bruises had marked his body like stains. His clothes were beaten-up clothes with old blood stains splattered across.
The lives he had seen taken.
The lives he had taken
Today, time spent here will soon come to an end.
Running away from the orphanage meant death.
But Roako had already died once.
He drew a slow breath and focused inward. A small, dark purple light flickered to life in his chest.
Power answered his call.
His fingers glowed faintly white as he traced a symbol across his head.
x3
The world sharpened. His thoughts accelerated beyond comfort, beyond safety.
Roako opened his eyes.
There was no turning back now.