[This name is taken]
"…" Giuseppe blinked.
'What…?'
Giuseppe Castellano was baffled beyond belief.
'Who the hell else would even think of picking that name? Was it Marcus?'
His jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth.
'I will find you.'
[Grim]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
"Fuck!"
[TheRealGoat]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
"I HATE YOU!"
[BucketGod]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
"Fuck you!"
[KingGiuseppe]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
"I WILL KILL EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM!" he shouted into the empty sky.
[FuckYou]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
He stared at the screen, dead inside.
[JustLetMePlay]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
A silent, ancient scream welled up inside him—one born of the purest despair deep in his soul.
[Bucket]
[Confirmed]
[Username Accepted]
Giuseppe stared at the screen with a soulless face, as if betrayed by the heavens themselves.
"Why…"
Before he could dwell any longer, the world around him began to crack.
Thin, jagged lines raced across the endless white sky like fractures on glass. The warm, sacred light flickered and dimmed. The clouds below his feet trembled, then began to fall apart into cascading streams of silver dust.
CRACK.
The sky split open.
A deafening, rumbling roar echoed through the infinite expanse as the heavens shattered like broken glass. Huge fragments of the glowing sky tumbled into the void below.
A force yanked Giuseppe down like a giant unseen hand, pulling him through the collapsing heavens at a dizzying speed. The wind howled passed his ears, though he couldn't tell if it was real wind or just the screaming of reality tearing itself apart.
The fragments of the shattered heavens blurred past him like comets.
Blink.
Suddenly, he found himself sprawled across a deep, cold floor.
Groaning, Giuseppe pushed himself up onto his elbows. He rose to his feet—unsteady at first—and looked around.
The sight before him made his eyes widen in awe.
Towering bookshelves stretched so high they seemed to scrape the heavens themselves, filled with countless tomes, scrolls, and manuscripts. They curved and spiralled in impossible arcs, like the ribs of some grand celestial beast. The air was thick with the scent of ancient parchment and something older—sacred.
Above, massive glass domes crowned the cathedral-like ceiling, revealing a swirling, starry expanse beyond. It was as if the very constellations danced directly overhead, their lights bleeding down in rivers of gold and silver.
Suspended in the air were colossal orbs of pure light, each one burning with a gentle, radiant glow. They floated serenely, casting warm, shifting patterns across the marble floor below.
Golden dust hung in the air like suspended stars, giving the entire space an ethereal, dreamlike quality.
The library seemed to last forever, he couldn't even see the end, and if this place was where he thought it is, there wasn't one.
The Akashic Library.
The very name whispered itself into his mind.
Where every story is written, every possibility is stored, and every universe is held.
A deep vibration stirred in the pit of his chest, resonating with the very floor he stood upon, as if the library itself acknowledged his arrival.
With that recognition came a calling sensation. Immediately, Giuseppe knew what that was. His Foundational Script.
He didn't resist the feeling and let his instinct guide him. He walked the glorious halls of the library until he came across a single book floating on an empty table.
Giuseppe sat on a soft, black, cushioned chair lined with gold runic patterns.
A white-and-gold holographic screen appeared before his eyes, which had set themselves on the book.
[The Edathis Chronicles]
[In a world born in blood. A land where mountains whispered secrets, rivers laughed with the blood of old gods. And skies shimmered with colours beyond name.
Four great nations rose, each shaped by their dreams and legends.
In the North stood Crovania, the Stoneheart—mist-wreathed mountains and endless forests, where cities were carved into the bones of the world. Its people were proud, enduring, and bound by ancient oaths.
To the East, the Federation of Zathain, a confederation of jewelled cities strung along emerald rivers. Inventors, alchemists, and dreamers dwelled here, where a merchant's smile could hide a thousand knives, and a poet's song could topple kings.
Beyond the southern seas bloomed the Kingdom of Wistoria, a realm of eternal spring, golden meadows, and crystal lakes. Beneath the masks of beauty, secrets held the kingdom together.
And in the blazing West thrived the Sultanate of Jottrye—a land of golden deserts and grand cities shimmering like mirages. Here, the voices of old retained Jottrye's tight grip on the world.
Thus began the first pages of The Edathis Chronicles.]
Giuseppe stared at the floating book after reading the description on the holographic screen.
"Alright. I'm ready," he muttered.
He reached out.
The moment his fingertips brushed the surface—
The world turned dark.
***
The throne room of Veyndral Keep was a cathedral of blue and silver.
Vast banners of midnight blue hung from the towering stone pillars, each one stitched with ancient symbols of power. The floor was a vast, polished white stone, so smooth it reflected the silver-lined ceiling like a mirror.
A the far end of the hall, upon a throne made from white stone and lined with veins of living silver, sat the King.
He wore no crown—he needed none. His presence alone bent the air around him.
Tall, ageless, wrapped in flowing blue and silver robes, his cyan eyes held a deep wisdom that only came from countless years at the helm of a kingdom.
At his side stood a figure cloaked in grey, head bowed low—his trusted attendant, known only as Vaelen.
Vaelen knelt and spoke, voice a careful whisper against the heavy silence.
"They will arrive soon, my liege," he said. "The next batch of travellers from beyond."
The King said nothing at first.
He lifted one hand lazily to stroke his chin. "New seeds," the King finally murmured, voice deep and commanding, echoing across the empty hall.
"Some will bloom into mighty oaks. Others will wither before they see the sun. It matters not. Their blood will feed the soil of this world."
Vaelen dared not raise his head.
"Shall I send the Watchers to observe, sire?"
The King leaned forward slightly. "Observe?" His lips curled into something almost like a smile.
"Yes. Vaelen, but let them struggle first. Let them believe they are free. Only at the brink of despair will they reveal their true worth."
The King rose to his feet.
"Prepare for the carriage ride to the meadow," he commanded. "I will join my daughter in her ceremony."
____________________________________________________
Author Note: ;)