"The Ruler?"
The first guard asked with a tone laced in sincere curiosity, as if he were brushing against the edges of something far greater.
Carl answered, his face caught between the moonlight and the glow of the dying embers:
"The ruler has a rich and luminous history with the ancient empire, Zvaldar. But he wasn't always a ruler. No… we must go much further back—to the true beginning. The ruler's story begins at the end of another tale—the tale of the sole surviving commander from the other world."
He bowed his head for a moment, as if gathering time itself:
"After his survival and rescue, the story spread across the empire like wildfire. For the first time in recorded history, there had been a 'successful return' from the other world. One of the era's greatest mysteries—the strange distortions that had been swallowing people for decades—was finally understood. Even more astonishing, linguists managed to extract and translate the alien language spoken by the elves from the commander's memory. The symbols were complex, the pronunciation unfamiliar, yet a rare few scholars mastered it."
"Two worlds… utterly different, and yet connected by precise transition points. Anyone who touched these points was transported to a mirrored world, where they had to find another such point to return. And finally, the world knew where those vanishing points led—and what lay beyond them."
Carl took a deep breath and continued:
"The opportunity was now real. To send armies—or at least elite teams—into the other world. The goal wasn't just exploration. It was to rescue those humans who had been trapped there for years... and to prevent the invasion of more creatures from spilling into our world."
"And that… is where the ruler's tale truly begins."
He paused for a solemn moment before continuing, his tone carrying the weight of legend:
"According to the ancient records and texts stored in the vaults of Zvaldar, the ruler was once just a man. A soldier—an ordinary fighter in the empire's regular forces. He wasn't remarkable for his physical strength, but for his mind—his strategies, his understanding of foreign creatures, his unconventional tactics."
"When the empire finally prepared for a systematic expedition into the other world, they didn't send a full army. They chose the best of the best—five warriors. Each one, based on evaluations, capable of facing an entire army alone. Little is known about them—no names, no origins. Only the ruler's existence remained recorded… but even his name was left out."
"They were trained to the highest level and entrusted with all the knowledge gleaned from the survivor: how to stay alive, how to adapt, how to find their way back. Everything was prepared with precision. There was no room for error."
"And when the day arrived, a special passage was created to one of the known transition points. A corridor that resembled a grand temple, built to honor their bravery. Thousands gathered on either side—men, women, children—waving, cheering, their hearts torn between fear and pride, bidding farewell to the five chosen warriors."
"They walked in silence… and the moment they touched the point, they vanished. As if they were swallowed by light."
"Zvaldar wasn't alone for long. Other nations followed. They began sending soldiers, fighters, and advanced machines. For the first time, mankind had made a decision—not to flee from the realm of shadows, but to invade it."
Carl looked toward the other guard and smiled faintly:
"And so began the ruler's journey—one that would reshape history."
---
Only a few months had passed since that first elite team had been sent into the "other world."
And then it happened—the event that changed human history forever.
In the heart of the imperial capital, Zvaldar—before the eyes of thousands—a tear split the very air.
A long, clean rift appeared, emitting a pure light that didn't hurt the eyes, but rather enchanted them. Slowly, the rift widened, becoming a glowing gateway—a door to another dimension.
And then, a figure stepped out.
A man of overwhelming presence. His face calm, his beauty indescribable.
His hair was white as snow, and his garments were adorned with flowing golden threads cascading over a majestic robe that shimmered with every movement.
He looked as though he had descended from a forgotten myth—or a heaven no one had ever known.
The first guard whispered:
"Who is that?"
Carl answered softly, as if speaking something sacred:
"That… is the ruler."
---
The ruler stepped into the center of the plaza, and in an instant, a platform of light rose beneath his feet—as if the earth itself obeyed him.
He stood upon it with calm authority, surrounded by the stunned and breathless crowd, the celestial glow radiating from his body drawing every eye.
Then he smiled, and spoke—his voice bypassing all barriers, echoing directly into the minds of the people:
"My beloved people... Humanity's age of weakness is ending. For the first time—and forevermore—the god has chosen me as your savior from the horrors of the other world. And I have returned."
His words did not require translation or validation.
Everyone who heard them felt them burn within their chest—awakening something long dormant inside them.
He raised his arms, and from his body erupted a blinding, divine light that swept across the entire capital, reaching even the outermost walls.
And with it, a miracle occurred.
---
Everyone touched by that light felt something awaken.
Powers surged through their veins—extraordinary abilities blooming from within.
Some gained control over natural elements—fire, water, earth, air, even lightning.
Others developed mental, spiritual, or physical powers. Superhuman speed, enhanced senses, incredible transformations.
Even those who weren't present—those in their homes or workplaces—felt it.
Humanity changed in mere hours into something entirely new.
And was that all?
While the people were still reeling from the shock, the light portal remained open.
And when the ruler turned toward it and gestured, the lost began to return.
Humans who had vanished years ago emerged from the gate—clothed, uninjured, smiling as though returning from the dead.
And with them came others.
Beings who resembled humans—but with pointed ears, slender forms, delicate features, and deep, mysterious eyes.
The elves
Karl continued:
"Despite the past trials and misunderstandings, one ruler managed to end the conflict. He taught his people that these beings were not enemies, but allies. The Elves became part of human society, contributing to the teaching of magic—especially healing magic and swordsmanship."
But… it wasn't that simple.
**
The government of Zvaldaar learned what had happened. Their soldiers and commanders suddenly became superhuman, and they traced the source to a man who had emerged from the light. They sent an urgent delegation to meet him.
When they arrived, they found him standing between humans and Elves—two races once destined to be enemies. They didn't know how to react. The energy radiating from this man was overwhelming. So, they respectfully asked him to accompany them for questioning.
When they identified him, they realized he was one of the chosen warriors who had been sent on a mission into the other world—a man who had returned in a new form. They asked him: "Where are the other four warriors who went with you?"
The ruler didn't elaborate. There were no clear records of what occurred during that journey. All that was known was that the others had either died or sacrificed themselves. He was the only survivor. The only one who returned... changed.
They also asked him how he obtained these incredible powers.
He answered simply: "The god chose me as His servant."
They dared not push further, afraid of what this being might do.
And his ability—to turn ordinary humans into superhumans—remains, to this day, an unsolved mystery.
Later, the day his light first shone was officially named "Day of Light."
**
The two days following the Day of Light were calm. The empire was still reeling from the first wave of the miracle. People were discovering their new powers. The Elves were beginning to speak openly with humans. Joy flooded the streets of the capital.
But in the midst of this hopeful scene… tragedy struck.
In the imperial palace wing, the Emperor was found dead, quietly, in his bed.
No blood, no wounds, no signs of poisoning or distress. Just… dead.
His eyes closed as if he were asleep. His face calm, like someone surrendering to an eternal dream.
The death was officially announced at noon. Rumors spread like wildfire:
A heart attack? Sudden pressure? Or was it a sign from the god Himself—that one era had ended, and another had begun?
But one thing was certain: the Emperor was dead… and had left behind no heir.
**
Chaos spread through the halls of power.
The high councils, the generals, the nobles—none of them knew what to do. Who would lead the nation? None of them possessed the charisma, strength, or capacity to guide the empire through the age of miracles.
And in an eerie, unspoken consensus, all eyes turned to one man.
The Ruler.
**
The man who rescued the lost.
The one who came from the light.
The one who awakened the power in the people's blood.
And more than anything… the one who stood at the center of the square like a being beyond human—radiating both awe and mercy.
He never asked to rule. He never sought the throne.
But… he did not refuse it.
Without bloodshed, without coups, without conspiracy—
The people gave him their allegiance.
**
And in a public address, the Ruler stood once more before the Platform of Light—this time, not to call for change… but to begin it.
He said:
"Humanity has lived for millennia under the banners of kings and authorities… but never under a true light to guide them.
Now, I stand before you not only as a king… but as the bearer of the god's blessing—His servant, and the bringer of His light."
Then he raised his hand and spoke words that lit hearts as they lit the sky:
"Whoever believes in me, let them offer their heart—and I shall lead them into a dawn from which no darkness shall return."
And so, he was declared the official ruler of the Empire.
**
Then came his first decree—and it was a radical one.
He ordered the old constitution to be torn apart, and the laws of the Empire rewritten from the ground up.
He declared the end of the Age of Zvaldaar… and the birth of the Empire of Luméira—a name derived from "Lumen", the Elvish word for light, given a royal form.
The Empire of Light.
A land for dreamers, the blessed, and knights who bore the light in their hearts.
The people gave him a title of reverence:
The Ruler of Light.
**
Over time, those who received his blessing on the Day of Light were called The First Chosen. They made up roughly sixty percent of the Empire's population.
The rest either learned magic from the Elves, trained in modern combat techniques brought from the other world… or remained ordinary humans—yet still protected, respected, and safe.
These powers were exclusive to the people of Luméira.
The rest of the world gained nothing from the miracle. They didn't know how it happened. They couldn't recreate it. And they certainly couldn't reach the Ruler, who had cut off all international ties—declaring that the age of external allegiance was over.
**
In the first years of his reign, the Ruler continued to grant his blessing…
But not to all—only to those who truly believed in him, and offered him full loyalty, as the Servant of the God and Ruler of Light.
Yet, chains of war would soon be forged…
For the difference he created stirred envy.
Neighboring nations would desire this power for themselves.
.....
The wind had calmed along the outer walls of the Luméira Empire, and the moonlight faded behind the drifting clouds, as if the night itself was preparing to leave.
The two guards remained in their post, showing clear signs of fatigue from the long watch. Silence wasn't foreign to them, but this night had been different. The first guard hadn't expected to spend it immersed in a story spun by Karl — a tale woven with threads of history and fantasy… or perhaps truth, cloaked in mystery.
As the pale light of the watch-lanterns flickered and dimmed, a third guard approached with steady steps. He halted in front of them, raised a hand in greeting, and said calmly:
— "Your shift's over... You're free to go."
The first guard sighed deeply, stretching lazily before muttering with dry humor:
— "Finally… a long night comes to an end."
Karl began packing his gear in silence: his shortbow, face mask, and logbook. His movements were routine, but his eyes remained fixed on the distant horizon.
The first guard looked over at him and said:
— "It really was a long night… but you saved it from boredom with that story of yours, Karl. Maybe you should be a writer or something. Who knows?"
Karl chuckled softly under his breath and gave a faint shake of his head. He pulled on his heavy leather coat. But just as he turned to leave, he stopped suddenly, as if remembering something important.
— "Oh, by the way… I'm resigning tomorrow."
The first guard turned toward him, surprised:
— "What? Are you serious? Man, I've only worked with you for a week, and I was just starting to get used to you."
Karl replied with a faint smirk:
— "Nothing lasts forever, you know. Life calls. This job was always meant to be temporary."
— "Let me guess — the boredom got to you? Or you just didn't like being a guard?"
— "Neither, actually. I just have… more important things to do."
A quiet pause settled between them.
There was something in Karl's gaze the other guard couldn't quite place — a mix of resolve and mystery, as if he carried a purpose known to no one but himself. This wasn't just the end of a shift… it was the closing of a chapter. The beginning of something else.
At last, the first guard placed a hand on Karl's shoulder and said:
— "Well then... good luck, wherever the road takes you."
Karl nodded in silence, then walked off down the stone passageway, leaving behind the soft fading glow of the last watchlight.
And from there...
the true story begins.