The World!
What an unfair place. Different circumstances lead to different lives. People claim they worked hard for what they have — true, perhaps — but that doesn't tell the full story.
Luck
They seldom admit it, yet it plays the largest role of all — deciding who lives as a king and who lives as a servant.
Through every life, there comes a moment when luck reveals itself — whether one is highborn or lowborn. Some think that luck is always good but they tend to forget that, for every good furtune one person receives there is someone who receives an equally bad misfortune.
Chadwick was one of the unlucky ones. From the moment he took his first breath, the world seemed set against him.
True, most in the Land of Sethfar are born poor, fated to serve the Nobles and Saints — but Chadwick's misfortune ran deeper than mere poverty.
Far to the south, beyond the greedy reach of the Saints, lies a realm called Cellist — a fertile land of thriving towns and kind hearts. The people there knew little of war, their soil rich, their rivers full. And it was in this peaceful land that a family welcomed their firstborn child.
"Newwwwww… Newwwww!"A child's cry pierced the night, echoing through a lone house nestled near the mountains.
"Oh, well done, Sapphire," one of the birth maids whispered as she handed the newborn to his mother. The frail child wailed softly, eyes shut tight, tiny fists opening and closing — reaching for warmth.
"Ohhh… he's so beautiful," Sapphire breathed. Her voice was weak but filled with awe. She had spent the entire night in labor, fighting through pain to bring this life into the world — and now, at last, she held him.
"Harald," she called softly, "come close… look at him."
The door burst open. A large man stepped in, his frame broad and powerful, dreadlocks swaying with his hurried stride. His silver eyes gleamed against his dark, earthen skin.
"My boy…" Harald's voice trembled with pride. "Truly — of all I've done, I've never felt pride like this. You will become great." He lifted the infant high, marveling at the small, crying face.
But the moment couldn't last.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The bells rang out — sharp, metallic, desperate — echoing across the mountains.
"Ahhhh! It's burning! They've come!" a voice screamed from outside.
Screams followed. Cries. The night dissolved into chaos.
"What's happening…" Sapphire whispered weakly.
"Hold him for me," Harald said, passing the child into the trembling arms of one of the nursemaids.
"Harald…" Sapphire called out, her hand stretching toward him, fingers twitching in exhaustion and fear.
He paused at the doorway, then turned back briefly. "Hold on. I'll be back soon — don't leave this place."
The door shut behind him.
Outside, the world was burning. Smoke rose like pillars of black cloth, swallowing the stars. The air was thick — choked with ash and screams.
Harald's heart sank with every step down the mountain. Bodies littered the path — villagers he'd known all his life, strewn and broken.
"Captain! Captain!" a soldier cried, running toward him. "It's them — the ones from the Empire. They call themselves Saints… beings chosen by God."
"What!?" Harald's voice thundered through the storm of chaos. His brow furrowed, rage flaring, veins bulging in his clenched fists.
"Where are they?" he demanded, snatching the great axe from his subordinate's hands.
Its hilt was carved from dark oak, etched with golden runes that pulsed faintly with light. The blade gleamed silver, engraved with flowing, floral patterns that shimmered blue under the smoke-filled sky.
"Lead me there, Cerci," Harald growled, climbing onto the chariot.
The vehicle was small but built from gilded iron, drawn by two massive Rigesti — wolf-like beasts with fur of grey and glacial blue. Their low growls rumbled through the ground as the chariot surged forward, carrying Harald down toward the burning town.
When Herald climbed aboard, Cerci took the reins and drove him toward the town square.They passed through rows of houses and shops, all consumed by crimson flames that devoured everything in their path.
"Why would they do this…" Herald thought to himself as they neared the town's center—where the main army was destroying everything in sight.
"Halt!"Herald leaped from the chariot, crashing into the ground with his axe. The force split the earth in two.
Before him stood an army five thousand strong—each soldier clad in white and silver garments. Some carried banners bearing the twin moons of Sethfar, conjoined around a blazing sun whose rays stretched out like stars.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" one of the men bellowed."The Church has come to reclaim this land from heretics—those who stand against the god of Sethfar! As we speak, the entire country is surrounded. Surrender… or die!"
As he spoke, the once-blue sky began to lose its color. A crimson veil spread across the heavens, sealing everything within its suffocating glow. The air grew heavy—thick with dread and divine judgment.
"Hu… hu… what's this foul smell?" Herald muttered, breathing heavily."It smells like blood." His eyes widened as he finally understood the gravity of the scene before him.
"Here we have your ruler…" the army's leader declared. He was clad in pure white, his face covered with a veil of the same cloth. Across his crown ran a single glowing blue line.
Upon a raised pedestal sat Therian, cross-legged, flanked by two men dressed in white. Each had their arms stretched forward, as if restraining or binding him through unseen force.
"The killing can stop," the leader continued, "if your king renounces his claim to the throne—and gives us the Jewel of Cellist, the false idol you worship as your god."
"What the f*ck does he mean, worshiping a rock as god?! He knows nothing of us!" a man from the crowd shouted.
"We would rather die!" cried an elderly woman. "Don't accept their terms, Therian! What's to stop them from turning on their word and continuing the slaughter?"
"Go back from whence you came!"The crowd erupted in furious chants.
Herald stood frozen at the center of the square, bewildered—his thoughts racing only to his wife and newborn child.
"Alright then…" the commander said coldly, raising his hand. "Have it your way."
He gestured toward the two men beside the king.Their shadows stretched unnaturally—snaking across the ground until they merged with the king's form.
Crack… crack… crack!
The King began to deform. His long, silky hair fell out, leaving his scalp bare. His body twisted and bent, skin turning a sickly green as his nails extended and his frame widened grotesquely.
"Why you—"
Before Herald could strike, a sharp pain shot through his back. He froze, eyes widening in shock and disbelief. Slowly, he turned his head.
"Cerci…!" Herald's voice broke. There he was—Cerci—his once-loyal companion, his blade buried deep in Herald's back, a wild grin stretching across his face.
"I was wondering how they managed to find this place…" Herald rasped, his voice trembling with fury. "You betrayed us."
He swung his arm backward, striking Cerci across the face. "You damn traitor!" Herald roared, ripping the blade from his flesh. Blood poured freely as he raised his axe to strike Cerci down.
But before the blade could fall, Cerci spoke—his voice calm, almost amused.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa… I wouldn't do that if I were you." He wiped the blood from his lip and smirked. "Think about your wife."
Herald froze mid-swing. His breathing turned ragged as Cerci rose from the ground, the same cruel grin plastered across his face.
And for the first time, true fear began to gnaw at Herald's heart.