Chapter 4 – Unwritten Truths
Morning light bled slowly into the room, slipping through the thin curtains in pale, golden slants. It touched the edge of Leo's desk first, illuminating the chaos of old papers and half-open books stacked in precarious towers. The air smelled faintly of dust and parchment — a scent that had, somehow, begun to feel like home. Somewhere outside, the hollow clatter of a cartwheel over cobblestones broke the quiet, followed by the shrill call of a hawker already peddling bread and boiled eggs.
It had been days since his arrival in this realm, but the feeling of dislocation hadn't entirely faded. Every morning brought the same strange truth: he was not where he used to be. This world, with its layered history and guarded secrets, was now his own to navigate.
His memories helped him adapt faster than most would in his place, but memories were fragments. What he needed was knowledge — and knowledge here was buried deep, scattered in records few cared to read.
Leo leaned over the desk, brushing dust from a thick, leather-bound volume. The cover bore a crest he didn't recognize — a sunburst tangled with black thorns — faded so much the design looked as if it had been erased on purpose. He had been through at least a dozen of these tomes in the past week, and the pattern was always the same: each recounted the past in three neat "categories," and nothing more. No account strayed from that rigid division.
It was as if the Astravar Empire had trimmed history into a shape it approved of — and burned whatever didn't fit.
The pages crackled under his fingers. Category One: The Founding Age.Category Two: The Age of Division.Category Three: The Age of Steel. Names, dates, and dry lists of events — no deeper explanations, no personal voices. No mention of the ruins that had started his curiosity in the first place.
He blinked — and then the room tilted.
The book in his hands was no longer dusty and faded. It was new. Its crest gleamed in gold, untouched by time. He smelled not parchment and dust but oil lamps and incense. Somewhere in the background, he heard chanting in a language his mind recognized but his tongue could not shape.
A woman's voice — clear and cold — whispered into his ear:"The Fourth Age was erased, Leo. Do not ask why. Remember only what is permitted."
The weight of the book vanished. His vision snapped back to the pale morning light, his hands empty. The volume lay closed on the desk, exactly as before.
Leo rubbed the bridge of his nose. The more he searched, the more it felt like the Empire didn't want people knowing about the other realms — or the truths hidden in those vine-choked ruins. Perhaps that was why so few scholars even mentioned them. And perhaps that was why Jack had told him he wanted to join the Imperial Military: not for glory, but for the chance to gain access to the places and records common citizens were never allowed to see.
He closed the book, dust drifting into the air like smoke. Outside the window, sunlight caught the rooftops of the city. Somewhere out there, truth existed — but here in the archives, it was buried under deliberate silence.
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"Again," Mira's voice cut through the crisp morning air, sharp but not unkind.
They stood in an open yard behind her small house, the ground hard and dry. Jack was panting, sweat trickling down his temple, while Ralph gritted his teeth in concentration. Mira moved between them like a hawk, watching every shift of their stances.
"Your mind first, then your hand," she said. "Control the storm inside before you swing. If your balance is off here—" she tapped her temple "—then the werias will master you instead of the other way around."
The werias — strange, elegant weapons unlike anything Leo had seen in his old world. Long, curved shapes of dark alloy that seemed to hum faintly when held. In the Imperial Forces, every recruit was required to wield one, but not all werias were the same. Each reacted differently to its wielder, forcing them to "choose their path," as Mira called it.
But beyond those hints, she gave no explanation. "You'll understand when the time comes," she always said.
After a grueling hour, they rested under the shade of a bare-branched tree. Leo's muscles ached, but there was satisfaction in it. Training here was not just about fighting; it was about learning to steady one's thoughts, to keep calm when the world tried to push you into chaos.
The city beyond Mira's neighborhood was a study in contrasts.
They passed the noble quarter first — broad streets lined with flowering trees, even in the cool month of February. Stone mansions rose behind wrought-iron fences, their balconies draped with banners bearing the sigils of old bloodlines loyal to the Emperor. Carriages trimmed in gold rolled slowly along, the soft clop of their horses' hooves muffled by the clean paving stones. Here lived the great factory owners, high-ranking officers of the Imperial legions, and those whose wealth stretched so far they could buy silence. Servants in crisp uniforms bustled between doors, carrying parcels wrapped in fine paper. The air smelled faintly of perfume and expensive tea.
A few streets away, the middle-class district bustled with life. Imperial clerks hurried toward offices, arms full of rolled documents. The hiss of steam and the metallic clang of hammers drifted from the factories at the district's edge, where middle-class men labored in shifts to produce the machinery and goods that fueled the Empire's "Age of Steel." Taverns here were clean but plain, serving workers bowls of stew and dark bread. Children in tidy clothes walked to school, laughing between bites of roasted chestnuts bought from street stalls.
And then — the smell hit before they even entered the Forsaken Quarter.
Narrow lanes twisted between leaning buildings, their stone walls dark with damp. The air reeked of rotting vegetables, stale ale, and the faint tang of sewage. Women stood in doorways painted in colors meant to be inviting, but their faces were tired, eyes hollow. Children darted barefoot between crates and barrels, some chasing a rag-stuffed ball, others carrying baskets far too heavy for their small frames. Here, survival was not about living well, but about seeing the next sunrise.
Leo's chest tightened. The Astravar Empire might be in its revolutionary age, with experiments and new technologies emerging every month, but progress had not touched everyone. The steel and wealth were built on the backs of those the Emperor's court barely acknowledged.
.....
That night, Leo sat at his desk, the single lamp casting a warm circle of light on the wood. He opened his diary, the worn leather cover soft from use.
13 February, Year 1279.
His pen scratched softly across the page. He wrote about the day's training, about the faces in the Forsaken Quarter, about the scent of noble gardens that seemed like they belonged to another world entirely. He wrote about the silence in the books he'd read, about the three neat "categories" that felt like chains placed on history itself — and the sudden, inexplicable fourth that had tried to bleed into his mind.
When he finished, he slid the diary into a hidden compartment under the desk. Some thoughts were not meant for others' eyes.
"Leo! Are you ready?" Mira's voice rang up the stairs the next morning. "We have to go now. Jack and Ralph are waiting in town!"
He grabbed his satchel, checked the hidden compartment once more, and headed down. Outside, the air was sharp enough to bite, the kind that promised a long day ahead.
They found Jack and Ralph near the market square, where stalls were just opening. The four of them walked together to the carriage stand, where a sturdy, dark-brown horse stood hitched to a covered wagon. The driver, a grizzled man with a scarf wrapped around his face, tipped his hat and waited for them to climb in.
The road to the capital wound through open countryside, frost still clinging to the grass. The wheels clattered over stones, the steady rhythm mingling with the muffled snort of the horse. Fields stretched on either side, dotted with skeletal trees. In the distance, the faint silhouette of the capital's skyline rose — towers and walls catching the pale winter sun.
Mira broke the silence first. "Do you all remember what I told you about the Imperial Examination?"
Jack nodded. "Three parts, right?"
"Yes. The first is written — not just facts, but how you respond to pressure. Critical thinking, planning under strain. They're looking for who keeps a clear head."
"The second?" Ralph asked.
"A physical examination. It might be a duel between candidates or a test of marksmanship. Sometimes it's endurance. They change it each year so no one can train for just one thing."
Leo leaned forward. "And the third?"
Mira's eyes darkened slightly. "The third is the hardest. They drain your mental energy — on purpose — and then they fill your mind with what they call Negative Flow. It's like letting shadow seep into your thoughts. They want to see how your spirit reacts when it's cornered. If you break, they know you can't handle what's ahead."
The carriage jolted over a bump, and the conversation fell quiet. Outside, the skyline grew larger, the towers like watchful sentinels over the city. The capital of the Astravar Empire waited — along with whatever truths it kept hidden within its walls.
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Glossary
Werias — A unique class of weapons used by the Empire's military recruits. Crafted from a dark, humming alloy, each werias bonds to its wielder and requires mastery over both body and mind. Warriors must "choose their path" to unlock their weapon's true potential.
Forsaken — The lowest social class in the Empire's hierarchy, living in the poorest districts often ignored by the ruling nobility and middle class. Life for the Forsaken is harsh and precarious, with many struggling daily to survive amid poverty, neglect, and social stigma.