I despise the art of perfection, because chaos isn't perfect. It was never meant to be.
Far beyond the bounds of familiarity, in the nethermost reaches of the Far South of Shawnforth, there lay an enigmatic expanse: the Thrasher Desert.
First discovered by Geologist Amon Brooke Thrasher five centuries ago, spanning half the land mass of the Ancient Zion empire, the desert harbored subterranean freshwaters, coursing beneath its scorched crust.
The Earth was rich in rare and resplendent minerals: Goz copper, Red steel, Gloydon, Irgon, Slaver, and the Preacher's Platinum.
In the present day, to the boreal edge of the desert stood a Zionite bastion. Under the blistering gaze of the noonday suns, Estrellos and ZuiZui, mirages shimmered like apparitions, and waves of heat parched the horizon. Though primarily subterranean, the strongholds were partly buried in the dunes.
Seventy-five degrees Malcey, muttered a voice. These cheap contractors can't get 'real' heat-proof stones.
Perched atop one of the towers dwelt a man grievously vexed by the unrelenting heat. His skin was the hue of sand, his white hair curled, his grey pupils swaying like the wind.
Bare-chested and clad only in shorts, he inspected a circular device—a thermometer, its slender needle trembling at the digit "70".
He slid open his drawer with practiced ease and carefully stored the thermometer. His gaze settled on a small, faded photograph tucked within — a fairly old woman's face, cloaked in an unfathomable beauty.
She looked human, with golden wheat hair, but an otherworldly blue, staring into the obscure.
As he marvelled at the photograph, a jarring shriek shredded the silence
He flinched, then moved swiftly, almost ritualistically, shutting the drawer with a snap. A whisper left his lips:
Oh yes, he muttered, almost as if remembering something he had long tried to forget. I nearly forgot.
He pivoted and headed to his desk. His hand reached not for a tool, but for a wand, nestled like a sleeping thing. Forged from pure Slaver, it resembled a miniature staff, its surface etched with faint, indecipherable runes that shimmered in the dim light. As his fingers closed around it, the air seemed to tighten.
He bolted through the doors, grabbing a deep brown overalls and hurriedly putting them on. He nearly slipped as he hit the hallway at full speed.
The corridor was alive with motion. People raced everywhere, rushing in every direction. Men and women shouted over one another, exchanging hurried questions and unfinished thoughts. Even a few kids, a rare sight in this sector, weaved through the chaos like pros, clearly used to the commotion.
What's the scale of this one? Someone shouted over the noise. I heard it's a big one!
The voice belonged to Worker 45, a tall man built like a broomstick. He had a slender figure, with snow white hair and light turquoise eyes. He wore the same outfit as everyone as, a deep green overall, which he decided to make dramatic with several stickers and color patterns.
Big enough, the man replied, barely slowing down. Let's just hope it's not another protocol-failure drill. I still haven't recovered from the previous one.
Recovered? Worker 45 scoffed. I don't know about you, but I can't wait to blind those beasts with my otherworldly light.
The man smiled. What kind of beast will it be? Elemental? Demonic? Apparition? I bet on Elemental!
Remember, you are meant to kill it, Worker 45 said. Do not study them as if they were a work of art.
Everything is a work of art, the man proclaimed. I'm a curious man. Just let me have my fun.
The two halted before a great ironclad gate, its surface etched with ancient sigils that pulsed faintly, as though stirred by their presence.
Worker 45 grinned. Splendid, so it's not a drill.
The gate responded — a smooth, metallic orb emerged from a hidden cavity, hovering like an insect. It was the size of a melon, its dull casing forged from moon-alloy, brittle yet bound by enchantment.
The orb's shell opened like petals, revealing a smaller core within — a single rose eye that glowed. It casted a spectral beam upon the two men, followed by a soft, deliberate chime.
Welcome, the orb intoned in a voice both feminine and forged, Worker Forty-Two, and…
It hesitated — the eye shifted, spun once, then locked again with focus.
…and welcome, The Showmaster.
In the Bastion, titles bore weight beyond names — they were legacies, told in fables and etched into myths, feared or revered.
Hello, Nella. Worker 45 and Showmaster chorused.
The gate hissed, then parted with a thunderous groan, sliding wide to reveal a vast chamber drenched in shadow. Far across the expanse, fifty Creters away, a behemoth stirred.
The beast was monstrous: plated in thick, earth-hued scales, it marched on fifteen powerful legs. Behind it whipped five serpentine tails, their tips crowned with onyx spikes sharp enough to cleave bone and stone alike. And then its face.
Five crimson eyes burned in the gloom, and its mouth twisted into a predator's grin, filled with jagged, saber-like teeth, as though some mad god had gifted it a smile.
Indeed, the Showmaster said, his knuckle being cracked, it's a big one.
A fine warmup, wouldn't you say? Worker 42 grinned, his voice light, but his stance battle-ready. Or are you planning to give the 'haven't yet recovered' excuse when you get your ass beaten?
The Showmaster answered with a smirk, tilting his head just so. I may be too fast for you to even see it.
Their eyes met with a jolt of rivalry, and they vanished from the stronghold's corridor.
To the beast's many eyes, a blur of searing light rushed towards it, and above, a gargantuan veil, like a tent, descended to seal the creature's doom.
She was present, and everyone took notice. Her new membership with the Adagar faction felt like a blessing to her classmates. Unlike Caesar, who had only just embarked on his first year, she was already in her second.
I want to ask her out so bad, a boy would pray.
Do you think she will be friends with me? A group of girls bantered.
Being transferred from another academy far away in another kingdom, she had a head start. She attended her classes without fail and was seen as a perfect student.
She strolled to her first class of the day: Physical Education, with elegance and confidence. She was a part of the Titan race; large, mystical creatures that roamed the lands for aeons, allegedly before humans.
She was a vision of ethereal beauty, being dubbed "The Eye of Beauty", and not without reason.
Her obesin-black hair with golden tips cascaded to her waist, framing an enigmatic countenance. She had bright golden eyes that softened her regal features.
Her physique was formidable — the kind of beauty that radiated power rather than fragility. A unique feature was her rows of sharp teeth and her abnormally tall height, commanding in presence, which incited awe and envy alike.
Her name was Edith Dorothy Billington, the daughter of the Minister of Education, Romeo Audrey Billington.
She was a prodigy, a proud member of the Paragon 11.
But she despised it.
To the outside world, she was an icon — poised, self-assured, and born to lead. Such perceptions were all but inevitable.
But inside, she was cracked and damaged.
You shamed me, Edith. Her father would say.
She rarely spoke with her father, but admiration for him lingered. He was a man praised for his insatiable hunger for knowledge, a passion that had seeped into the bones of his heir.
Expectations loomed over her like a crown too heavy to bear. Beneath the façade, her confidence flickered like a dying ember, waning under the weight of legacy.
And the winner is: Izobel Kyra Edger!!!!! The Announcer screamed into the microphone.
After the ceremonious revelation that she was a Prodigy and a prominent member of the Paragon 11, her sliver of self-worth was burnt during her defeat at the hands of the first year.
I'm not even your child, Edith would say.
Her insecurity had been etched into her from childhood. At the age of eight, a sudden growth spurt had warped her perception of her form. What others lauded as elegance, she regarded with unease. Her faith in others was tenuous. Her belief in herself, even more so.
You wouldn't want to date me, Edith would say to her admirers.
Her beauty, power, privilege... It was nothing but a mirror of her flaw.
As she strolled to the dressing room, she uttered not a single word, as she veiled her features beneath heavy folds of fabric, and chose to walk in where the shadows softened her silhouette and the world could forget her presence.
Her amber eyes, sharp yet weary, were fixed on her data. The words glowed faintly in the air before her, and she felt a wave of nausea rise in her throat.
Name: Edith Dorothy Billington
Blessed Name: Ruth
Race: Titan
Year: 2nd year
Year Rank: 3rd out of 178
Divinity: None
Special traits: Contract with Terrariel [Paladin of the soil]. Possession of Dawning Star [High-grade sword of the Titans]. Asclepius' Plea [ An oath curse that allows the user to control their biology.]
Attributes: [Neverland] [Child of the Soil] [Brawler] [Archer] [Titan Shift]
Class: Sentinel — The shield, the frontline, the immovable strength of any unit.
Third? Third is shameful. Edith thought bitterly, and stopped in her tracks. Who claimed first? Am I a terrible knight? How did I fall to third? This is absurd. Disgraceful. I should just—just vanish, disappear, die, die, die…
Tears welled up as she cupped her hands over her face, muffling her silent sobs. Then, gently, a hand touched her head and began to pat her.
Wow, you're crying over third place? a voice teased lightly. I got eighteenth, and you don't see me wailing about it.
She lifted her head and was met with a familiar sight—two radiant eyes, their pupils shaped like lilac-colored crosses, laced with faint streaks of crimson.
It was Antonio Los Tenoch, her classmate and confidant.
He was a boy of beauty and silent secrets. He was fifteen years old like her, his hair a luminous shade of violet that shimmered at the tips. A single earring adorned his left ear. Like Edith, he bore Titan blood, though not of noble lineage.
My father serves under yours, Antonio smiled. I am not supposed to see my dad's boss's daughter weeping.
Edith wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe and continued to walk to her destination. She couldn't let herself crumble—not here, not in front of Antonio.
Thank you, thank you, she murmured. But what would my father say if he found out I came in third?
Antonio's lilac eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms and said with rare seriousness. If your father isn't proud, then he doesn't deserve your effort.
Alarmed, Edith reached out and clamped her hand over his mouth.
Shush, Shush. Don't say that, she whispered hoarsely. I owe him everything. When my mother was abandoned by my real father, he loved her and me. He's Human, and he still chose to raise me. My mother was a full-blooded Titan, a rare sight of inter-racial marriage.
Antonio mumbled beneath her hand, Mh, mhmmhm mhhm mhhm…
She blinked, realizing she was still covering his mouth, and quickly let go.
Antonio pulled a rubber band from his pocket, gathering his lustrous purple hair into a lazy bun. Still not sure how that even works. Your mom's like…what? ten feet tall.
Edith pouted. So? so? My mom's the best.
Antonio grinned. Alright, princess.
She rolled her eyes and giggled. You brat.
Before long, Edith had snatched the rubber band from his hands, twirling it between her fingers. Their laughter filled the air like music, untouchable by worry.
Why do you care for me? Edith asked.
Antonio looked with worry. You chose me to be your best companion on the day we met, intrigued by our shared love of knights. You said I saw past your facade and saw the real you. I thank The Almighty every day for that day.
Edith sniffled. Why so?
My father is also like yours, Antonio said. After awakening a useless divinity, he has been haunted by my prophecy since I was born. That I would fail my plan to be a knight and cause the fall of our clan.
Edith slightly touched his hand. You have free will. Even though prophecies are proven to be guaranteed, we still have a chance, a large chance to change our future.
Antonio bit his lips. That prophecy...I hate it. But I still like it.
What do you mean?
My name is marked in the stars, Antonio sighed. A prophecy that puts me to shame when I was born. But when I think of it, it pushes me to grow, evolve...learn and understand. I want to escape from this curse by using it as a reminder to be...better.
Antonio's cross pupils dilated, with the red streaks becoming more noticeable.
Edith took notice and wrapped her hands around Antonio's.
I'm scared, Edith, he whispered. I can barely sleep at night, and my heart is always burdened.
Edith tightened her grip.
Then, then I will help you, Edith whispered back. Let's break the prophecy...and the concept of fate.
Thank you, Antonio smiled. I wish you could put this much energy into breaking your shell.
Edith pouted and became anxious, prompting Antonio to calm her down.
She bade Antonio goodbye as she entered the girls' dressing room.
The changing rooms were luxurious — full of mirrors, toiletries, and beauty enchantments. Despite her attempt to stay low-profile, Edith's presence turned heads. Many recognized her from the Trials. Familiar faces dotted the room — faces she deliberately avoided.
PE was a breath of fresh air — literally and figuratively. With her Titan heritage, Edith far outmatched her peers in physical ability.
She wore black leggings with the Black Maedows sport shirt, a short-sleeved shirt with a gold and black color palette, and the emblem stitched on the right chest side.
The day's sport was Gale ball — a strategic game of 10 versus 10, intending to put a leather sphere into the opposing net with nothing but shockwaves from physical attacks. The game was held on a sprawling field behind Black Meadows, its grass still dewy with morning mist. Their coach was a Human woman, energetic and firm.
Everyone clamored to have Edith on their team. After all, who wouldn't want a Paragon Eleven prodigy in their ranks? But she, ever elusive, chose her team through random draw.
She was named captain.
The ball — a gleaming orb of white leather — rested at her feet. She inhaled deeply, the scent of fresh earth and grass filling her lungs. The wind teased her golden-tipped hair.
She was a girl who struggled with the social world, but she wanted to help Antonio break the curse. Her determination was set, and her free will proclaimed to detest fate.
A whistle split the air.
She punched a gust of air at the ball, sending it flying as the game commenced.