When Faith Dies?
ACT 0: What the Beggar Saw
The beggar woke up at dusk after a tiring afternoon of doing his survival stuff, as he always did. His bones ached against the cobblestones, the chill of the evening seeping through his threadbare cloak. Another day of survival in the Great Kingdom of Nautilus—another day of outstretched hands and hollow stomachs.
The streets stirred in the evening slowly as the afternoon of the kingdom is a no go for any business due to extreme heat. Merchants rolled open their stalls, their voices sharp with barter and boredom. The beggar settled into his usual spot, a recessed doorway where the shadows clung thickest. He had no name worth remembering, no past worth recounting. Just a crippled old man, forgotten by the world.
Then, the boy appeared.
He was young—fifteen, perhaps—but moved with an unnatural stillness. Pale hair, like frost on a grave, framed a face devoid of expression. And his eyes... The beggar shuddered. Empty. Not the emptiness of despair, but something worse: the void of a creature that had never known light at all.
The boy took a step. Then another.
And the ground froze beneath him.
A perfect sheet of ice spread from his boots, crackling outward in jagged fractals. The beggar's breath hitched. He'd heard whispers of Ether-Engines, of the gifted few who wielded elemental power—but this? This was no controlled flame or summoned breeze. This was wrong.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. A woman dropped her basket, apples rolling into the gutter. A blacksmith's hammer stilled mid-strike.
Then, the first stone flew.
It struck the boy's temple with a sickening thud. Blood welled, dark as ink against his pallid skin. He didn't flinch. Didn't cry out. Just kept walking, ice blooming in his wake.
The mob erupted.
"Monster!" someone screamed.
"Kill it before it curses us all!"
Rocks, rotten fruit, a rusted dagger—the air turned violent. The beggar's gut twisted. He'd seen cruelty before, had endured it himself, but this? This was a frenzy, a pack of wolves tearing at something they didn't understand.
And the boy—gods, the boy just took it.
Blood streaked his face. His tunic ripped under grasping hands. Still, he didn't fight. Didn't speak.
Something in the beggar snapped.
"Enough!" he roared, lurching forward on his bad leg. The crowd ignored him, but he shoved through anyway, grabbing the boy's wrist. It was cold. Not the chill of winter, but the deep, gnawing freeze of a tomb.
"Come with me," the beggar hissed, yanking him into a side alley.
The boy followed without resistance.
---
The beggar's "home" was a crumbling lean-to wedged between two tenements, its walls patched with moldy tarps. He lit the stove with trembling hands, the flame sputtering to life.
"Sit," he ordered, nudging the boy toward the heat. "Warm yourself."
The boy obeyed, lowering himself onto a stool. His movements were slow, deliberate—like a puppet with half its strings cut. The beggar studied him: the gaunt cheeks, the hollow eyes, the way his fingers curled stiffly, as if unused to touch.
A minute passed. Then another.
The stove's fire guttered—and died.
Not smothered. Not starved of air.
Frozen solid.
The beggar recoiled. Ice crawled up the iron grate, glistening in the dim light. His pulse hammered. "What are you?"
The boy lifted his gaze. For the first time, his lips parted.
"...James," he whispered. The name sounded foreign on his tongue, like a word dug up from a grave.
The beggar swallowed. "James, then. What in the Seven Hells were you doing out there? Why didn't you fight back?"
Silence.
Then, softer:
"Do you want to know my story?"
The question hung between them, weighted with something the beggar couldn't name. Dread? Hope? He exhaled sharply.
"Yes."
James' eyes flickered—just once—with something almost human.
And the frost on the stove deepened.
ACT 1: Ether Engine
The boy's voice was a whisper, his story unfolding like frost on glass and through his explanation had to relive the past few hours of his life which he earnestly wanted to forget forever.
A simple day, the sun as bright as it could be, but the clouds protecting the people eventually from the blazing sun, there walks a man towards his destination.
He holds the dagger of his mother close to his heart. His identity, nothing much to be told just that, the teenager is the son of a merchant father and a dead warrior mother. He who didn't feel the warmth of his mother's love after reaching the tender age of 5.
For the last 10 years, this very boy lived for that one purpose for which he can even give his life away if needed to and he won't be compromising till he gets his revenge as cold as possible and thus end the life those horrendous murderers, who devoid him of his mother's gentle love and care.
As, he thinks about all this stuff, he reaches the gates of his youth academy which he attended since junior high. Thus begins the journey, of his life to prove to world what he is, or so he thought.
James Rubenblood slid into the last bench's shadows as the academy bell screamed its final warning. Outside the arched windows, Nautilus Kingdom's city of wealth, the Rudenberg City's Ether-towers speared a bruise-purple dawn. He traced the hidden outline of his mother's dagger beneath his threadbare uniform jacket—today, I become the blade you needed.
*Three wolves circled:*
1. *Adam Hydron*
- Slid beside James, turquoise hair tied with clattering fishbone charms.
- Grinned, flashing sharp incisors. "Ready to melt Chambers' face off when you get a battle-engine?"
- Sea-serpent tattoo coiled on his neck—mark of exiled Fishmen royalty.
- {The Fishmen's exile was old history but Adam's tattoo marks him as the heir to a gigantic kingdom of the marine folk, who live and breathe in water in the Kingdom of Hydron .}
2. *Ruby Goldsen*
- Perched front-center like a jeweled hawk.
- Golden curls haloed by stained-glass light.
- Didn't glance back. She never did.
- {Only Daughter of Duke Edith Goldsen, the lord of Rudenberg City and a noble of the Kingdom}
- {She wants to succeed her father and become the Strongest Duke of the Kingdom.}
3. *Noah Chambers*
- Kicked James' desk, ruby cufflinks glinting. "Dreaming of your corpse-mom, merchant trash?"
- Smelled of fire-peppers and inherited power.
- {Son of a wealthy Government Official Father, who has an enmity towards James' father for professional reasons, so to be a good son his father's book, Noah is used to bullying James.}
Teacher Weathers entered, his mechanical eye whirring. "Silence! Today, the Archive gifts your *Ether-Engines*—the soul-forged power that defines your destiny!"
Chambers snorted. "Destiny's bloodline. My father's Volcanic Engine proves it."
---
### ⚙ THE RULES OF ASCENSION
Weathers slammed a hologram projector. Gears materialized, interlocking in mid-air:
"*Three pillars shape your Engine:*
1. *Lineage* — Chambers smirked — "*influences, not dictates.
2. *Personality* — Ruby leaned forward, silver eyes reflecting data.
3. *Soul* — James' fist tightened under the desk.
A shimmering core materialized—a miniature star trapped in crystal. "This is an *Ether-Engine*. It converts your life-force into elemental dominion!"
Adam raised a webbed hand. "Why's mine gotta be water-based? Can't I get fire?"
"*Potency* decides your strength," Weathers tapped the hologram. Percentages flared:
- 10%: Flicker a candle
- 50%: Command storms
- **90%+: Shatter mountains**
Ruby's voice cut like frost. "Secondary Engines manifest at *Master Gear*, correct? Evolved forms via Ether-symbiosis?"
"Precisely, Miss Goldsen." Weathers zoomed in on a gear fractaling into twin cores. "But first—"
Chambers' whisper slithered to James: "Your merchant blood won't spark past 20%. Just like your mom's corpse didn't spark when they dumped her in the—"
**CRACK.**
Adam's chair screeched back. "Finish that sentence, Chambers. I'll gut you with a *rusty gear*."
Ruby sighed. "Must primates always mark territory?"
James stayed silent. Let them bark. Today, I become the weapon for my revenge.
---
### 🔮 THE OMENS
As Weathers droned about gear-stages—*Apprentice (0-10) → Beginner (0-10) → Contemporary*—James watched:
- Ruby's fingers danced over crystal equations, predicting her own Engine
- Adam cracked his knuckles, ready for war
- Chambers sketched flames devouring a Rubenblood crest
Outside, rain bled down the windows. The city's heartbeat pulsed—a deep, grinding thrum from the *Ancient Engines Archive* miles away. James felt it in his molars. In his mother's dagger. In the *cold* pooling beneath his ribs.
Soon, the frost whispered.
Weathers closed the hologram. "Remember: Your Engine reflects the truth you bury. Now—"
The clock tower gong shook the room.
*"—they leave for the Ancient Engines Archive."*
ACT 3: The Ride to Hell
The bus's Ether-engine whined like a dying hound as we left Academy grounds. Rain bled against the windows, streaking the neon slogans: "Your Engine Awaits! Become Legend!" I traced the outline of Mother's dagger beneath my jacket. Today, I promised its hidden edge, I'll earn the power to carve your killers' hearts out. Three rows ahead, Noah Chambers' grating laugh cut through the chatter. "Rubenblood looks greener than sewer slime! Bet he pukes before we even see the Archive!" His cronies cackled. I dug nails into my palm. Focus, James. Vengeance requires calm.
Adam nudged my shoulder, his fish-scale tattoo glinting under harsh lights. "Don't let that Chambers-cancer get to you." He slammed his fist into his open palm. "After you get a battle-engine, we'll shove his teeth down his throat together." I tried to smile but caught Ruby Goldsen watching us from across the aisle. Her silver eyes flickered over me like I was a stain on glass before returning to her Ether-crystal tablet. Always judging. Always above it all. Teacher Weathers stood at the front, droning about "harmonic resonance" and "Potency thresholds." His words dissolved as Chambers appeared over my seat, reeking of cheap Ether-perfume. "Think your merchant blood can handle a real Engine, Rubenblood? Or will it reject you like your mom's corpse rejected warmth?" Adam lunged up, fists coiled. "Say that again, Chambers! I dare—" Weathers' voice cracked like a whip. "Hydron! Sit or lose Archive privileges!" Adam sank back, seething. Chambers smirked. Mother's face flashed behind my eyes—frost-rimed and still.
We plunged into the Ironwood Forest, twisted trees clawing at the bus. Adam muttered darkly about Chambers' upcoming "accident" while I watched shadows dance on Ruby's sharp features. Why does her indifference cut deeper than Chambers' hate? A pothole jolted us violently. Chambers "stumbled," dumping a vial of sticky Ether-syrup over my head. "Oops," he sneered as the corrosive slime burned my scalp. Adam roared, grabbing Chambers' collar—but Ruby's cold voice froze us all. "Must you animals always mark your territory? Some of us are preparing for ascension." Her contempt included me. Unclean. Unworthy. I wiped syrup from my eyes as Adam wrestled Chambers off me. The syrup hissed, eating through my jacket sleeve. Chambers laughed. "Look! His Engine hasn't even ignited and he's already melting!" Adam spat at Chambers' feet. "Touch him again and I'll gut you with a rusty gear." Ruby sighed, turning up her crystal's volume. I closed my eyes. Mother believed in me. Adam believes in me. That has to be enough.
The forest gave way to the Ashen Wastes—a graveyard of dead Engines from the Last War. The Last War's wreckage still scar the Ashen Wastes – dead engines rusting like skeletons. Skeletons of war-mechs lay half-buried, Ether-cores dark as betrayed promises. Chambers leaned over my seat again, voice dripping poison. "My father told me something interesting about your mom's death. The killers didn't just murder her..." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "...they froze her. Said her eyes shattered like glass when she hit the floor." Adam swung blindly but Chambers dodged. "Truth hurts, eh Rubenblood? Maybe your Engine will freeze you too!" My hands turned numb. Not now. Not here. Teacher Weathers shouted as we rounded the final bend—and there it rose. The Ancient Engine Archive. A mountain of grinding gears and crackling lightning. Adam gripped my arm. "Breathe, brother. This is your day." Ruby finally looked at me, her gaze analytical, clinical. Like I'm a specimen. The bus groaned to a halt before gates taller than sky-titans. Chambers shoved past me. "Time to meet your destiny, Frost-Corpse." Adam threw an arm around my shoulders. "Let's go get you a god-killer engine." I stepped onto the rain-slicked stones, Mother's dagger burning against my ribs. The Archive's central gear shrieked, carving ruinous runes into the weeping sky. Faith brought me here. Vengeance will make me walk out alive.
ACT 4: The Calm before the Ice
The Sarcophagus of Choosing hummed like a caged star. Priestesses chanted as Ruby Goldsen stepped forward, silver hair glowing in the Archive's ethereal light. She placed her palm on the machine without hesitation.
*GOLDEN LIGHT ERUPTED*
> *"ETHER ENGINE: [AURA LIGHT-TYPE]."*
> *"POTENCY: 91%."*
Luminous wings burst from Ruby's back, scattering prismatic shards. Chambers whistled. Adam cheered. Teacher Weathers beamed. "Exemplary, Goldsen! A new record!" Ruby's smile was clinical, triumphant. Her eyes flicked to me—your turn, failure.
Adam shoved me playfully. "Beat 91%, brother!" He bounded to the sarcophagus. The machine flared *SAPPHIRE-BLUE*.
> *"ETHER ENGINE: [ABYSSAL WATER-TYPE]."*
> *"POTENCY: 90%."*
Water serpents coiled around Adam's arms as oceanic mist filled the chamber. He laughed, shaking iridescent droplets from his hair. "Hell yes! We're ocean warriors, James!" Chambers snorted. "Fish-boy suits you, Hydron."
Noah Chambers swaggered next, sneering at me. "Watch how real bloodlines ignite." His palm slammed down. *CRIMSON FIRE* exploded.
> *"ETHER ENGINE: [VOLCANIC THERMAL-TYPE]."*
> *"POTENCY: 88%."*
Heatwaves warped the air as magma veins pulsed across Chambers' skin. "Feel that, Rubenblood?" He shot a firebolt at my feet. "Your merchant blood'll barely spark!" Adam growled, but Weathers nodded stiffly. "Adequate, Chambers."
Silence fell as I approached the sarcophagus. Adam flashed a thumbs-up. Ruby watched like a scientist observing a lab rat. Chambers cracked his flaming knuckles.
Mother's dagger burned against my ribs. This was it.
"It's Today Mom".
---
### 💀 *THE VOID BLUE SCREAM*
I pressed my palm to the metal. Cold bit deeper than winter. Make me a weapon. Let me avenge her.
The machine *SHUDDERED*.
Where Ruby's light had been gold, Adam's water sapphire, Chambers' fire crimson—mine was *VOID-BLUE*. The color of frozen stars. Of graves.
Ice daggers stabbed up my veins. Frost crackled over my skin, devouring heat. My left eye fogged, vision fracturing into frozen splinters. The voice boomed:
> *"ETHER ENGINE: [ABYSSAL ICE-TYPE]."*
> *"POTENCY: 0%."*
*Silence*
Ruby's light-wings snuffed out. Adam's water-serpents vaporized mid-curl. Chambers' flames guttered like dying candles.
A priestess dropped her incense. "P-Potency *ZERO*?"
Teacher Weathers backed against a gear-column. "Impossible... that Engine is—"
*"CURSED!"* another priestess screamed. "The Ice-Plague!"
And thus, everyone in there fell into a stage of frenzy as what was never meant to be seen by anyone be it dead or alive, came to reality, the only Engine cursed by death—a power that kills its wielder and leaves the continents frozen. History called it the Ice-Plague, for there was evidence history as there was a person to obtained the Abyssal Ice Engine and his death and the world still suffers from its after effects.
I stared at my hand. Ice thickened over my knuckles, pale as a corpse's flesh. The frost whispered: This is what you are now.
Chambers' voice shattered the silence—a strangled, disbelieving rasp:
*"What... the hell?"*
***
> ### ❄
> ***When Faith Dies,
> Madness is Born***
> ### ❄
END of CHAPTER-1
*EPILOGUE *
The beggar's shack held its breath. Frost feathered across the walls as James spoke—a low, fractured monologue of academies, engines, and a mother's frozen corpse. Outside, the mob's distant roar faded into Noah's twilight. The old man watched the boy's hollow eyes, now glazed with remembered betrayal. Zero percent potency. A cursed engine. A death sentence. When James fell silent, the cold bit deeper. The beggar's crippled hands trembled—not from chill, but fear. This broken boy carried winter in his veins, and Noah would hunt him like a rabid wolf. As James' gaze dropped to the dagger at his ribs, the air crackled with promises of vengeance and ruin. Somewhere, the Archive's gears still turned. Somewhere, Chambers laughed. And in that ice-locked silence, the beggar knew: faith had died today. But madness? It was just awakening.
And in that very condition the beggar shuddered and asked the boy "What will you do now?".
James' fingers curled around his mother's dagger. "What Winter Does Best, End Things".
>"They call it a curse. But winter always has teeth."