The air in the Porthaven salt mines hung thick and heavy, a miasma of salt spray, sweat, and the coppery tang of blood. Each swing of the pickaxe against the unforgiving salt deposits sent tremors through the damp, claustrophobic tunnels, echoing the rhythm of despair in the hearts of the miners. Gaunt figures, their backs crisscrossed with weeping welts from the overseers' lashes, toiled in the oppressive darkness, their ragged clothes clinging to bodies that seemed to sweat blood rather than water. Old Man Tiber, his bones aching with each movement, clutched his worn pick, his eyes—though clouded with exhaustion—held a flicker of defiance that no amount of brutality could extinguish. Nearby, Elara, a young mother with a hidden pouch of defiance sewn into her tattered tunic, stole a glance at the crudely carved stone clutched in her hand—a symbol of the silent rebellion simmering beneath the surface. The overseers, their faces cruel and indifferent, barked orders, their whips cracking like thunder, a stark reminder of the Fifty Kingdoms Alliance's iron grip. Yet, even amidst the crushing weight of oppression, a shared glance between Elara and Tiber, a silent pact forged in the heart of the darkness, promised a future where the salt of their tears would no longer mingle with the salt of the earth.The dimly lit den, smelling faintly of stale blood and damp fur, seemed to shrink around Akin. A bloodied bear skin, carelessly tossed aside, lay sprawled on the rough-hewn floorboards, a grim testament to the latest victim. The young man, barely more than a man, stared at it, his youthful features contorted in a mixture of grief and rage. "Another life taken," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper in the oppressive silence. "Another peaceful being murdered. How long will I be a source of darkness? How long will I let innocent people suffer? I don't know… but I will end this. I will end everything. I will not be a source of darkness; I will be a source of light." Slowly, deliberately, he rose to his full height—six foot five of lean, hard-won muscle, his long white hair a stark contrast to his fierce red eyes, which shimmered with an unsettling intensity. A thin, dark beard framed a face both handsome and brutal, reflecting the internal conflict raging within him. He was a paradox, a contradiction—a man of immense power, poised on the precipice of a choice that would define his destiny, and the fate of countless others.
A sudden flutter of wings broke through Akin's turbulent thoughts. A pigeon, no ordinary bird, landed on a nearby rough-hewn table. He recognized it instantly—a magical messenger pigeon. In this desolate place, the arrival of such a creature felt almost surreal. Carefully, Akin retrieved the small scroll tied to its leg, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Unfurling the parchment, he read Lara's message, each word a fresh wound tearing into his soul. "Brother Akin, I can't handle it anymore. Mother's sickness… Father's struggles… the taxes… the wages… I'm a burden. Forgive me. Remember me. Please save the innocent. Save the people of Arkansas. Stop the Alliance." Akin's anger ignited, a roaring inferno consuming his grief. "How dare they?" he snarled, his voice thick with rage. "How dare they belittle my sister? She's my sister, even if blood doesn't bind us! They will pay. The Fifty Kingdoms will pay!" His expression hardened, the conflict within him resolved. The old man's words echoed in his mind—the journey. The time had come. With a newfound steely resolve, Akin clenched his fist. "I will become strong enough to save her," he vowed, his voice low and deadly. "I will embark on my journey."
A newfound determination settled over Akin as he began to construct his plan, his voice low and measured. "I need to become stronger," he murmured, pacing the dimly lit den. "I need territory in this land of war, conquest, governance… I need to be a warlord. To defeat a warlord." He paused, his gaze hardening. "Warlords are the scattered rulers of this world, each controlling a piece of land. I must take advantage of the weakest—attack someone significantly weakened, not a full-fledged warlord at the height of their power. This isn't some game; this is survival." His voice took on a sharper edge. "First, I need to address the internal environment. Then, I need allies. Someone trustworthy, strong… someone who can help me defeat a warlord and aid me on this journey." His eyes, burning with a cold fire, scanned the room. This was no longer a personal quest; it was a war, and he needed his army.
Akin meticulously packed his belongings, his plans and notes carefully stowed within a magical storage pouch. Leaving the den behind, he set off on his journey, heading towards the edge of the vast forest. As he traversed the unfamiliar lands, a shadowy figure emerged from the gloom, their voice a low rumble that cut through the stillness. "Little brother," the figure asked, "where are you going? Why leave this place?" Akin recognized the girl instantly—a senior sister from his training, one of the few female students under their mentor, Muntasir, a woman who had always shown him kindness and support. Her presence, in this desolate place, was both a surprise and a comfort.
As Akin walked, the girl followed, her presence a silent shadow at his heels. "I don't want to talk, younger brother," he said, his voice tight. "But I know you'll follow me anyway, so just walk alone." The sound of his footsteps echoed in the stillness, punctuated by the chirping of unseen birds. The girl, however, remained persistent. Akin stopped, irritation flashing in his eyes. "Why the long face, Bunny?" he asked, his tone laced with playful teasing. Hinata's playful demeanor vanished, replaced by sharp annoyance. "Don't call me Bunny! My name is Hinata Kashichibana. That's a terrible nickname! At least call me Moon. I'm beautiful, you know." Akin sighed. "What the hell are you talking about? Seriously, where are you going? You're clearly upset. Why are you leaving? Don't joke around; tell me what's wrong."