Day Six, 6:56AM…
Asparicin Continent, the country of Polaras, the rural town of Pevntalo…
Polaras, though deeply flawed, was still breathtaking, this I had to admit. Terrorism, corruption, injustice, misuse of authority, terrible governance, and countless other stains–listing them all would be tiresome. Yet despite those blemishes, the beauty of Polaras endured: valleys carved like sacred paintings, ridges breathing mist, rivers cutting silver paths through green. A place where human hands, greedy and restless, had not yet shaped every horizon.
But beauty was not why I was here. Beauty did not concern me. Important matters had brought me to this soil, matters that could not be ignored.
I stood stealthily on the roof of a five-storey apartment, one of the few taller structures scattered in this rural town. Such separation between buildings was common in the southern countries like Hulsannay, Seevil, and Polaras alike–where space was still plentiful, unlike in the denser northern cities where houses pressed against each other like anxious cattle. From this perch, I could see both the quiet of dawn and the troubled movements of the few who stirred.
My reason was simple, yet unbearably heavy: to find him, my brother. Few knew where my father, the head of House Fraglariss, had sent his eldest son. The only other person who knew had been my mother. Both of them now lay among the dead, mere casualties in the ceaseless carnage brought by the Chosens' dance of madness and power. A pity, perhaps–but pity was too faint a word to hold weight in my chest. I did not know what to feel, or if I should feel anything at all. Sadness, convention dictated, was the proper response. Yet what had they ever done to earn such from me? They birthed me. They molded me into their image of what a Fraglariss should be. But love? Love was absent.
I chose not to dwell on the corpses of memory. Six days had carried too much chaos already, and my mind could not bear to wallow.
The streets below confirmed my suspicion: Pevntalo was scarcely populated. To call it a town was already generous. Fewer than a hundred souls stirred here. They moved with rhythm so slow it almost felt false, as though beneath this mundanity something else pulsed–a falsehood that would soon unveil itself before me.
And indeed, the world knew no peace. News of chaos had spread across continents like wildfire. No one could claim ignorance, not truly. Even the most reclusive would have heard whispers. Chosens had made sure of that. Individuals born of fantasy, wielders of powers that defied the logic of this universe. Beings who tore apart the barrier between myth and reality.
Many mortals would have looked upon us with awe. Perhaps they would have worshipped us, fallen to their knees in reverence. Yet how could they? How could they adore what their scriptures once painted as angelic, when we in truth appeared as demons clawing through their fragile world? The fairytale had come alive, but it had fangs.
I mused to myself: Sometimes reality does not align with the story you longed for. We delude ourselves with hopes for the best outcome. We paint futures in colors too bright, forgetting that shadows stretch just as far. Humanity always desires the favorable roll of the dice, never preparing for when it lands against them. Such is our narrowness.
But my reasoning was not shaped as most men's were. My upbringing–those endless hours bent under tutors, groomed under Father's watchful eye–had rewired me. His words still burned: "You are to be made into a Great Man." To him, greatness meant a mind emptied of sentiment, stripped of irrational attachments. My thoughts had been kneaded into a pragmatist's mold, and I did not resist. Emotion was nothing but fog across the mirror. What fascinated me was clarity.
Yet even clarity brought questions. Was the perfect man one untouched by emotion? To cast away sentiment, would that not strip one of humanity itself? And if one were less than human, could he still be called 'man'? Or would he then simply be a beast, no matter how sharp his reasoning?
I knew others thought me eccentric. Some even whispered madman. Perhaps they were right. But eccentricity is only madness to those who fear the unfamiliar–I did not fear it, I desired it. It was my only source of comfort on my endlessly repetitive days.
*****
"Talen," Isabella's voice cut through his wandering thoughts. Her tone was calm, her gaze sharp, her face unreadable. "You've digressed."
"I apologize once again." Talen inclined my head, suppressing a sigh.
*****
My purpose remained: my brother. He had vanished some time ago, and in this storm-riddled world, he was all I had left. The Fraglariss family, for all its grandeur, held no warmth. Ours was a bond of name alone. The surname bound us tighter than blood, heavier than affection. To be Fraglariss was to uphold a legacy. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I remembered overhearing my parents once: threats tossed at my brother, warnings that if he continued his "eccentricities" he would be sent far away—to Polaras, specifically Pevntalo. They spat the word like exile, yet I now wondered if it was truly punishment, or if some deeper design lay beneath.
For here, in Pevntalo, a branch of the Fraglariss had lingered for nearly a century. Why Father tolerated a family branch in such an unprofitable rural corner was baffling. The records gave no answer. Suspicion gnawed at me. Some roots ran deeper than the surface.
I had hoped to find my brother through them. Yet luck was thin. He would not be living under his real name–that much was certain. Asking outright would be pointless. Description was my only path.
Resolved, I opened a Rift into a shadowed alley. From there, I began my quiet search.
*****
Talen's voice grew quieter as he shifted to the part of his tale that mattered most. His fingers traced condensation down his glass, though the iced tea had long gone tepid.
"To summarize," he said, "Pevntalo was not just a town. It was a masquerade. The Immortals had built it as their coven, a stage upon which to wear humanity's mask–and I suspect that's merely the smallest of their 'coven'. They moved as mortals, worked as mortals, even breathed as mortals. To all appearances, they were indistinguishable. But once I spoke with one, the mask slipped."
He leaned back, eyes darkening at the memory.
"I called out to a young woman. Based on appearance alone, she was in her mid-twenties. At first glance, she was ordinary, her smile no different from the countless others I had passed. But then she turned. Her gaze–" he paused, searching for words "–her gaze was wrong. Not cruel. Not warm. Merely wrong. In that instant, she recognized me. Or rather, she recognized the power that clung to me. Without a word, she transmitted the knowledge. Not by shout or gesture, but by some imperceptible ripple only they understood. Within seconds, I was known."
He tightened his jaw, recalling.
"Then they attacked. Theirs was not strength of steel or gunpowder. It was arcane. Spells, if that word still suffices. Nature bent to their command: fire plucked from the marrow of the air, lightning summoned as though the heavens obeyed them. Their mouths spilled words older than empires, their hands wove signs too fast for any mortal to mimic. And reality obeyed them."
He spread his fingers, as though feeling once again the heat of conjured flames.
"All this unfolded within moments. A volley of devastation surged toward me. If not for the Rift I had prepared, I would have been ash. I escaped, yes, but they tracked me still. My Rift can displace me only where my eyes can picture with clarity. I could not flee beyond sight. They pressed me, merciless, their sorcery endless. Their regeneration—"
Here, Talen's voice faltered.
"I have seen Chosens heal. I have witnessed bodies knit together by sheer will. But the Immortals–no. Their regeneration is not will. It is law. Passive. Unstoppable. You may shred their flesh, scatter their bones, grind them into pulp. Yet they rise. Whole. Unscratched. Their pursuit is endless, as though fatigue itself cannot bind them. I tore them apart through Rift after Rift, even splitting their bodies by twisting space through their cores. Still, scraps of what remained grew back. Their desire to tear me down never faltered."
He finally exhaled, shoulders heavy. "In the end, I had no choice. I forced a Rift when death brushed against me. My escape was an accident, not design. I stumbled into your hideout by chance alone. In a frantic haste, I had activated my ability, Nullification, when I saw you both. Nothing more. It was never my plan to find you, Andrew and Isabella. Merely, I had been evading pursuers who sought after me with ill-intent."
*****
"If that is all you know," Isabella's voice expressed in calm manner, not overbearing. "then we move on." She flicked her hand dismissively, though her eyes lingered on him with quiet calculation.
Isabella threw a meaningful glance at Andrew.
Andrew, until then silent, leaned forward. "One thing," he said. "Do you know the names Alex Warren, Morgur the Second? Do they mean anything to you?"
The question struck Talen like a blade. For a moment his face was still, then slowly it warped, fear breaking through the mask he had worn so carefully.
"I'm in Fragr?!" he nearly screamed.
Andrew frowned. "Obvious, isn't it? No other land carries this architecture. Anyone with sense should recognize it."
"Fuck! No, no, no!" Talen surged to his feet, panic twisting the air. "We need to leave. Now. Every second we waste—" The room rippled, reality bending as his Rift instinctively stirred.
Andrew's stomach sank as he realized. He isn't running from us. He's running from something else.
From Alex Warren.
Isabella's figure blurred, vanishing and reappearing behind him in less than a heartbeat. She caught him by the nape like a feral animal. For a moment it seemed she would slam him into the table. Instead, his body simply collapsed. Limply. As though life itself had slipped from his limbs.
Andrew stared, unable to breathe.
The fuck is this? I think I choose the wrong abilities. Andrew sighed enviously.
The room fell silent, the echoes of Talen's terror lingering heavier than any explanation.