"They say all men are equal. That's the first lie we're taught."
My father's voice cut through the rain, each word as unyielding as the tempest. The storm rolled over the city, turning the streets into rivers of mud and light. Wind clawed at our cloaks, but his words pressed on—heavy as iron, certain as stone.
"Equality is a word spoken by the powerful to calm the powerless. It is balm for beggars, a prayer for bastards. The rich speak of it while dining behind guarded walls. Kings whisper it while their crowns press into their skulls. Equality is not truth—it is theatre."
I laughed then, brimming with the foolish idealism of youth, puffing out my chest as if I understood the world.
"But isn't treating everyone the same fair?"
He turned to me, rain dripping from his brow, his eyes hard as shadowed steel.
"The worst form of equality is to try to make unequal things equal. Justice does not lie in sameness, but in proportion. To treat the weak and the strong by the same measure is not fairness—it is blindness. Equality, misapplied, becomes another name for foolishness."
I shook my head, refusing to yield, my words carried off by the wind.
"Hmm. That's not true, Father. Everything is equal in this life."
We walked on, leaving behind the villa—its marble pillars gleaming under lantern light, its golden balconies heavy with laughter. Behind those glass walls the wealthy wasted their nights on wine, jewels, and music, untouched by the storm that soaked us to the bone. I remember looking back once, thinking how beautiful it had seemed, and how unreachable.
God, how young I had sounded. How stupid.
Now the storm drowns me, cold and endless, and after fifteen years I finally understand. My father had been right.
There is no equality.
Not in birth.
Not in blood.
Not in death.
The world was nothing but noise—steel clashing, men screaming, the wet thud of bodies hitting the ground. I knew too many of them. Good men—all of them. Too good for this field of mud and blood.
I kept watching, listening, as cries split the world. Was it rage at losing a brother? The agony of a severed limb? Or the savage joy of striking down an enemy? I couldn't tell. It all blended together into one thing—noise. Deafening, endless noise.
And then, silence. At last, they noticed my arrival—and in their silence, I felt their judgement answered by mine.
Blood clung to me, sticky and warm, seeping from wounds I no longer felt. My clothes were heavy with it, my skin painted in crimson until I could not tell what was mine and what belonged to the fallen. I drew in breath, and mana flooded with it. The air thickened, alive, threads of power writhing and clawing into me. My veins burned with ice, but I welcomed it. I needed it.
The frost of my aura spread outward. I felt them shudder. Thousands of eyes fixed on me, blades trembling, men frozen mid-step. Neither side dared move. The war itself bent into silence, waiting—not because it was over, but because of me.
"You're late, Vorr."
The words left me hollow, scraped raw, as if the battlefield itself had spoken through my mouth.
At my side stood a dwarf—so unlike his kin, shadowed beneath the weight of slaughter. Blood ran from the edge of his blade as he dragged it free. At his feet sprawled what might once have been a beast, a pelt of black fur stretched across the ground like a shroud.
"My apologies, my lord," Vorr rasped. His eyes were heavy, his stance unsteady—no doubt from the legion of Damned he had carved through to reach me. "I was delayed by some insects."
"The Elders?" I asked, though I already knew his answer.
"Dead. They failed their mission." His reply was short, cold. Disappointment clung to every syllable.
I rose from where I sat, and those around me shifted, wary of what I might do next. The air was thick with ash, with the iron tang of steel and blood. I drew it deep into my lungs and felt it settle in my bones.
A smirk tugged at my lips—not for the world ruined before me, but for the certainty that every piece was falling into place.
Joy welled sharp and wild inside me. My smile widened, and I let the words tear free.
"What a beautiful day.''