The gods and monarchs carved Zanobi from the void, but left fragments of themselves buried within its dust. Those fragments still pulse in every soul born, waiting— silent, patient— for the day they awaken again.
Zanobi was a world painted in ruthless contrasts— gentle plains and savage mountains, radiant coasts and choked, shadowed forests, skies that glimmered with ethereal light at dawn and burned with destructive storms by dusk. To wander across it was not merely to travel, but to feel both profound serenity and immediate, sharp danger, for its soil carried memories like fossilized cries, deeper than time itself.
Beneath its beauty lay a secret, fundamental pulse. The rivers shimmered with its light, the winds whispered its silent truth, the very stones seemed to hum with its energy. That pulse was Essence— the visible lifeblood of the land, a luminescent network woven into the structure of every creature born upon it.
It was said that when first shaped Zanobi, there were spilled fragments of the creators being into the primordial soil. Those fragments endured, scattering into the very bloodlines of mortal children. Some inherited only faint sparks, harmless glimmers that lived and died with them. Others carried the blinding brilliance of the sun, the celestial serenity of the winds, the irresistible pull of the moon's tides, or the silent, fertile strength of the deep earth within their blood. Some were born sorcerers, weaving light or shadow with a word. Some were demi-humans, walking between beast and man, their senses sharper than steel. Others bore gifts of speed, strength, or a touch so precise it could bend the very laws of nature.
Yet the creators did not rule directly. They lingered above and below, a silent, watchful presence, rarely stirring the affairs of mortals. It was the Nobles of Zanobi, their lines chosen by divine decree generations ago, who shaped law and dominion below. Each kingdom swore to one, their banners and borders shifting with the endless churn of time. But even the Nobles, crowned in splendor, were bound by the same immutable truth: Essence could not be denied.
And so came the Ranking System.
The world of Zanobi does not deal in the simple measure of "human," for every soul here is touched by magic. This truth is codified in the Ranking System, a clear, beautiful hierarchy that ensures order and prosperity across all kingdoms by measuring the exact depth of one's inherited power on a scale from 1 to 99. A newborn soul typically begins its journey as an F-Rank (1–5), holding a pure, untapped Essence that promises vast potential across successive lineages. Yet the journey quickly differentiates: those who rise to the deceptively focused strength of D-Rank (6–15) are figures of legendary determination, a tier where the first great warriors earned the dark, cautionary badge of "cold-blooded killers." The core of the populace resides in the solid strength of C-Rank (16–35), masters capable of terrifying, single-blow strikes, while those who achieve B-Rank (36–50) are the true elders— souls who have lived many lifetimes, carrying a wealth of wisdom that is exceedingly rare to find in a soul's First Life.
At the summit sit the few formidable souls of A-Rank (51–80), the dedicated architects who aid the leads of nations, and finally, the mythical E-Ranks (81–99). These individuals are the near-divine royalty of the world, said to be graced directly by the gods themselves. To preserve the critical forces of balance, their numbers are rigidly controlled: only a maximum of two E-Ranks from each kingdom may live at any one time, their existence a testament to unparalleled power and mythical status, though their rumored ability to communicate with the gods has never been proven.
It is critical to note that the scale is bound by the immutable laws of Zanobi, avoiding both the impossible Level 0— for a truly human soul does not exist here— and the ultimate Level 100. The ceiling has been fixed at 99 since the dawn of time, remaining unseen even by those who have weathered thousands of lives. For even the cherished process of Rebirth, while granting a soul the potential to become stronger and develop greater skill, does not guarantee ascent; sometimes a soul may remain stagnant, returning merely to fulfill a different, necessary role in the world's perfect machinery.
Yet even Rankings were not the ultimate measure of a life. For every soul born in Zanobi carried another fate, a destiny woven into their very Essence: the Three Lifetime Tests. No one escaped them.
The first came to the young, sudden and merciless. One day, a child would feel their Essence surge through their veins like molten starlight, unshackled, demanding recognition. It was called the Trial of Awakening. Survive it, and the world acknowledged you. Fail, and your spark either withered— or consumed you entirely.
The second arrived in adolescence, a crucible not of raw power but of unerring control. Could a person's will truly bind their Essence, sharpening it into purpose? Or would it unravel into chaos, bursting outward in a cascade of uncontrolled light and raw energy? Many were broken here, their gifts turning volatile, their futures sealed by the failure to master the self.
The third belonged to adulthood, and none knew when it would strike— or what form its terrifying judgment would take. For some, it appeared as brutal battle. For others, as profound sacrifice. Yet the strongest whispered it was not a trial at all, but a choice: whether to rise as more than mortal, or to shatter beneath the crushing weight of what one could not become. Few survived its arrival. Fewer still passed its judgment.
And yet, beyond Tests and the structure of the Rankings, another truth hung over the world like a solitary star: Rebirth.
Death in Zanobi was not the end. Those marked by fate, whose Essence was too vast, too entangled with the fabric of the world, would not fade entirely. They returned. Not as strangers, but as inheritors of their past self— memories intact, every line etched on their soul remembered, choices carried forward like echoes that never quieted. This was both blessing and torment. To be reborn was to never begin again clean, but to live layered upon layers of self— every joy, every mistake, stitched into the soul. Growth in power was not promised. Some returned weaker. Others stronger. All returned heavier, their spirit weighted by the burden of what had already been.
And bonds... bonds were the one certainty. Every connection made, every rivalry born, every love forged— they endured. Even torn apart by kingdoms or centuries, even drowned in blood or betrayal, those threads drew tight again. Friends would find one another. Enemies would meet once more. For better or worse, Rebirth ensured Zanobi's great ties were never truly broken.
Zanobi was, in every measurable way, a miraculous, self-contained paradise— a perfect, glittering reality, woven from divine law and human ambition. But in perfection, what space remained for choice? And in the silent watchfulness of the gods, did a promise of order truly mean the absence of a threat?
The answer lay not within the shimmering borders of their own realm, but beyond the veil of reality itself. For Zanobi was not alone. It was merely one pearl in an infinite, cosmic strand of existence, a singular point of light surrounded by a sea of utter darkness— the Multiverse. In these countless other dimensions, the blessings of the gods had faltered. There, the divine spark was corrupted, and the forces of fear, destruction, and unchecked chaos wreaked havoc, stripping worlds bare of beauty and hope. Where Zanobi knew only Essence and harmonious purpose, these other realms knew only entropy and the creeping, insidious taint of Evil.
This stark contrast solidified Zanobi's final, unspoken law: Preservation. To protect their fragile, perfect home from the endless tides of corruption, a hidden order was established. These were the Wardens, souls drawn from the most potent of the A-Ranks and E-Ranks, tasked with the ultimate burden. Clothed in the silent promise of rebirth and armed with the power of their Essence, the Wardens traveled to these broken worlds. Their mandate was absolute: to monitor, contain, and quietly keep the peace beyond Zanobi, ensuring that the great, dark currents of the Multiverse never breached the tranquility of their home. Their true fight, the only one that mattered, was fought on worlds they would never call their own.
But the whispers grew, echoing the chaos the Wardens sought to contain.
Elders muttered that the ultimate balance of the gods was failing, though none dared speak such blasphemy aloud. Some claimed the ancient divinities were stirring again, their vigilant gaze no longer fixed upon the world. Others believed the monarchs' hold was weakening, and their nobles crowns losing the promised blessing. And some, in hushed tones, warned of prophecies long buried— prophecies that spoke of specific souls, bound by fate, each carrying a fragment of something greater than themselves, destined to clash and reshape Zanobi's future entirely.
Whether they would rise as saviors or destroyers was yet unwritten.
For now, most of them were only children. Unaware. Restless. Scattered across gentle mountains, radiant coasts, shadowed forests, and ruthless plains. But their Essence burned brighter than most, a beacon the world would soon recognize. Soon, the ordered reality of Zanobi would not allow them to remain hidden.
Their Rankings would bind them to their roles. Their Lifetime Tests would be relentlessly forced upon them. Their Rebirths— laden with the weight of memory and unbreakable chains of bond— would circle like patient shadows waiting to fall.
And when their paths finally crossed— when storm met tide, when air clashed with will, when fire and shadow and fate entwined— would the creators themselves lean closer to watch?
Zanobi stood at the precipice of something vast, as beautiful as it was terrible. A land ruled by monarchs below, by gods above, and by the uncontrollable pulse of Essence within. A world that remembered too much of its past, yet hurtled toward a future no seer could name.
The wind stirred. The soil trembled with anticipation. Somewhere, a child's Essence flickered awake— carrying memories of lives long before, demanding that its story begin.
In the silence between heartbeats, the gods leaned closer.
The story was beginning.