The Chains of Restraint clung to Riku like living metal. Each glowing link pressed not into his skin, but deeper—into the marrow of his soul. They didn't burn or bruise, yet every step felt like pushing against a tide that wanted him still, silent, harmless. His wrists trembled, not from the weight, but from the pressure that gnawed at his core, muffling something vast inside him that begged to breathe.
Mist clung to the trees as the column trudged through the forest. The Enforcers marched in their steel-gray cloaks, boots crunching over roots and fallen leaves. To them, the Chains were routine, another procedure, another escort. To Riku, they were a cage built from the very laws of existence.
"Asset holding steady," the commander barked, his voice sharp as a drawn blade. He was a man of angles, broad-shouldered, eyes hard with duty. Every time his gaze flicked to Riku, it was as if he were checking the status of a weapon rather than watching a boy.
The younger soldier at his flank shifted, the chainlight glinting across his cheek. He pulled a waterskin from his belt, hesitated, then extended it toward Riku.
"Here. You need it more than me."
Riku blinked at the gesture. His throat was dry, but the chains tugged whenever he moved, reminding him of the gap between kindness and freedom. Slowly, he drank, the water tasting of earth and metal. When he handed it back, the young soldier gave a small nod—too small for the commander to notice.
"Do not engage with the subject unnecessarily," the commander snapped anyway, eyes narrowing.
"He's not a subject," the younger soldier muttered, not quite under his breath. "He's a—"
"—a liability," the commander cut in. "Prisms are calamities waiting to happen. Remember that."
The word rang in Riku's ears—Prism[1]. Once, the festival drums had been ringing there instead, and Hana's laughter, and Daichi's taunts. That had felt real. Now, the memory was slippery, dreamlike, fading with every step he took deeper into this new chain-bound reality.
His thoughts snagged on the ambush, unbidden. The flare of panic, the shouts, the way the rogue's body had crumpled when Riku's soul burst outward without control. The memory made him cold, colder than the morning air. He hadn't meant it. He hadn't known. Yet the image stayed: blood on leaves, eyes wide in shock. A life ended by his hands, even if by accident.
The chain tugged, snapping him back to the present. The mist was thinning, the trees opening. A pale glow rose ahead—not sunlight, but something woven, structured, immense.
Dawn spilled across the world as they stepped onto a great stone causeway. Beneath it, the river rushed white and foaming, but the bridge itself thrummed with power. The stone wasn't dead; it pulsed faintly with Ance[2], veins of light threading its length. Each step across felt like walking on the spine of a giant.
And there, in the distance, the Capital of Souls[3] revealed itself.
Aldoré.
Its walls stretched impossibly high, shimmering with woven threads of energy that shifted like silk in sunlight. The surface was alive, colors sliding across it as though thousands of souls were pressed into its foundations, humming in unison. Towers spiraled upward beyond, crystalline spires that caught the dawn and fractured it into a thousand shards. Riku thought he could hear it—the faint, harmonic hum of countless lives overlapping, resonating together in something larger than themselves.
Great banners hung from the outer walls, snapping in the morning breeze. Each bore the mark of the World Tree, vast roots and branches coiling in gold threadwork, symbol of divine order. It was beautiful, but not comforting. To Riku, it looked less like shelter and more like judgment.
Travelers filled the road—merchants with carts, pilgrims with staffs, peasants carrying bundles. They parted instinctively at the sight of the Enforcers, their cloaks and soulsteel insignia enough to make space. But when their eyes fell on Riku, bound and glowing with the Chains, whispers rippled outward like fire catching dry grass.
"Curse-bringer."
"Shouldn't exist. Not again."
Some voices carried awe, others fear. Mothers drew children closer, men lowered their heads, some crossed themselves with symbols of the Tree. Riku felt the weight of every stare, heavier than the chains. He lowered his eyes, but the whispers followed, clinging to him like burrs.
The commander seemed almost pleased by the fear. "Let them look," he said quietly to no one in particular. "Better they remember what's at stake."
The younger soldier glanced at Riku, jaw tight, but said nothing.
Step by step, the skyline grew, radiant and impossible. The gates loomed ahead, massive slabs inlaid with soul-crystals that pulsed faintly with warding power. Every chain tug pulled Riku closer.
The forest broke suddenly, like a curtain torn down. Riku lifted his head, blinking at the blaze of dawn. The road widened, climbing toward a wall so immense it seemed to scrape the sky.
The Gate of Concord.
It wasn't stone, not in any sense Riku knew. Its towering arches rippled with woven Ance, alive with shifting light. Every rune carved into its surface pulsed faintly, inhaling, exhaling, as though the gate itself was breathing. Between the columns, veins of crystal ran like arteries, glowing with the heartbeat of the city beyond.
Riku's chains grew heavier the closer they came. Not in weight — but in pressure, as if the very gate had recognized him. He stumbled once, knees nearly buckling, but the commander's iron grip kept him upright.
"Move," the man ordered.
The great road funneled them into a throng of people. Merchants pushed carts laden with woven silks, pilgrims with prayer staffs chanted softly, farmers led beasts packed with grain. All eyes turned when the Enforcers appeared, gray cloaks glinting with threads of soulsteel. The crowd parted instinctively, fear and reverence in equal measure.
Then their gazes found Riku.
Whispers ignited, swift and sharp.
"A boy—"
"No, not a boy. A Prism."
"Curse-bringer."
"Blessed of the roots, or damned of the branches?"
Some recoiled, pulling children behind them. Others bowed low, hands trembling, as if he were an omen stepped out of a forgotten hymn.
Riku dropped his gaze, heat burning his ears. The festival flashed in his memory — laughter, lanterns, dumplings in his hands. That world felt like a story someone else had told him.
The Chains bit deeper as they climbed the last slope. The Gate loomed. Up close, it was monstrous, each column wide as a house, the runes etched so deep they seemed bottomless. The air thrummed with power, pressing against Riku's skin until his teeth ached.
Two Soul Wardens stepped forward. Their armor was not steel but translucent crystal, each plate etched with shifting sigils that writhed like living script. Halberds taller than Riku shimmered with veined Ance, humming in low warning. Their eyes, visible through narrow visors, glowed faintly — men and constructs both, fused with duty.
"State your purpose," one intoned, voice echoing as if two spoke at once.
The commander withdrew a sigil-marked insignia, the steel etched with his rank. "Commander Kael of the Enforcer detachment. Subject transfer to the Soul Council. Level Seven containment. Open the gate."
The Wardens' gaze slid to Riku. The runes along their halberds brightened, reacting. A flicker of unease broke their composure.
"Prism," the other murmured, almost a hiss. "Impossible."
"Not impossible. Standing in front of you," Kael replied curtly.
The Wardens exchanged a look. One raised a hand, touching the gate. The runes flared, golden lines racing across the arch like veins alight. Then—
The glow fractured.
Light cracked into colors, jagged shards running wild across the stone. The hum rose into a violent pitch, like a chorus tearing itself apart. Riku's chains yanked tight, resonating with the disturbance. The air around him shimmered, distorted, threatening to split.
"Contain him!" one Warden barked. "The gate rejects him!"
The runes pulsed harder, cracks of refracted light spreading like lightning across the surface. The massive doors shuddered, stone groaning as if the whole construct might collapse. Citizens shrieked, scattering from the archway. The ground itself vibrated under Riku's feet.
"I—I'm not doing anything!" Riku gasped, clutching at his wrists as the chains burned cold.
"Asset destabilizing," Kael snapped, bracing his stance. His blade was half-drawn. "Wardens, control your gate!"
But it wasn't the Wardens who moved.
The younger Enforcer shoved past his commander, planting both palms against the runes. His breath hitched, but he pushed forward, his own Ance flaring. Light spilled from his hands into the writhing script, steady and focused, threading through the chaos.
The resonance shifted. What had fractured began to bind, like scattered chords forced back into harmony. The runes steadied, humming deep and low, a steady heartbeat instead of a scream. Slowly, the gate exhaled. The light dimmed, fractured veins smoothing into one golden glow.
The younger soldier staggered, catching himself on his knees. His face was pale, sweat clinging to his brow.
The Wardens' halberds lowered in guarded respect. "Stabilized. But only barely."
Kael's gaze was sharp. "Noted. Proceed."
The gates groaned, massive slabs parting with agonizing slowness. Beyond, Aldoré revealed itself like a world unbound.
The city was alive.
Boulevards stretched wide, paved with white stone etched in luminous veins. Spectral lanterns floated overhead, bobbing on invisible currents, their light dancing across merchant stalls bursting with wares. Smiths hammered glowing weapons at open forges, each strike sending ripples of Soul-fire across their anvils. Monks in pale robes knelt at shrines, chanting as runes spiraled skyward in shimmering prayers.
Children darted through alleys, playing some game called "Soul Peek," their sparks flashing like fireflies each time they tapped one another. Merchants called out, voices thick with pride: "Amulets woven with Ance! Keeps curses at bay!" "Soul-threaded silks, glowing in the moonlight!"
Everywhere, the hum. Countless lives, countless sparks, layered into one vast, pulsing rhythm.
Riku's knees nearly buckled again. The chains on his wrists thrummed in eerie harmony with the city's heartbeat, heavy, insistent, as if binding him not just to himself but to Aldoré itself.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Every sight, every sound, pressed into him at once. This wasn't the village festival. This was something vast, overwhelming — a world built on Soul, each breath and step part of an order he didn't understand.
The commander's voice cut through, low, cold.
"The city will eat him alive before the Council even touches him."
The younger soldier glanced back at Riku, his expression unreadable, but his hand still hovered near his hilt as though ready to intervene again.
Behind them, the Gate of Concord shuddered once more. Then, with a final thundering slam, it closed.
The march did not end at the gates. Inside, the Capital unfolded in rings, vast and deliberate, as though the city itself were a living organism—each layer a rib, a chamber, a pulse of its colossal heart.
The outermost districts bustled with vendors and farmers, their souls faintly glowing in muted hues. Riku noticed how the walls here were low, the buildings plain. Even so, there was a rhythm to it—threads of Ance woven into fountains, lanterns, even the cobbles themselves, faint but steady.
The Chains of Restraint dragged him forward. His wrists throbbed with that same pressure, not pain but something deeper, like a hand pressing against his soul.
"Keep pace," Commander Kael ordered, his voice carrying like iron on stone.
As they passed, eyes followed. At first it was cautious stares, whispers darting between lips. But soon the words sharpened.
"Monster."
"Curse-bearer."
"He'll bring cracks in the root."
A rotten apple core bounced off Riku's shoulder. He flinched. Somewhere in the crowd, someone spat.
Yet, only a few steps further, the air shifted. An old woman knelt, pressing her forehead to the stone. "Child of the Gods," she murmured, trembling. Others followed suit, bowing low as if the boy in chains were not danger, but divinity.
Riku's chest twisted. Spit and prayer. Hatred and reverence. He didn't know which cut deeper.
The younger soldier edged closer, voice low enough only Riku could hear. "They don't see you. They see what you are."
"What… what am I?" Riku asked, his throat dry.
The soldier's gaze flicked to the higher tiers of the city. "Look. The higher the soul rank, the closer you live to the center. Out here—E and D ranks. Farmers, tradesfolk. Further in—C and B, the artisans, merchants, fighters. Then A and S, the scholars, the nobles, the great warriors. And at the very core—SS. The Council. The ones who bind it all together."
As he spoke, Riku saw it—the towers rising higher, their glow brighter, a gradient of radiance climbing toward the city's crown. Ordinary houses on the edge burned faintly, like candlelight. Closer to the center, spires blazed like suns, thrumming with resonance so intense he could feel it in his bones.
"Everything here," the soldier continued, "is measured by the strength of your soul. How bright you burn decides how high you climb."
"And me?" Riku asked.
The soldier's jaw tightened. "Prisms aren't ranked. They don't belong in the system. That's why they fear you. Why they…" His voice dipped, almost breaking. "…why they'll never let you walk free."
Riku stumbled, the words sinking heavier than the chains.
The march pressed inward. The outer ring gave way to stone bridges spanning canals of soulwater that glowed with shifting colors. Markets sprawled on either side, stalls bursting with relics. Crystals pulsed with faint memory. Weapons shimmered with ancestral fire. Artifacts whispered faint voices when brushed by passersby.
The Market of Ancestral Relics.
Crowds thickened here, drawn by trade and spectacle. And Riku, bound in glowing chains, was spectacle enough.
"There!" a voice shouted.
Something gleamed—then shot like lightning through the air. A shard-blade, jagged and humming with dark resonance, spun toward Riku's chest.
Time slowed. Riku froze. The Chains tugged, locking his limbs.
Kael moved first.
The commander's hand rose, his fingers cutting a pattern through the air. A circle of glowing lines formed before him—intricate, layered, a lattice of script burning with pale fire. The shard struck it and shattered, harmless shards scattering into motes of light.
Orve[4].
The defense technique thrummed in the air, shimmering like glass and smoke. The pattern hovered a heartbeat longer before fading.
Civilians screamed, scattering in panic. The stall where the thrower had stood collapsed as guards tackled him.
"He attracts ruin already," someone muttered, loud enough for Riku to hear.
Kael lowered his hand slowly, eyes still locked on Riku. "Stay close," he ordered the column. His voice held no triumph, only the grim satisfaction of inevitability.
Riku's heart hammered in his chest. The shard could have killed him. No—he should have died. Only the commander's shield stood between him and an early grave. And yet, the whispers already twisted it. Not he was attacked, but he brought it upon them.
They marched on, leaving the chaos behind. But Riku's eyes kept catching on every face in the crowd. Some scornful, some awed, some trembling in secret prayers. Every expression was a mirror, throwing pieces of his own fear back at him.
The city felt like a labyrinth of judgment, every turn another test, every street another verdict. He tried to breathe, but the air was thick with whispers, with the pulse of countless souls pressing in.
Finally, the road bent upward, climbing to a terrace that overlooked the inner rings. The Chains tugged, and Riku stumbled to the edge.
From there, the city spread like a map of light. Towers rising tier by tier, streets curving in perfect circles, canals shining like veins. And at the very center—
The Council Citadel.
It glowed brighter than the dawn, a spire vast and terrible, its walls woven with living soul-thread that burned like white fire. Runes spiraled its length, reaching into the sky as if the structure were not built but grown, roots stretching unseen into the heart of the world.
By the time they reached the innermost ring, night had fallen. Aldoré glowed even in darkness—lanterns of soulfire drifted above the streets like stars caught in invisible currents, each one pulsing in harmony with the city's living heartbeat. The hum was everywhere, endless, like a song that never ceased.
And above it all loomed the Citadel.
The spire rose impossibly high, grown from what looked like roots of crystal that twisted upward like the frozen veins of the World Tree itself. Light pulsed faintly through its surface, not constant but rhythmic, like a great organ deep within the earth was beating in time. To Riku, it looked less like a building and more like a living heart the entire city revolved around.
The Chains of Restraint grew colder the closer he drew, their glow faint but steady. He shivered, though the night was warm.
Commander Kael slowed his stride at the shadow of the Citadel. He turned, his eyes as sharp as ever.
"Inside," he said, "you will not be treated as a boy. You will be weighed as a weapon. Every word, every breath will matter. Do you understand?"
Riku swallowed, his throat dry. He almost asked what if I'm neither, but the words never left him. He just nodded.
Before they reached the Citadel gates, the column veered into a smaller complex: a squat fortress of blackened stone and humming wards carved into its walls. The sigil over the door marked it unmistakably—one of the Soul Bastions.
The younger soldier leaned close as they entered. "Holding places. For anomalies." His tone was grim.
Inside, the Bastion smelled of incense and iron. The halls glowed faintly with the light of containment runes, their edges sharp, biting. Cells lined either side, each sealed with shimmering barriers. Riku's chest tightened as he realized what filled them.
In one, a man knelt in silence, his aura fractured into jagged sparks that bled into the floor like cracks in glass. His soul was broken, bleeding out piece by piece. In another, a girl stared at her own reflection on the wall, but the reflection moved differently—smiling when she did not, eyes too wide. A Mimic. Further down, a figure hummed softly, the chains around her wrists glowing brighter than the torches—her body trembling with stolen energy. A Conduit, used and discarded, eyes hollow.
Every cell was a reminder. Not all who bore souls fit into the city's neat tiers of rank. Those who didn't… ended here.
Riku's stomach turned. Was this his future?
"Keep moving," Kael ordered. His voice was clipped, but even he did not linger near the cells.
The Enforcers filed into the Bastion's common hall, the smell of stew and smoke mixing with the hum of containment. They shed their cloaks, their armor whispering against benches and stone. The younger soldier glanced at Riku, but Kael's glare silenced him before he could speak.
From his place in chains, Riku overheard their voices anyway.
"He's too young," one muttered over a bowl. "Barely old enough to hold a blade."
"Young or not, he's a Prism," another countered. "Doesn't matter what face it wears. The Council will decide if he's curse or salvation."
"Or weapon," a third said. "That's all a Prism ever is."
Their words twisted together, fragments of pity, hunger, inevitability. Riku clenched his fists, the Chains glowing faintly, tightening like they'd heard too.
Later, they shoved him into a narrow cell off the main corridor. Not like the others—no broken walls of glassed light, no bloodied floors. Just plain stone, a cot, and bars that shimmered faintly with containment script. His chains bound him to the wall anyway.
The door slammed shut.
He sat in silence, staring at the faint glow of the links around his wrists. Every so often they pulsed, echoing like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
He shut his eyes. The memory of the Rogue's voice rose again, unbidden: With you, boy, the world will burn bright.
Burn bright. Like flame, like destruction. Was that all he was? A weapon made to tear holes in reality? Or worse—a curse meant to unmake it?
He curled his knees to his chest. For the first time since the Chains had closed around him, tears threatened. He bit them back. He couldn't break. Not here. Not when every shadow in this place was watching.
Time slipped, the hum of the Bastion walls steady as a lullaby.
When he finally lifted his head, the barred window above his cot pulled him toward it. The sliver of night beyond was dominated by the Citadel. From here, so close, the spire glowed differently.
Not just white.
Colors rippled across its crystalline roots, shifting in ways his eyes couldn't fully follow—fractures of violet, streaks of silver, glimmers of hues that had no name. And worse—no one else seemed to see them. The guards walked the hall as if nothing were strange. Only he saw the Citadel bend, as though the city itself warped subtly around its heart.
He stared, transfixed, breath shallow.
The Chains thrummed again, pulling tight, biting into him in that strange, soul-deep way. And for the first time he understood—they weren't just holding him prisoner.
They were anchoring him.
Anchoring him so he couldn't slip—out of the Bastion, out of the city, out of the world itself.
Because the city wasn't afraid he would run.
It was afraid he might fall through reality.
Riku pressed his forehead to the bars, eyes locked on the Citadel's impossible glow.
The Chains pulsed.
And the night pressed in, heavy with secrets.
[1] Prism Souls are a unique subtype characterized by the ability to split the user's soul energy (Ance) into multiple facets. Each facet acts like a different "color" or reflection, embodying a different version of reality, element, or trait.The user manipulates these fragments to achieve versatility and adaptation. Key abilities include: * Refraction: Splitting a single action (like an attack) into multiple versions with varied properties (e.g., a fireball splitting into heat, smoke, and light blasts). * Mirror Self: Creating temporary clones, each reflecting a unique personality or power facet. * Convergence Strike: Merging multiple facets into a singular, overwhelming burst of combined energy. * Spectrum Shift: Temporarily changing the nature of an ability (e.g., shifting ice power to electricity) based on the "color" of Ance channeled.Prism users are masters of multitasking and unpredictability. Their true strength lies in the seamless interaction and combination of their fragmented.
[2] Ance is the energy or aura that the Soul emits. It is the core power source in this system, flowing from the Soul, which is considered the life force.The body acts as the vessel for the Soul, and Ance is the energy itself. Essentially, Ance is the usable manifestation of a person's spiritual strength.The amount of Ance a person can possess is directly determined by the strength of their Soul: The stronger the Soul, the more Ance a person can have.Training the Soul is a necessary prerequisite before one can effectively train and control their Ance. It is the energy used in all techniques, such as Orve (enhancing body parts) and Soul Peek (sensing other souls).
[3] The Soul is the lifeforce and energy of creatures, serving as the system's core metaphysical entity. Its size and density directly determine a person's power; a bigger and denser Soul means a stronger individual. It is the primary, main source for all energy, aura, or Ance.A powerful Soul grants extended life, potentially making the person ageless. While training the Soul is possible to increase its strength, it is an extremely difficult, exhausting, and precise process. Improper training can severely strain the Soul and lead to death.The body is considered the mere vessel for the Soul. Damage to the Soul (a Broken Soul) from overuse or attacks is severe, causing irrecoverable physical and mental impairments.
[4] Orve is a D-level (Accessible) technique where Ance is infused into specific body parts (hands, arms, etc.) to enhance strength and durability. It's necessary for effectively striking another's soul, and Superior Orve makes the user impervious to attacks.