The building, modest yet refined enough to shelter an upper-middle-class family, trembled with shouts and cries spilling into the street. Passersby slowed, brows furrowed, drawn by the cacophony of despair and outrage.
"Fuck! We're going to go broke!""I refuse to join the army! It's a death sentence!"
Kadian stood motionless. Silk-white shirt clinging lightly to his chest, black pantaloons embroidered with threads of gold glinting faintly, he looked like a man who had never expected catastrophe to arrive at his doorstep. Yet here it was, bitter and unrelenting, spoken by his accountant.
His empire—once flourishing, a delicate weave of consumer goods and exotic cash crops—now trembled on the edge of ruin. Almost all of his liquid capital had been sunk into ventures promising handsome returns. The remainder had been gambled, lost to the indifferent tides of fortune.
The cause was everywhere and nowhere: war. Across the globe, the seven legendary empires had taken up arms against one another. The reasons remained shrouded in mystery, whispered only in speculation, and yet the fires of conflict had barely begun to spread, its full scope still hidden in the mists of early chaos. Trade ground to a halt. Nations began conscripting citizens and minor nobles alike, offering life itself as currency to fund victory.
Kadian, a citizen of the Kingdom of Gratzèl, felt the enormity of his plight. Gratzèl, straddling the equator, guarded to the north by towering mountains and to the south by a vast, mercantile sea, had long been a realm of opportunity and ambition. Wealth flowed through its southern channels like liquid gold, and Kadian had been among those favored by fortune.
Well-versed in commerce, he had tried to safeguard what he could: legal seals signed, ships rented, tasks delegated to freelancers and enslaved labor alike. Once, such measures had sufficed. But the wheel of fate spins with cruel impartiality. A war between the northern barbarians and the Duchess of Foteir in the Feura Empire left the barbarians impoverished and desperate. Kadian had seized the opportunity, bartering rare goods for their scarce resources—ox-leather armor, Yier-Wei grass, and other treasures coveted across the commonwealth.
Now, those victories seemed hollow. Reality pressed in. Endless lines of citizens, young and old, strong and infirm, marched to be transported to training grounds. Kadian's footsteps echoed hollowly alongside theirs. Guards handed him crude yet serviceable ox-leather armor, a bitter reminder of how swiftly fortune turns.
Well. I never imagined karma could strike so swiftly…
The carriages were barred, like cages, and would carry them deep into the forests of Dorens—a land whispered of in tales as a home for bandits and creatures that survived only in the margins of legend. A faint, sweet odor drifted in the air: Castia flowers. Poisonous if misused, hallucinogenic in diluted form. The scent washed over Kadian like a tide. His eyelids grew heavy, yet he struggled against it, recalling nights when ambition had been his only companion.
If I sleep… There will be no escape once I reach the so-called "training grounds." I must… find a way…
But the body is frail, and willpower can only resist so long. Sleep claimed him.
In this world, power is not given lightly. Some wield abilities beyond mortal comprehension—gifts said to be bestowed by God Himself.
Long ago, when darkness blanketed the earth and monsters prowled freely, angels descended. They carved order from chaos, establishing the seven legendary empires that became the cradle of humanity. Rumors whispered that the blood of God still flowed in the veins of royal families.
Kadian listened to an old woman reciting history from a worn textbook. Around her, children fidgeted, eyes glazed with boredom. Among them sat a smaller, younger, less assured version of Kadian—an echo of what he once had been.