Season 1, Episode 1, Part 1
The year is 1414, but the air in Seistain does not smell of democracy.
Even though the Democratic Republic of DI claims to be a land of the people, the reality is written in soot. The laws are enforced by men with heavy iron boots and steam-pressured rifles. The capital looked clean—if you were blind. In reality, the wide roads of Seistain were flanked by towering skyscrapers of brick and brass, with the Flag of DI waving proudly like a joke that couldn't exist in reality. The country was drowning in corruption, a rot that started at the top and trickled down to the cobblestones.
On a stone bench near to a government complex, two boys sat quietly. They were eleven and were already ruined.
Malesh sat straight, uniform flawless, shirt tucked and the tie tied perfectly. Shoes clean enough to reflect Sunlight.
Kniya leaned back, arms crossed, eyes sharp and restless. He spoke
"Well, we have bunked the school and if you think about it, bribes are just shortcuts. Everyone uses them and we should too !! "
Malesh nodded,
"Yeah, honest people suffer as they are tied in their fucking moral principles, and smart people like us adopt."
Kniya smirked,
"Why work when your ass off when you can just pay someone and skip the bullshit?"
Malesh adjusted his tie,
"That's how this country works, and the laws are for the poor ones. So… sad."
(Evil smirk)
Kniya continued,
"When we grow up, we shouldn't fight corruption like others do, as it is not going to change anything. We should be good at it!"
Malesh replied,
"Exactly. Learn the system, bend it according to your needs, and boom—pure profit!!"
Footsteps interrupted them.
Four 12th graders walked through the square, laughing loudly, pushing each other around like they owned the park, and talking about nonsense.
At the front was Rhuluf.
Behind him: Throbes, Kliven, and Norvis.
Suddenly, Rhuluf barked,
"Hey, you maggots—get the fuck out of our way."
It wasn't necessary. There was plenty of space around.
Kniya didn't move.
Neither did Malesh.
Kniya looked up slowly and said,
"Nah!"
Rhuluf stopped,
"What?"
Kniya stood his stance,
"I said no!"
Rhuluf laughed,
"You deaf or stupid?"
Malesh spoke calmly,
"We're not going anywhere."
Rhuluf stepped closer, annoyed now,
"Say that again!!"
Kniya tilted his head,
"Hey, you tiny dickhead — learn to use your sense organs."
Dead silence.
Klevin whispered,
"Bro…"
Norvis muttered,
"These kids got balls."
Throbes cracked a grin,
"Wrong place to show them."
Rhuluf's face hardened,
"You little pieces of shit think you're funny?"
(Furious)
Malesh straightened his tie,
"We think you're an asshole with a long plastic pipe."
That was enough.
Rhuluf shoved him.
Malesh fell to the ground, and Kniya reacted instantly — a fist upon his face.
White flashed.
Then everything went to hell.
Rhuluf, Throbes, Kliven, and Norvis piled on them like animals.
Punch after punch. Kicks. Elbows.
"Stay down, you little fuck!"
"Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I'll break your fucking face!"
Kniya tasted blood. Malesh felt something crack.
They hit them until their eyes burned, until tears spilled out without proper permission.
But then Kniya laughed — not loud, not proud. Broken. Malesh laughed too, coughing, blood on his lips, tears running freely.
Rhuluf froze. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
Kniya spat blood and laughed harder, "You're weak as shit!"
Malesh wheezed, grinning through pain, "You're hitting like a scared bastard."
That did it. Rhuluf lost his mind.
"You think this is funny?!"
Punch! Punch! Punch!
Kniya laughed between the blows, "That's all you got, you useless fuck?"
Malesh added, mockingly, but his voice shaking, "Beat us all you want, you still didn't make a critical hit."
Rhuluf roared harder now. He became extremely violent, beating them like a wild monster with desperation.
And then a whistle blew. "Hey!"
A police officer ran towards them.
The seniors backed off instantly. Rhuluf leaned down, breathing hard, eyes burning.
"You got lucky this time, you fucking bastards," he spat. "You… you won't be…" he said, breathing heavily.
"Next time I see…" said kniya, mockingly.
They walked away.
Kniya lay on the ground, face swollen, laughing softly. Malesh laughed too. Tears streamed down their faces — not because they couldn't feel pain, but because they knew something that Rhuluf didn't.
Not today, but someday — they would hit back hard enough to be remembered.
Rhuluf and his friends were already walking away, laughing, shoving each other. Done with it.
They didn't look back. They never needed to.
Two police officers stood over Kniya and Malesh, faces and voices sharp, patience already gone.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" one officer barked. "Starting fights with older students in a public park?!"
Malesh tried to speak. His lips split when he moved them. "They—"
"Don't," the other officer snapped. "Don't even try that shit."
Kniya wiped blood from his nose, hands shaking. "Sir, they attacked us first."
The officer laughed. Actually laughed. "Yeah. And I'm the fucking president."
He grabbed Kniya's arm and twisted it behind his back. "You kids think you can just start up a fight and cry victim?"
Malesh took a step forward. "We didn't—"
They shove, sent him crashing against the police car. "Shut up!!"
They didn't listen. They didn't care.
One of the officer opened the back door of the car, and shouted, "Get in, morons!"
Kniya hesitated for half a second. The officer pushed him hard, his head hit the metal frame of the top of the trunk and his pain flared again
The back door slammed shut
Metal echoed.
The car moved.
Kniya stared at the floor, blood dripping steadily, mixing with dust and old stains. His face burned. His ribs screamed. He didn't care.
What a fucking day, he thought.
Beaten like shit by seniors.
Now arrested like criminals.
He laughed under his breath.
Across from him, Malesh sat hunched, knuckles split open, uniform ruined for the first time. His tie—still on. Still straight.
That irony almost made Kniya smile.
Barely moving his lips, Kniya whispered,
"You see this shit?"
Malesh nodded slightly.
"Yeah."
A pause.
"They know we can't fight those bastards," Kniya muttered.
"That's why they picked us."
Malesh swallowed.
"Of course they did."
Another turn. The car jerked.
"These fucking cops," Kniya whispered, voice low and venomous.
"They don't want truth. They want a clean report."
Malesh's jaw tightened.
"They want promotions," he said.
"They want to show the world we were the culprits."
Kniya scoffed.
"Two bleeding kids versus grown assholes."
"Yeah, really convincing."
Malesh let out a short, bitter laugh that hurt his ribs.
"They'll write whatever bullshit helps them sleep."
Kniya whispered, teeth clenched,
"This whole law system is fucked from the roots."
Malesh leaned closer, voice shaking—not from fear, but rage.
"They don't protect right. They protect convenience."
Silence again.
Then Kniya said, softly but deadly,
"They think this ends here."
Malesh shook his head once.
"It doesn't."
Blood slid down his wrist.
"One day," Kniya continued,
"I'll show those bastards what power actually feels like."
Malesh nodded.
"Same."
The officer glanced back.
The back of the police carriage was a cramped cage of rusted iron and shadows. Every time the wheels hit a rut in the dirt road, the metal frame groaned, sending a jolt through Kniya's bruised ribs.
Outside, the city lights of Seistain were fading, replaced by the suffocating blackness of the woods.
"Shut the fuck up back there," the officer in the passenger seat barked without looking back. He was busy adjusting the pressure valves on his rifle, the brass fittings hissing softly.
Kniya didn't shut up. He leaned his head against the cold bars, his eyes fixed on Malesh. Malesh looked like a ghost—pale, bloodied, but his tie was still knotted tight, a stubborn anchor to the "smart" person he claimed to be.
"Malesh," Kniya whispered, his voice like sandpaper.
Malesh shifted his gaze. His knuckles were raw, but his hands weren't shaking.
"Do you remember…" Kniya started, a sharp, jagged grin pulling at his split lip, "…why we made the sand bombs?"
A heavy silence hung between them for a heartbeat, punctuated only by the rhythmic clop-clop of the steam-engine's pistons.
Malesh's eyes narrowed, a dark, realization dawning in them. He reached slowly into the deep, hidden lining of his uniform jacket. His fingers closed around the rough, spherical shapes they had spent all week perfecting in the back alleys.
"For this fucking moment," Malesh breathed. His voice was steady—deadly.
Kniya's grin widened, revealing teeth stained pink with blood. "The system thinks we're just maggots, Malesh. Let's show them how maggots bite back."
Malesh pulled the spheres out, cradling them like black pearls. "On your lead."
"Hey! I told you to—"
The officer started to turn, his hand reaching for the latch on the partition, but he was too late.
"Now!" Kniya hissed.
They didn't just throw them; they slammed the sand bombs against the iron mesh with every ounce of 11-year-old rage they possessed.
CRACK. CRACK.
The glass casings shattered. A thick, violent cloud of fine river sand and powdered industrial glass exploded into the front cabin.
"MY EYES! ARGH, MY EYES!"
The driver's scream was instantaneous. He let go of the steering lever to claw at his face. The carriage hissed as a steam line took the brunt of the sudden jerk. Without a hand to guide it, the heavy iron beast veered sharply off the path, the wheels catching the soft mud of the embankment.
There was no safety to catch them. Kniya and Malesh were thrown like ragdolls against the back door as the carriage careened into the tree line.
BOOM.
The front of the carriage slammed into a massive oak. The sound of wood splintering and brass buckling filled the forest. The steam engine gave one final, high-pitched whistle before falling silent, leaving only the sound of the officer's muffled groans and the ringing in Kniya's ears.
Kniya groaned, pushing himself off the floorboards. He looked at Malesh, who was already reaching for the keys through the jagged hole in the partition.
"Karma," Kniya coughed, spitting a glob of blood onto the floor. "It's a bitch, isn't it?"
The lock turned with a heavy, metallic clink.
The back door of the carriage swung open, protesting on its bent hinges. Kniya tumbled out first, his boots hitting the damp soil. His knees buckled for a second, but he caught himself against the jagged bark of the oak tree they had just leveled.
Across the wreck, the passenger-side door groaned open. The officer who had been threatening them earlier stumbled out. He wasn't the "God of the Republic" anymore. He was a man on his knees, clawing at his face, his eyes swollen shut and streaming with tears from the glass-dust and sand.
"I can't... I can't see!" the officer wailed, his voice cracking.
Kniya watched him for a moment, his chest heaving. He felt a strange, cold heat rising in his gut. He looked at Malesh. Malesh was standing by the carriage door, wiping a smudge of grease from his sleeve, looking remarkably composed for someone who had just survived a high-speed crash.
The officer's hand fumbled blindly for the leather scabbard attached to the side of the carriage. His fingers closed around the wooden stock of his bolt-action rifle.
"Don't," Kniya said. His voice wasn't a scream. It was a low, dangerous warning.
The officer didn't listen. He yanked the rifle free, swinging it wildly in the direction of Kniya's voice.
Kniya lunged. He didn't have the strength of a man, but he had the speed of a cornered animal. He slammed into the officer's shoulder, sending the blinded man onto his back in the dirt. The rifle clattered into the leaves.
Kniya scrambled for it, his small, dirty hands gripping the cold iron barrel. He stood up, the weapon feeling impossibly heavy, the wooden stock biting into his bruised shoulder.
BANG.
The kickback nearly dislocated Kniya's arm. The roar of the rifle shattered the silence of the woods. The bullet tore through the officer's thigh, blooming a sudden, dark red flower on his grey trousers.
The man let out a guttural, wet scream that turned into a pathetic whimper. He clutched his leg, curling into a ball.
Kniya didn't run. He walked closer, his shadow falling over the writhing man.
"What happened, bro?" Kniya mocked, his voice dripping with venom. "A few minutes ago, you were acting like a big shot. You were the one giving us the 'shut the fuck up' speech, right? You were the one pushing us into the dirt."
Malesh stepped up beside him. He didn't look at the officer with pity; he looked at him like a broken piece of machinery.
"Kniya," Malesh said calmly, "if this one is still clinging to life, we should get more bullets. It would be a waste to leave them in the carriage."
The officer looked up, his face a mess of sand, blood, and tears. "Please... I have... I have a family..."
Malesh knelt down beside the bleeding man. He didn't hesitate. He began unbuckling the leather ammunition pouches from the officer's belt.
"Everyone has something," Malesh whispered, his face inches from the officer's. "But you chose convenience over the truth. You wanted a clean report. Now, look at the report you're leaving behind."
Malesh pulled the brass cartridges out—long, heavy, and shining in the moonlight. He handed them to Kniya.
Kniya looked at the rifle in his hands. He grabbed the bolt handle, pulling it back. Clack-shick. A smoking, empty brass shell ejected into the mud. He slid a fresh, cold round into the chamber and slammed the bolt forward.
"You're lucky," Kniya spat, looking at the officer. "We're smart enough to know that killing you right now doesn't give us any profit. But watching you bleed in the dark? That's free."
Kniya looked at Malesh. Malesh gave a slow, satisfied nod.
"Let's go," Kniya said, slinging the oversized rifle over his shoulder. "The whistle from the steam engine was loud. Others will come. And I want to be long gone before they find what's left of their 'hero'."