Barely ten years in and the first calamity appeared, but unfortunately for mankind, fate was not so kind as to produce a single averted outcome — not one avatar had emerged, leaving humanity to face the calamities to the best of their abilities.
They fought.
Lost.
And lost.
And kept losing until they finally won.
But it was a win that tasted more of defeat — a win that had come down to a narrow chance, one that had every reason not to have worked out at all.
Of the seven kingdoms, barely sixty percent of the human population made it through.
Great powerhouses were lost in that battle as well. Many were sacrificed. Many were swallowed without ever getting the chance to fight back. So complete was the destruction that the world seemed as though it would never recover from the calamity.
…Or would it?
…
…
A hundred years passed and society seemed to have recovered considerably, though unlike in the past, the system of government was now vastly different. There were no more individual kingdoms as before. Every kingdom had unified under one banner, now governed by the seven strongest families. A law was created — one no man born of a woman dared ignore — the law that mandated every child, upon reaching the age of seventeen, to be enlisted for Avalon High. The location of this institution was a mystery known only to those at the pinnacle of society, hidden away from the world, and perhaps regarded as humanity's last hope, its last fighting chance against the calamities yet to come.
…
…
"About thirty percent of the revenue goes to magitech and the rest to the other sectors, but I suggest we invest more in magitech. According to my contact from Winterfall, they have discovered a new way to implement glyphs in weapon creation — we cannot let them gain the upper hand, Your Highness. We must act now," an almost perfectly round man said, presenting documents to the man seated on the throne far across the hall. The king had a hand placed beneath his chin, visibly deep in thought, his mind far removed from the meeting at hand.
"Nonsense. I see no logic in that, Your Highness. We excel in medical research and far surpass the others in that field. We should instead invest more funds into further research. If we achieve even greater breakthroughs, we could arrange an intelligence exchange with Winterfall — killing two birds with one stone, should the need arise."
"I once considered you my intellectual equal, but today I see your stupidity knows no bounds. How — and why — would you think for even a second that Winterfall would share their most sensitive information over a trade? This is politics, not a marketplace."
"No, I second his opinion," a lady said, clearly speaking for the sheer sake of contributing. "As much as military might matters, you have to remember — it is all about the talents we cultivate. If we have superior military strength but worthless talents, I need not elaborate further, do I? So I believe further breakthroughs in medicine would serve us far better than wasting resources on military might."
"…Why am I surrounded by such dimwits? Military might is the true strength of a nation!"
"Right back at you, you fool. In case you never attended school, allow me to clarify something — we are now unified. Open warfare is extremely rare, so fixating on military strength would be especially shortsighted, particularly given that the calamities are still coming."
"That does not, in any form or fashion, make it wise to neglect the nation's strength. Surely we cannot allow ourselves to fall behind the likes of Winterfall — the very thought is almost ridiculous."
"Your Majesty—!" A messenger suddenly burst into the hall. The king, whose mind had been somewhere far away this entire time, snapped to attention, his eyes fixed on the panicked figure at the door.
"Such disrespect — do you not see His Majesty is in the middle of—"
"Speak. What happened?"
"…My lord, it concerns the seventh mistress."
At those words, the king's eyes widened. He sat up straight.
"Has she been found?!"
"I'm afraid n-not, Your Majesty."
"THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?!"
"A child, my lord! Her missing maid — she has returned, and she carries a child!"
"A child?!" The entire hall erupted into commotion.
"This cannot be. There are already ten royal bloods — we cannot have an eleventh. It has never happened before…"
The murmurs swelled, a single unspoken thought rippling through every mind in the room.
Kill the child — for the existence of an eleventh would defile the ritual for the throne.
"Your Majesty, it pains me greatly to say this, but that child cannot—"
"Silence." The king rose from his throne. "Bring this child to me."
…
…
"Face."
Smack.
A blunt force to the stomach sent the young prince staggering back. But having been subjected to this far longer than he could remember had taught him one thing — he could not tend to his wounds while his opponent remained at large. Even less so when that opponent happened to be his brother.
"Argh!"
"Low abdomen," the voice said, and instinctively the prince covered his stomach.
Thwack.
The wooden sword struck him squarely across the bridge of his nose, sending a spray of blood into the air.
"Ahhh—!" The prince clutched his face in agony, but before he could react, a brutal kick to the abdomen sent him tumbling backward. He managed to keep his footing, though his vision had gone red and hazy. He tried to retreat — but before he could, a force so powerful connected with his most prized and vulnerable region that it broke the camel's back entirely. He crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been severed, his hands moving unconsciously to cradle what remained of his dignity.
"Tsk. That's it? This is pathetic. Everyone's out having fun but me… why do I have to babysit?!"
Smack.
The older prince grumbled, crouching down and poking the seemingly lifeless boy with his sword. "Hey. Are you dead already…?" He received no response. "…Wait, seriously? Is this waste of blood actually dead?" He frowned. "That could be a problem. If you're going to die, do it in your own mansion, not here." He kicked the young prince in the head, and just then, a voice reached him.
"Aegon."
"Huh?" The prince turned to find a young girl with white hair — identical to his own, a genetic trait unique to the House Morningstar — approaching with quiet composure.
"Don't kill him. You do know what will happen if you do, right?"
Aegon raised both hands in surrender. "Of course I wasn't going to kill him… if he isn't dead already," he muttered the last part under his breath. Just then, the boy on the ground stirred faintly before sinking back into unconsciousness. "…See? He's just taking a nap," Aegon said, looking rather proud of his handiwork.
"Father summons you," the girl said, without preamble.
Aegon's expression fell immediately. "W-what? Why? I didn't kill him — the ten hells can bear me witness!"
"I'm sure. Now go."
"…Do you have any idea why?" he asked, a trace of hesitation in his voice.
"Who knows. Perhaps your wish has been granted." That alone was enough to send the prince on his way.
"…" Nirai stood in silence, staring at her unconscious stepbrother for a long moment. Then, from nowhere, a blade materialized in her grasp. She pressed it gently against his chest.
"You will not be my weakness, half-blood…" she said quietly, pressing the sword forward. It was so unnervingly sharp that it slipped through the torn fabric of the young prince's clothing and into his skin with barely any force at all.
"Ugh—" The prince's face scrunched in pain. She hesitated. Her hand stilled.
"…" A quiet sigh escaped her as she watched blood begin to well from the cut.
"What do I do with you, brother," she whispered, almost to herself. "What?"