From the southern continent, the second largest in the world, lies UHU—a country of vast resources, yet plagued by poor rulership and high corruption…
"I don't really know what to say… my future is confusing. I don't know what to become."
The scenery was that of a vast, underdeveloped city, yet people still lived life to the fullest. Many complained about the harsh economy, while others rejoiced because they had benefited from it.
Most times, Ebi wandered in his thoughts, asking himself why life wasn't fair to him. Other times, he rejoiced, trying to forget his predicament.
On a beautiful morning, birds made their usual calls, often chased away by humans. Cars sped through the streets, and sellers opened their shops. The day had just begun.
Ebi rose from his bed—a small portable mattress he shared with his siblings. He lay at the edge, wondering what this thing called life was really about.
"You know, brother… I just wish I could get a huge sum of money and lift our family out of this poverty," he said, his face filled with sorrow yet burning with ambition.
His older brother stood up from the bed, looking at him…
His face was expressionless, but the coldness in his eyes—so different from the warmth he showed his siblings—could be seen clearly. As he stood up and left the bed, Ebi watched him quietly.
After a short while, Ebi stood up and walked toward his brother, noticing his elder sister and brother staring into the distance.
Suddenly, he felt a knock on his head.
"Hey, buddy!"
Xylo stood there, looking at him with a playful expression.
Ebi frowned slightly and whispered,
"What did you do that for?"
Ebi stirred awake, a dull ache throbbing in his head. Beside him, a grizzled man leaned forward, his eyes sharp but gentle.
"You're awake, lad," the man said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You've been sleeping all this while."
The caravan rumbled along a narrow dirt road, flanked by wild grasses and scattered trees. The morning sun cast long shadows across the path, highlighting the rough, uneven terrain. Ebi rubbed his temple, still feeling the lingering knock from earlier.
As the caravan drew closer, the City of Valour appeared in the distance. Nestled in the southern region, it was small by most standards—its stone walls modest, its towers short—but the city hummed with purpose. Smoke rose from chimneys where artisans labored over strange devices, and faint glimmers of energy flickered from certain buildings, catching the sunlight like tiny sparks.
It was clear this city had found a way to thrive, carving its place in the southern lands through ingenuity rather than brute strength. Roads were neat, markets bustling, and citizens moved with a sense of quiet efficiency, unlike the sprawling chaos of the larger southern cities Ebi had glimpsed from afar.
For now, the city seemed peaceful. But Ebi felt it in the back of his mind—the air carried a subtle tension, a hum of secrets unspoken. He didn't understand it yet, but instinct told him: survival here would require more than strength; it would demand awareness, cunning, and perhaps… patience.
The caravan slowed as it entered the outskirts. Guards, armed with both traditional weapons and curious devices he had never seen before, scanned the travelers. Ebi sat upright, readying himself silently, relying on his instincts to navigate the unknown.
The City of Valour wasn't a powerhouse. Not yet. But Ebi's gut told him it was a place where fortunes could turn, and a boy like him could make his first true step toward something greater.
In a vast, dimly lit room, an elderly man with overwhelming charisma stood before a wall etched with ancient, intricate carvings. Without hesitation, he bowed—again and again—until it felt as though his respect had been offered countless times over.
Behind him, a group of elders followed suit, their movements synchronized, their expressions solemn.
When the ritual ended, the dark-skinned elder took his seat upon a lone chair at the center of the chamber—a seat that radiated the quiet authority of a ruler.
The other ten elders remained below, seated on a polished wooden platform, none daring to rise to his level.
Silence filled the room.
It was heavy.
Oppressive.
Even the slightest movement echoed unnaturally, as though the air itself was listening.
They had just concluded their meeting… yet no one spoke.
No one moved.
Each elder glanced subtly at the others, their eyes filled with hesitation.
None of them wanted to be the first to leave.
"With the other clans rising so quickly, we must hasten our plans… or we will be absorbed by the Yue Clan."
With his hands clasped behind his back, Mu Akira spoke calmly, yet the weight of his words pressed heavily on the room.
Before him, a young man in his early thirties knelt. His appearance was bold and disciplined, and strapped across his back was a strange weapon that pulsed with a faint red light at steady intervals.
"Your Majesty… according to the latest report, the enemy forces are advancing rapidly."
Mu Akira, the ruler of Valour City, remained still. His face had grown pale, yet his composure did not break. He exhaled slowly, releasing a turbid breath, his gaze momentarily drifting toward the warrior behind him—
Yet his focus remained forward.
Mu Akira's expression hardened as he made his decision.
"You will return at once," he said, his voice steady but commanding. "Assemble a squad and continue scouting the outer regions. I want constant updates on the enemy's movements."
The kneeling warrior lowered his head. "Yes, Your Majesty."
A brief pause followed.
"…And prepare it," Mu Akira added quietly.
The warrior's eyes flickered for a moment, but he did not question the order.
"The trump card… must be ready."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
With that, the warrior rose and left swiftly, the faint red light on his weapon pulsing as he disappeared beyond the chamber doors.
The memory surfaced slowly…
"You must never reveal this… unless the city stands on the brink of ruin."
The voice of his predecessor echoed clearly in his mind, heavy with warning.
Then—
The memory shattered as Mu Akira's grip tightened against the arm of his chair, the faint creak of wood breaking the silence of the chamber.
The stillness that followed was suffocating.
In the present, the vast room remained unchanged—quiet, cold, and heavy with unseen pressure.
Mu Akira lowered his gaze slightly, the echo of his predecessor's words still ringing in his ears.
A single tear slipped down his face.
The gates of the City of Valour loomed ahead, modest yet firm, their worn stone marked by time and effort rather than glory.
As the caravan passed through, Ebi stepped down quietly, his feet touching the ground with a soft thud. He adjusted his posture slightly, his eyes already moving—observing, measuring.
The city was alive.
Merchants called out from both sides of the street, displaying their goods on wooden stalls. Carts rolled by, some pulled by beasts, others fitted with small mechanical wheels that hummed faintly as they moved. Lanterns hung above, not lit by fire, but by small glowing cores that pulsed softly with energy.
Ebi said nothing.
His gaze shifted from one detail to another, taking everything in without pause.
This place… it's different, he thought.
Not powerful. Not yet.
But it was growing.
As he walked deeper into the streets, something caught his attention.
A small device hovered above a merchant's table—a palm-sized object, rotating slowly in the air. It emitted a faint, rhythmic glow, as though responding to something unseen.
The merchant waved his hand beneath it, and the device flickered briefly before settling again.
Ebi slowed his steps.
His eyes lingered on it for a moment—not with wonder, but with quiet calculation.
Useful, he noted mentally.
Then he moved on.
A sudden movement brushed past him.
Too fast.
Too close.
Ebi's hand snapped forward instantly—grabbing a wrist mid-motion.
A young boy froze, eyes wide in shock.
"…Let go," the boy muttered, struggling slightly.
Ebi looked at him calmly, his grip firm but not aggressive.
"You're sloppy," he said quietly.
The boy's expression shifted—from fear to irritation.
Before he could react further, two rough-looking men approached from the side, their steps heavy, their intent clear.
"Oi," one of them called out. "That's our boy you're holding."
Ebi released the wrist slowly, his gaze lifting toward them.
Silence.
The air grew tense.
One of the men stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.
"You new here?" he sneered.
Ebi didn't answer.
Instead, he shifted his footing slightly.
The man lunged—
—but missed.
Ebi had already moved.
A quick step to the side, a precise strike to the ribs—nothing excessive, just enough. The man staggered back, gasping.
The second hesitated.
That was enough.
Ebi turned and walked away as if nothing had happened.
No chase followed.
The noise of the city returned around him.
But his mind was elsewhere.
This city… it's not stable, he thought.
Something is off.
His eyes drifted briefly toward a distant part of the city—where the buildings stood taller, quieter… and more guarded.
For a moment, he stopped.
A faint, unexplainable feeling brushed against his senses.
Then—
He looked away.
Not now.
He continued walking.
I need to decide my next move.