"War brings victors, but also brings widowers," Gregory Modvishi.

  After successfully launching their experimental weapon and precisely targeting Veydius Captial Eldeina, the Atherian Emperor was satisfied and halted the Admiral's execution. However, he was still hesitant about her promotion. For his people loved her valor.

  But as the molecularly compressed IgniscoreOrbelethe particles rained down on the 5th district, the nation's citizens felt their world shatter—physically, emotionally, and at its core. The impact sent seismic waves rippling across the country, a force both seen and felt.

  The entire District 5 crumbled. Skyscrapers swayed before shattering, debris rained down on screaming citizens, and medical facilities were obliterated at ground zero. What stood moments before was now a vast crater, swallowing everything in its path. Unfortunately, like many other people, Montclair and his mining crew were now buried in that same rubble. The shockwave caused the already unstable pillars holding the caves in place to shatter completely, causing the cave to collapse. It was the pride and jewel of the impoverished district that took 20 years to build and navigate.

  Montclair hated tight spaces as a child, from exhaustively revealing his position in hide-and-seek to being wrapped in a too-tight blanket. He hated it, and if he had a choice, he would never have done it, but now this was different. Ignitable rocks pinned him down, crushing his limbs and skull, and Montclair lay there unconscious and still like a motionless river. His cheek was smashed against the jagged rock, with warm blood trailing down his forehead. Every twitch sent knives of pain through his shattered bones. The rocks groaned with each movement like a beast waiting to swallow him whole. Time lost meaning. Was it hours? Days? Trapped in the dark, all he knew was pain.

  "The king sings the king's will ohhhhhh...oh oh," a familiar voice sang, distorted by the rocks.

  He coughed, almost regurgitating his lungs. " Ahem.. The king sings the king's will.." he paused, shifting his body, then immediately stopping.

  " Ohhhh..... oh...ohhhhhhhhhh," he hummed.

  "All praise the king. The hoooolyyyy king," he chimed.

  " The king sings the king's will, all praise the king. Praise the king, the liberator, the champion, and the end of all. The one to bring an end to it all, all praise the king."

  Montclair's eyes fluttered open, and dust flickered everywhere like a hummingbird humming. A groan escaped his lips as his body twisted, sending pain lancing through his ribs. Rocks shifted ominously around him. Breath came in shallow gasps. Every movement was a battle.

  The narrow passage between the rocks allowed sound to worm through; however, it did not let it travel far.

  "Montclair is that you," he remarked.

  " Whoever it is, if you can hear me, stop moving. The crystal will ignite if you keep moving,"

  "Oracle...is that," he moans softly.

  " yes, yes, it's me, Oracle. Can you hear me?"

  " yes, I am wha...what happened," Montcalir drawled.

  " I don't know one second, I am mining, and then I ..." he hissed in pain.

  " Are you okay?" Montclair remarked.

  " yeah, I am fine. I think I broke a few bones."

  " As I mentioned, I heard sirens and then a loud rumbling, and then I woke up buried in this rock."

  "ahh, my leg," he moaned in pain. He grips the base of his leg with his bone sticking out.

  " I think my leg is also broken. I can see something white sticking out, but I can't feel my legs...legs..legs, "Montclare drooled as he slowly fell out of consciousness.

  " Shit... Montclair, stay with me. Do not fall asleep," Orcale thundered, wheezing as he gasped.

  " am here am here... That song you were singing, where is it from," Montclair rasped.

  " My mother used to sing it back in my homeland. It praises the holy king. She told me he would come to my aid whenever I was scared and lost if I sang to the king."

  " Are you afraid," Montclair remarked?

  Orcale paused. " Yes."

  "Yes, I am."

  " Who is this holy king," he asked.

  " Our God Midnight —is our people's savior and was a king of renown when he was mortal. The Aetherians called him a revolutionary, but to us, he was divine. He mastered the 15th configuration, something no mortal had ever done. In doing so, he was able to control the void."

  " Huh, fifteen configuration," Montclair scoffed, licking his lips.

  " yes, it is true," Oracle clapped back.

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  " Even the emperor. Who is a god amongst men can only configure up to the 8th configuration," Montclair teased.

  " That man is no god; he is a madman drunken with the power he never earned," Oracle chimed, raising his eyebrow.

  Montclair gave a big sigh, trying to reach his face.

  Each second felt like a lifetime. Then—a crack. Dust burst into the air as the first sliver of light pierced the darkness. The Eldenia rescue team had broken through. The Eldenia emergency response team is the most underfunded staff group in Veydius. This is primarily because the Veydius imperial counsel deems them as non-essential for funding, and corrupt officials pocket the little funding they do get. However, the districts have found a wave to come together and create their own emergency group to help the people of their community.

  After rescuing the pair of friends, who were the only living bodies found that day and that year. They were immediately rushed to the makeshift medical tent that was filled with no patients but bodies wrapped in white body bags. This was Veydius' way of paying respect to the dead for white, which symbolized purity.

  When being attended by the physician, there was only one, and he was young, but his face aged him. The way he walked, his speech pattern, and his kindness were of a man Montclair age; however, his face was baggy, and his hair rough. He had wrinkles like rivers on his forehead and white hair planting roots on his scalp.

  His body was broken, and the look in the physician’s eyes told him he might never walk again. However, at that moment in that medical tent, he only thought of his mother. Montclair was the type of guy to worry if she was late by even seconds. However, it's been days, and the death tolls have risen to the millions, and all he could do was pray at that moment.

  In addition to the attack on the city, communication between the districts was disrupted, which meant each district had to fend for themselves. This wasn't good because Eldenia wasn't a righteous city that cared much about its people. So, it was no surprise that the streets had pure anarchy. Stationed commanders had abandoned their posts for bribes. People were looting an already impoverished city. It was like robbing a homeless person in broad daylight; there was no point to it. People were angry, scared, and distressed, so rage was their only tool.

  Two weeks later, they discharged him—not because he had healed, but because he was a financial burden. Having no choice, he fastened the white cast wrapped around his leg and hopped on his temporary rented wheelchair. He could barely see with the many bandages wrapped around his head; however, he navigated nonetheless. Yarning for that warm hug he had felt as a child. The warmth that could calm even a raging bull.

  It was a long road to his home in the nearby district. It was a path filled with sirens, Veydius Captial fleets, houses decaying before his eyes, and mothers carrying long-dead babies. However, to Montcalre, it was a trip worth making.

  The ground was hard and characoled, the air stiff like black tar, and the noise pollution made it challenging to step one foot outside one's home. This was the reality of greed and war.

  The reality that was paid in imperial gold and lives. This was the reality of Adalant, a world constantly eating itself inside out with conflict, war, hate, power, and greed. And all Montcalre could hope as he wheels himself home is that his mother wasn't another one of its victims.

  It took him six hours with a lot of grunting and groaning as his arms grew numb and his rib wounds peeled open from the stress. However, he finally made it to the checkpoint outside his district entrance. Which was guarded by soldiers in all-black military uniforms, and the Veydius insignia slapped dead on their chest. There were three of them with 3 armored trucks on the side of the narrow road leading inside the district.

  "Hey, lookie there. We have another one. I am not telling him. I have had to turn away at least 50 people," the soldier expressed to another soldier to his right.

  The second soldier was more hardened with scars on his next journey towards Monctalir. He had more military medals pinned to his chest, which jiggled as he walked.

  "Ughh, I really hate doing this, I had to turn away my own sister."

  "YOU HAVE TO TURN AROUND," the soldier yelled, waving and signaling, but the raging mid-afternoon wind distorted his voice.

  Montclair, unaware, kept on his path until they met face-to-face.

  "I said you have to leave; no civilians allowed," he remarked, gripping his blaster and placing his fist inside the gaping hole behind it.

  "I need to pass through. My mom is in there," Monclare spoke meekly as he scratched his throat.

  "huh, I can hear you," he remarked, leaning forward.

  "I need to see my mom," Montalre yelped.

  His shoulders stiffened as he blinked rapidly, chasing the tears from his eyes.

  "Sorry, kid, but no civilians are allowed, Barron rules. The district is no longer habitable and is under Veydius imperial jurisdiction. So please turn around, kid."

  Montcalire forced a tight smile while clenching his fist and digging his nails into the wheel handle.

  "I need to see my mom. You don't understand. I have nothing else," he snapped.

  "THEY ARE ALL DEAD, kid," he hollered, clearing his throat.

  "Excuse my language. They... are.. all dead," the soldier lowered his head, tears falling from his eyes like a draining pipe. He grabs his face, squeezing it tight.

  " Wha.. what do you mean. She's right there. I just need to pass through," he pleaded, reaching his hands toward the gate.

  A deep rumble shattered the tense silence as a warship loomed over the horizon, its dark hull blotting out the sky. The wind howled, kicking up debris as it descended, its engines shrieking like a dying beast. The entire world seemed to tremble when the landing gear slammed onto the cracked pavement.

  This was a mid-level Veydius imperial ship, part of the imperial navy fleet. It is mainly used as a support ship and pastoral ship.

  The ship’s front bay doors creaked open, revealing a figure draped in priestly robes. Silver hair framed his sharp face, but the aura around him was anything but holy. This was no mere monk—this was a warrior feared across Adalant. They are part of the imperial special division that deals with IO particle manufacturing and implementation. Their lavish, detailed suits and monk robs are recognized even in trenches of the West. So, to see one so far away from the front lines raised a few eyebrows. However, to the soldier in front of Montclair, he was on time.

  "Hey kid, my ride is here; I am sorry for your loss," he parted his hair as he leaned closer to Montclair on his knees.

  "I will let you know something, kid. We are leading an offensive against the Aetherins for this. I couldn't save your mom, but I will make them pay."

  "The Aetherians," he interrupted, clenching his fist. He grinded his teeth, quickly wiping his tears.

  "They did this?" Montclair held his forehead, holding back the tears in his eyes.

  "yes, from what we gathered."

  The soldier’s gaze flickered toward the monk, hesitation tightening his jaw. He turned back to Montclair, voice thick with something unspoken. 'I need to go, kid. But I swear—they won’t get away with this.

  "My name is Commander London, by the way," he stood up, winking at him and walking towards the ship.

  As he walked away, Montclair lifted his hands hesitantly as he reached for London.

  For most of Montclair's life, he had but a single day of joy. When his mother managed enough credits to take the belt railway around Veydius. However, now it is all gone. His mines are gone, and his mother is gone. Everything that defined him was gone, and he now had a choice. Stay or reach for something more. Life in a disaster like this was worse than death. The Veydius might be putting boots on the ground; however, it was temporary to prevent any negative press. Montclair knows they would leave and abandon the district in weeks like always. They wouldn't help rebuild, and they wouldn't help the starving, but the rich would definitely be well-fed.

  So when Montclair cried out, pleading for London to take him, desperation laced his voice. He had nothing—no home, no mother, no purpose. The only thing left inside him was a hollow void, soon to be filled by something darker: vengeance.

  London responded, turned his head around, and gave him a light smirk.

  For 5,000 years, the Veydius Imperial Magistrate maintained control, crushing any threat to its rule. The Aetherian Empire, their long-time rival, challenged them with advanced IO manipulation—a technology both nations weaponized to fuel an industrial revolution of war. However, while their military prowess is unmatched, they are two different countries. Their economic and social health are far from similar.

  Montclair had known since childhood that his fate was sealed. His father had flung him into this world with no status, no money, and no name. The Magistrate made sure people like him stayed in the dirt, and the only way out was to climb over corpses. However, if an individual were to undergo a process called rebirth, and one of the known deities of adalant were to grant an individual a chance at extending one's reach into the void, then one could find themselves being prompted to another class.

  These rigid class systems have governed civil wars and social uprisings for thousands of years. However, each internal conflict is equally suppressed by the Veydius Secert police, who maintain this fragile social order.

  For Montclair, since his father teleported him as a child into the Veydius with no status, money, or reputation. He was forced into the lower class in Veydius and subjected to work in the Eldenia mines since he could walk.

  “What would she say if she saw me like this? Would she want me to fight? Or would she want me to live?” he meekly spoke.

  That day, Montclair saw his chance. It wasn’t a decision—it was survival. But survival comes at a cost, and he would carry that burden for the rest of his life. He decided to join the Imperial Navy on their offensive into the Aetherain Empire. He made this split-second decision based on rumors Oracle had passed onto him on their exploration of a new mining cove.

  On how the Aetherians had done the impossible. On how they had defied death itself.