The year was 545.
The bright afternoon sun poured over Quirkville, a city somewhere in the great Southland kingdom. Townspeople went about their routines, each task accomplished with a sprinkle of magic.
A florist conjured water with a flick of her hand to spray her beautiful blooms; a builder floated to the top of an unfinished building, concrete blocks hovering in his hands. Children played in the square, laughter mingling with tiny sparks of magic dancing between their palms.
The city seemed peaceful, alive, almost comforting.
Yet… beneath the streets, a darker kind of magic lingered.
In the sewers, the stench of iron and decay clung to the damp walls.
A hooded figure crouched over a woman's body, green eyes gleaming in the dark.
With a low growl, he ripped her clothes off and tore into her skin with his bare hands. The woman didn't react; her lifeless eyes stared aimlessly into the dark tunnel as the man devoured her flesh with an almost reverent patience.
Footsteps echoed faintly above.
He paused, listening to the countless citizens moving above, completely unaware of the horror beneath their feet.
A smile curled at the edge of his lips.
The city was full of prey — and tonight, he had found his feast. Every movement of his blood-soaked fingers, every raw chew and sick swallowing was precise, almost ceremonial.
This was no crime to him. It was a ritual...
Meanwhile…
Far from the shadows beneath Quirkville's streets, life continued undisturbed.
A day's journey away, a small nameless town bustled with energy, with almost as much energy as its larger neighbour.
Merchants shouted over one another, travelers wandered between stalls, and horse-drawn carriages rattled over cobblestones.
The scent of fresh bread and herbs mixed with the faint tang of magic in the air. Even the wind itself seemed alive, carrying whispers of power that made the microscopic white hair on a young, dark-skinned boy's neck stand on end.
This boy was Dominic-- or simply Dom by his closest friends. He was short and wiry with snow-white curls and glowing navy blue eyes.
He darted between the crowd, easily weaving past vendors and travelers alike. He had a single goal: the worn book that he believed might hold the secrets of the greatest heroes in history. His pulse quickened as he neared the small trinket store that promised answers.
Nearby, a young couple wandered towards that same store. The man held the door for his partner, the bell above jingling as they entered.
"Welcome, welcome," said the storekeeper, a round-faced man with a permanent warm smile. "You look like you've traveled far… why not pick something for your future child?"
The woman smiled softly, her hand drifting to her swollen belly.
"What do you recommend?" Her partner asked.
"Well…" the storekeeper began, displaying his wide array of antiques and items he had gathered from all over the nation, "…there's plenty to choose from. How about…"
With his attention focused on his customers, Dom crept past them, eyes glued to the bookshelves in the corner.
Finally, he spotted it.
With a grin, he reached for an old book titled The Tales of Great Mages.
His fingers trembled as he flipped through the pages, scanning illustrations of the legendary Monarchs. The powerful group of mages that brought the five-century war to an end.
He was so engrossed in the pages that he barely noticed the sound of a throat clearing right behind him.
Dom slowly turned, a sheepish smile crossing his face once he found the storekeeper towering over him. "Hi," he said, voice shaking.
"Hello, Dominic," The storekeeper said, his polite smile now strained -- a mask over patience.
Before Dom could react, the book was ripped from his grasp while his body was lifted telepathically into the air.
"Come on, man. I'm super broke. Can't I just have it? It's not like anyone else wants it." Dom grumbled as he struggled, his body helplessly floating after the storekeeper.
"No," The storekeeper replied with a flick of his wrist, coldly dropping Dom on the floor outside the store.
As Dom rubbed his sore behind, the storekeeper shook the book now in his grasp. "Go get some money, brat. Until then, I don't want to see you here again." He said sternly before turning away.
Dom gritted his teeth, his white eyebrows twitching with frustration. "You stupid bald cheapskate!" He yelled, drawing some attention from nearby citizens.
The storekeeper stopped, a flash of sunlight reflecting on his smooth bald head -- a cruel, comedic emphasis. But before the storekeeper could respond, a fist suddenly connected with Dom's skull from above.
Dom groaned, turning to the tall man behind him. "Pops," He groaned, rubbing the ache.
"You dumb-ass," Pops muttered, tapping his head again before turning to the storekeeper. "I'm really sorry about him." He bowed slightly.
The storekeeper glanced back at the couple still browsing in his store. "Just… make sure it doesn't happen again." He scoffed before returning to his customers.
Dom's cheeks burned with shame, but inside, a spark of determination flickered. You won this time, old man…He thought, just before Pops dragged him away.
Twenty minutes later…
Dom scrubbed dishes in the kitchen of a small, humble restaurant within the town. The tang of oil and baked bread filled the air while cold water splashed against his apron.
As he rinsed the dishes, he glanced at Pops, who moved efficiently around the kitchen, memorizing orders from his passing teenager waiter.
Dom continued his chores, occasionally glancing at Pops before finally stopping. "Are you mad?" He asked, hesitatingly.
"Yes and no," Pops replied, his attention focused on seasoning a pot of soup. "I'm mad you snuck out for some book instead of doing your work…" He closed the lid and took a cigarette stick to his lips. "… and mad that I can't just buy it for you. Also,"
He finally turned to Dom, his eyes narrowed as he lit the stick with an old lighter.
"… you're starting to sound like me. That's not good." He said.
Dom frowned, his gaze reflected by the dirty water in front of him. "Sorry." He muttered.
Pops exhaled slowly, smoke curling around him. "It's not your fault." He said, turning his attention back to the boiling pot. "I'm not exactly father material."
As Dom reached for a greasy pan, he glanced at Pops again. He's not perfect, but he's the closest thing I've got. He thought, smiling softly.
"Well," He said, getting Pops' attention. "… I'm happy you're taking care of me. You're a good dad. Besides, that orphanage looks like shit anyway."
Dom paused once he realized how harsh his words sounded.
Instead of reprimanding his ten-year old ward, Pops smirked. "It's okay," He said, tapping his cigarette against the stove while he stirred the aromatic soup. "Despite rough edges, you're a good kid,"
Dom grinned, his mood reinvigorated as he focused on finishing the dishes while Pops began to dish the soup.
Later that evening…
The teenage waiter went home, leaving Dom and Pops to clean up the restaurant.
"Why do you want that book so bad anyway?" Pops asked, sweeping the floor.
"Because it talks about the Monarchs," Dom replied, eyes glowing faintly with excitement as he finished wiping the tables.
Pops rolled his eyes, placing the broom aside while reaching into his pocket. "Of course it does," he said, pulling a cigarette from his pack.
As he flicked his lighter a few times, struggling to get a light going, he noticed Dom's glare. "Chill. It's just my third one today, scout's honor." He said, finally lighting the stick.
Dom grimaced. "I don't know why you love that crap so much. It smells like burnt shit." He said, moving to pick up the mop bucket in the corner.
"You're too young to understand," Pops scoffed, pulling out a chair to rest his aching back. "So…" He muttered, leaning his head back. "… the Monarchs. You still want to be one?"
"Not just any Monarch," Dom said, carrying a mop bucket across the floor. "Grand Commander."
Pops exhaled smoke, the soft white curls partially obscuring his view of the ceiling. "Ethan Maximus… the Mage Emperor, huh." He muttered.
"I'm going to surpass him and become the greatest knight in history," Dom said, easily using a mop that seemed too big for his size.
Pops looked at him curiously. "I still don't get why you even want to be a soldier. The war ended 35 years ago. You don't need to fight." He commented.
Dom rolled his eyes. "The Knights aren't part of the Royal Army. Wars aren't the only thing they do." He said, dipping the mop into the bucket. "They save people from thieves, monsters, and natural accidents. They're real-life superheroes."
Pops exhaled again, smoke curling around his face. "But the Monarchs are an exclusive group. There's been no replacement since the originals." He commented.
"I know," Dom said, dragging the mop across the floor again. "But most of them are already gone. And there are rumors that the Dragon's retiring soon. So there'll be lots of new slots to fill."
Pops sat up, his gaze fixed on his determined ward. "You're not the only one thinking like that, kid." He said, his voice serious. "If you're going for the very top, you'll have to compete against countless soldiers and even the royal bloods."
"I know," Dom said, turning to Pops with a cocky smirk. "And I'm going to beat them all."
Pops chuckled. "That's my boy."
Dom's smirk widened, then he glanced out the window as a group of children ran past, their playful magic visible through the now darkened streets.
Dom frowned as he watched them. "It still sucks I don't have an affinity yet." He muttered, squeezing the mop stick in his grip.
Pops' gaze followed Dom's, his eyes darkening with empathy. "A mage's affinity usually shows around six. You're ten now, and your friends have all unlocked theirs a long time ago. You feel left behind, right?" He said, softly.
"Yeah," Dom mumbled, returning to his chore.
"Don't worry, it, kid," Pops said, tapping his cigarette into an ashtray. "Some people manifest their attributes early, others are late. But eventually, everyone gets it."
He then pointed at Dom. "Even that Dragon guy got his super late, right?"
Dom paused, nodding silently.
"I may not know much about the Monarchs, but I know about that guy from when I was still in the force," Pops said, arms folded. "Joined the army at 13, became a Captain at 16, then when he got his attribute at 18, he got promoted to a General."
"Then became a Monarch at twenty," Dom added, smiling softly once he understood Pops' point.
"It didn't matter when it appeared," Pops explained. "What matters was what he did with it."
Dom nodded, his grip tightening on the mopstick.
"Besides," Pops continued, removing his cigarette to exhale a thick cloud of smoke. "… getting an affinity doesn't mean shit if you don't put in the work. It's like giving a loaded rifle to a baby. Talent only gets you so far."
Dom smiled; his earlier doubt faded beneath his rekindled determination. "I still wonder why you left the army." He said, mopping the last section of the room. "You sound like a Squad Captain."
Pops' eyes darkened. "That's because I was," He muttered, removing the cigarette from his lips.
Dom paused, giving him a curious stare. "You never told me." He said.
"You never asked," Pops responded stiffly, extinguishing the cigarette before standing.
Dom faced him, even more curious. "Why'd you quit?" He asked.
Pops offered a weak smile. "You're too young to understand, kid. War… it changes people. Once you see it, you'd want to disappear too."
Dom glared at Pops. "Not me. I won't give up. No matter what I see." He declared boldly.
"We'll see about that." Pops scoffed.
Eventually, they finished cleaning, locked up, and headed home.
Meanwhile…
In the woods outside the town, two hunters were returning home, carrying their captured prey in blood-stained sacks while they chatted. Their deep voices were the only source of life in the dark, silent forest.
Until a certain cloaked figure stumbled out of the shadows and fell on their path.
"Hey." The first hunter said as he quickly approached the man with his friend right behind him. He pulled the man onto his back. "What the hell are you…"
He paused once he finally noticed the dried blood on the man's cloak.
Slowly, his gaze drifted to the man's face, completely hidden in the thick darkness of his hood… except for his eerie, green glowing eyes.
Before the hunter could react, green mana erupted; the wave instantly sliced through his neck, severing his head.
The second hunter stumbled to the ground, horrified at the sight of the blood spewing out of his friend's neck.
As the killer stood, the second hunter instinctively fled, dropping his weapon and prey as he cried out for help.
But he barely made it three steps as a mana wave instantly cleaved his body apart.
The forest floor eagerly drank the silence that followed, as if seeking to hide the secret.
The killer turned to the headless body beside him, a slow smile spreading beneath the hood. "Lucky me," he whispered, tongue dragging across his lips as if savoring the taste already.