I sat in my small room in Abyssania, stacks of newspapers piled on the table, watching history unfold through ink and paper. The world was changing faster than anyone could have predicted.
The news of the three powers conquered by House Theodore spread like wildfire across the entire human-controlled continent.
In every city, every town, every village across the human-controlled continent, the same headlines appeared. The same images circulated. The same story was told and retold until it became legend.
The war was already being called one of the fastest and most successful campaigns in the history of human warfare.
A single day. That was all it had taken. Years of planning, decades of preparation, and the actual conflict had lasted less than twenty-four hours. The Church, reduced to rubble. Mareux, stripped of everything.
The Empire of Theodore was formed.
An official alliance treaty was signed between Ironhood, Haier, and the new empire. People endorsed House Theodore. Even though it had only come to power a few days ago, massive amounts of work had already been done, work that the three former powers couldn't accomplish in decades.
The northern kingdoms had chosen wisely. They saw the direction of the wind and bent before it broke them. And the people, the common people who had suffered under the Church's corruption, under Mareux's greed, under the king's neglect, welcomed the change. Roads were being built. Infrastructure repaired. Jobs created. The empire's first days were a masterclass in winning hearts.
An official photo was released that became incredibly famous throughout the empire. It showed the new king's crown resting on his head, his right hand gripping the edge of his sword as it leaned against the ground. His other hand rested on the throne, his legs crossed. The image was a deep close-up, showing only him and the throne.
I studied the image for a long time. His eyes. That smile. The same smile he had given me on that day. Now the whole empire saw it and called it strength.
Bastard.
—
I waited for the carriage at the inn.
A day passed.
It was time to leave.
I had spent the hours in a state of suspended animation, neither restful nor productive. My mind worked through possibilities, contingencies, escape routes. But in the end, there was only one path forward.
I descended the stairs, gave a nod to the man at the counter, and walked out of the inn.
It was night. People were eating, heading home from their jobs, traveling through the streets. I left the city and met Cinder outside. The carriage was ready.
The vehicle was simple but sturdy, drawn by a four-legged creature I didn't recognize in the darkness. Two guards sat on the driver's bench, their faces hidden by hoods.
"That girl really wants to meet you," Cinder said. "Could you at least see her one last time?"
"Tell her I said goodbye." I met his eyes. "We'll meet someday."
He shook his head. "You're really a tough nut."
"Why are there guards?" I gestured to the men positioned around the carriage.
"For your safety, of course. Bandits roam outside the empire. You couldn't deal with them alone."
"I see. Which kingdom am I going to?"
"The Kingdom of Paras. It's a peaceful land. Small. Somewhere in the middle of everything. About a thousand kilometers from Abyssania."
"Got it."
I extended my hand for a handshake. Then I tried to dap him up.
Cinder stared at my moving hand. "What? What are you trying to do?"
"A goodbye ritual. Do the same as I did."
The first try failed. The second try partially succeeded. The third try failed miserably.
The fourth try finally succeeded, our hands connecting with a loud slap that radiated through the night air.
Cinder stared at his hand, then at me. "That was… fantastic." He reached into his coat. "Here, take this."
The pouch was heavy. I hefted it, feeling the weight of coins shift inside. Enough for a family to thrive for decades.
"This will help with buying a house." He pulled out another item. "And take this."
The sword was beautiful. Expert craftsmanship, perfect balance, a blade that caught the moonlight and held it. An heirloom-quality weapon.
I gave him a quick nod and two words: "Good. Bye."
I climbed into the carriage. The wheels creaked, and we began to move.
I slept.
—
Morning came. The carriage was still running. The guards had bought food earlier, likely during a stop at some roadside restaurant.
I ate and looked outside at the passing scenery. Trees. Houses. Kingdoms. The world moved by like a river.
The days blurred together. Sleep, eat, watch the landscape scroll past. The guards were silent, professional. They asked no questions, offered no conversation.
Ten days later.
We reached Paras.
The kingdom was as described, small, peaceful, unremarkable. Rolling hills, modest farms, a city that seemed to exist in a perpetual state of afternoon calm.
It was indeed peaceful.
I said my goodbyes to the guards and walked toward the city.
I entered, booked an inn for twelve hours, and sat by the window, watching the city flow beneath me like water.
The people below moved with a rhythm I didn't recognize, unhurried, unconcerned, unworried. They had never known the Abyssal jail. Never felt a father's calculating gaze. Never been a pawn in a game they didn't understand.
I'm going to leave this city.
There should be no room for error. That bastard with his godlike powers will eventually try to find me. The chances are low. Minuscule. But they exist. He will interrogate Cinder. He will try to uncover the truth of what happened during the mass prisoner escape.
Cinder will never reveal anything willingly. But we're talking about the strongest man in the empire. He will find ways to extract the truth.
I cannot take a single risk. Any chance—even microscopic—could destroy years of careful evasion.
I unfolded the map I had purchased and studied it by lamplight.
A kingdom called Raone caught my attention. They had a system: travelers who wished to stay permanently could pay a large sum, and the kingdom would provide a house, safety, and impenetrable records. They would register me under a random name, a random job. Perfect for someone trying to disappear.
Raone. Far enough from the empire to be safe, close enough to reach quickly. A nation of bureaucrats and record-keepers, where anonymity was a service they sold.
I decided to leave that night.
Under cover of darkness, with fewer eyes to notice me, I slipped out of the city and booked a carriage.
The ride began.
I looked out at the moon. It was partially blocked by a distant tree. A small black spot appeared on its surface.
I rubbed my eyes.
The spot remained.
I shrugged it off. A coincidence. Nothing more.
—
Hours later, I reached Raone.
The border crossing was efficient. A bored official glanced at my papers, stamped them, waved me through. No questions. Exactly what I wanted.
I paid the required sum. They gave me a house.
It was large—a kitchen, a great hall, a toilet, an upstairs bedroom. And hidden in the back, shielded from the road by careful design, a yard where I could continue my sword practice with my new blade.
There was a weak tree in the yard.
Perfect.
I walked through the empty rooms, my footsteps echoing on wooden floors. This was mine. No guards. No family. Just space and silence and the freedom to fill it however I chose.
But a sense of unease lingered. A whisper in the back of my mind: Are my decisions right? Or… wrong?
Days passed. Life continued.
It was peaceful. Almost too peaceful.
I fell into a routine. Morning practice in the hidden yard, sword forms repeated until they became instinct. Afternoons exploring the city, learning its streets, its people, its secrets. Evenings reading by lamplight, consuming books on local history, geography, politics.
Even so, I kept practicing. Sword stances. Left. Right. Center. Rear. I learned them all. Mastered them all.
The sword became an extension of my body. I could close my eyes and feel its weight, its balance, its edge.
But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
And then, one day, it came.
I was in the yard, mid-practice, when I felt it. A shift in the air.
A peculiar phenomenon surrounded my house. A transparent barrier, like a sheet of something unseen, curved in a semicircle around the property.
I stopped mid-strike, my sword frozen in the air. The barrier was faint, barely visible, a shimmer like heat rising from summer pavement. But it was there.
Suspicious. I prepared to leave, to report this to the authorities—
Five masked men stood at my door.
They hadn't knocked. They hadn't announced themselves. They were simply there, arranged in a semicircle, their faces hidden behind featureless masks, their hands resting on weapons.
Ahh… shit.
Here we go again.