Emmet chose the slow pace of a pilgrim, allowing the raw land to unveil itself. He felt observed, not by the nameless weight of the land, but by something tangible: a large, scaled lizard. Its hide, a mosaic of earthy greens and browns, blended with the undergrowth, yet its sheer mass was undeniable. It wasn't a dragon, but certainly big enough to be a problem. Its sharp, calculating eyes locked onto him, and Emmet knew better than to believe in coincidence. The creature wasn't just passing through; it was following, a shadow moving with uncanny stealth.
For hours, he ignored it, letting the silent, scaly companion lurk. But its persistence was a low thrum in his awareness, a constant, irritating hum. Finally, Emmet sighed. "Persistent, huh?" he muttered, a faint, wry smile touching his lips. He stopped, and the lizard stopped too, melting into the dappled light and shadow of ancient boulders. Right, time to see what this wants, Emmet thought, a hint of dark amusement stirring within him. "Hey, big guy. You hungry?" He offered a piece of smoked boar, its rich, savory aroma wafting on the breeze.
The lizard's eyes narrowed, its powerful muscles tensing, not for food, but for action. Then, it lunged. Not for the meat, but with explosive speed, aiming straight for Emmet's face. "Predictable," Emmet murmured, amusement dancing in his eyes as he narrowly dodged. A massive clawed foreleg whistled past his ear. A tail whipped. Jaws snapped inches from his chest. None hit. He danced effortlessly, a blur of controlled motion, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Oh, you want to play rough? I can respect that!" he chuckled, his voice light. This wasn't a fight for survival; it was a test, a negotiation. He was teaching it, not fighting it — demonstrating that he was not prey, that its brute force was futile against his intellect and speed.
Exhausted, its massive body heaving, the creature finally collapsed onto the dusty ground. It glared up at the man who had refused to fall, eyes burning with defiance, but its body utterly spent. Emmet, still grinning, calmly climbed onto its back. "There, see? We're bonding already." The lizard groaned, a sound of pure resentment, its head thudding against the earth. It snatched the discarded meat off the ground, gnawing with clear, aggrieved satisfaction, the crunch of bone echoing. Emmet patted its armored hide, the scales cool and rough beneath his palm. "Good boy." The lizard's glare said, I hate you, but it didn't throw him off. That, Emmet decided, was good enough.
Emmet decided his lizard needed a name. Given its obsession with meat, there was only one fitting choice: Chompy. It wasn't a name of grandeur, but as Emmet watched his oversized, scaly stalker finally accept hunted meat, a grudging truce formed. Chompy didn't truly trust him yet. It wasn't companionship in the traditional sense, but something had shifted. Acknowledgment. Chompy would still snap if Emmet moved too fast, or grumble low in its throat when he patted its head, but it no longer tried to eat him. There was even a moment, as Emmet reached for his pack, when Chompy tensed, then settled, a flicker of nascent patience replacing its usual instinct.
Days bled into weeks, and Emmet, as any true traveler should, began his diary, a leather-bound journal filled with meticulous observations.
Day 1, Outside the Veil
The world outside the Northern Veil is beautiful, but feels... wrong. The air carries a weight I can't quite name—a sense of ancient, almost
stagnant power. Everything feels watchful, as though holding its breath. Yet, it doesn't deter me. My mood is a strange mix of exhilaration and deep caution. My companion, a very large lizard, is tentatively accepting this new arrangement, his acceptance directly proportional to the meat I provide.
According to the worn map I bought in the capital of the Northern Veil, there are "safe" and "unsafe" routes—but I don't trust that distinction. Reality doesn't work in neat paths. Expecting the worst is better. Dangers: Bandits. Monsters. Thieves. And the Malice Bloom.
That annual nightmare—its horror softened, but only somewhat. Demonlord Thyranthe's meddling weakened it, but it now occurs yearly instead of once per generation. I don't know if that's better or worse. If it happens, I'll find shelter. Some villages might be fortified enough. I've studied this continent. I won't be caught unprepared. Every step is calculated.
If the world beyond the border wants to test me, I say—let it. I welcome the challenge.
And so, the journey continued. Chompy wasn't domesticated, but he had accepted Emmet, at least for now. The road ahead stretched wide.
Emmet continued along the pilgrim's path toward his first destination: the Mountain Altar. He had no personal attachment to its faith, but he understood its significance as a place of reckoning. Respect for the elders' beliefs was reason enough to stop.
The road was long, arduous, cutting through rocky terrain as the elevation rose. The air grew thinner, cooler. This wasn't a journey for beasts like Chompy, who would struggle in the steep ascent. So, at the base of the steepest climb, Emmet faced him one last time. "This is where we part ways, buddy." Chompy blinked, then let out a low growl, nudging Emmet's hand. He turned his massive head, eyes briefly meeting Emmet's before a faint whimper escaped him. Emmet's chest tightened.
Emmet sighed, a faint smile touching his lips, and tossed him one final hunk of smoked meat. "Go on. You'll do fine. I'll find you again, I promise." Chompy, practical and instinctive, caught the food, crunching down. He didn't resist the farewell, simply turning and lumbering off into the brush. Emmet watched him go, a quiet fondness settling in his chest, a testament to his unconventional methods.
The Mountain Altar stood at the peak, an ancient construct built into the living stone, weathered but enduring. The air around it hummed with a quiet power, the scent of damp moss and ancient earth clinging to the air. Emmet paused, placing his hand against its cold, rough surface, feeling its silent history ripple under his palm. For those who believe in this, I respect the journey you take, he thought, then moved forward—toward Orepike.
Orepike was nestled deep in the mountains, a fortress built from the ore it mined. Unlike scattered ruins, Orepike thrived, its walls thick enough to withstand the yearly Malice Bloom. Metal and stone were its lifeblood, traded far and wide, but it wasn't just trade that made Orepike valuable—it was security. Fortified. Armed. Ready. And within its walls—like every major settlement—was a Finder's Guild branch, precisely where Emmet needed to be. His purpose began to sharpen.
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He stepped through the city gates, inhaling the sharp scent of fire and steel, the mark of a place shaped by labor and resilience. The clang of hammers, the roar of furnaces—all spoke of a city fighting to survive. A Seeker needed knowledge, allies, and purpose. Emmet walked forward, ready to find them. The journey wasn't just survival—it was discovery. In Orepike, discovery would truly begin.
Emmet understood the complexities of faith and bias beyond the Northern Veil. The Luminaries harbored resentment toward northern pilgrims due to theological differences, seeing them as a challenge to their authority. Discrimination was real. For practicality, Emmet leaned into the pilgrim identity—not out of devotion, but because it was the easiest way to move through settlements without raising suspicion. He carried his massive totem, citing it as his "pilgrim burden"—a convenient lie that provided constant physical resistance training. Its unassuming appearance allowed him to move unmolested. This facade allowed him to observe without being observed too closely.
As Emmet passed a group of robed Luminaries near the city square, their silver medallions glinting, one, a stern-faced woman, sneered and turned her back. Her companion muttered, their contempt palpable. Emmet simply nodded, keeping his expression neutral. Expected, he thought, a familiar weariness settling over him, but also a renewed resolve. The message was clear: his kind brought trouble. This was the undercurrent he had to navigate—knowing where to tread carefully, whom to avoid, and whom to engage. A misplaced word could escalate. He had no desire to draw attention to himself, not yet.
In Orepike, where trade and survival took priority, his pilgrim status might not matter too much. But inside the Finder's Guild, where scholars and seekers congregated, he knew the risks.
As Emmet approached the massive iron gates of Orepike, he noted the torches atop the watchtowers, casting harsh light against the thick stone walls. Even at dusk, security was paramount. The air vibrated with a palpable tension. A voice, amplified by a sound gadget, rang out: "Halt! Identity—state your purpose!"
Emmet raised his hand, displaying the engraved symbol of a pilgrim. "I am a traveling pilgrim on pilgrimage. My first stop was the Mountain Altar. I've come to restock and rest." His voice was steady. The gates creaked open. "Welcome to Orepike," a guard muttered, his voice low. "But a warning—your kind bring trouble for the Luminaries. Shh—don't say I said that." Emmet nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "Thank you, kind sir. I'll bear that in mind." The Luminaries weren't his concern—not yet. He had other priorities.
Inside the fortified city, his first stop was the currency shop. The Pilgrim Handbook outlined the economic system: gold coins were standard, but raw crystals could be traded. Emmet had meticulously stocked enough trade-worthy crystals. The exchange process was regulated, overseen by a watchful clerk who eyed his crystals with practiced scrutiny. With gold coins secured, he assessed his finances. Not enough for the entire journey. He had planned for this—every village offered work, and the Finder's Guild was the best place to start.
At the Finder's Guild, he inquired about work and membership. The response was direct: "This branch does not handle recruitment. If you wish to become a Seeker, you must visit the main branch in the capital." Regarding work, the clerk gestured to a corkboard—"Come back tomorrow. Non-member job postings go up on Mondays." That was tomorrow. Emmet nodded, thanked the clerk, and made his way out. The extra day would be well spent. He would find suitable lodging, explore Orepike's culinary offerings—he'd heard whispers of the mountain city's unique stews and smoked game—and conduct subtle reconnaissance, observing the city's flow, defenses, and inhabitants.
The first stop had been smooth. But the journey was only beginning. Tomorrow, he would test Orepike's offerings. And eventually—he would find a way into the Finder's Guild. Because a Seeker's path was waiting for him. And he was ready.
Emmet stepped through the towering gates of Orengard, the true capital of the Luminary-controlled territories. The sheer scale of the city made it clear—this was a place built not just for survival and trade, but for absolute control. Unlike smaller settlements, Orengard felt meticulously planned, every district serving a specific function. It thrived under crystal-powered technology, an advancement forced by the Malice Bloom. The city hummed with a contained energy, a dull thrum that permeated the very air.
Yet, despite its advancements, something felt oddly restricted, stifled. Progress seemed deliberately slowed. The city's vibrancy felt artificial, a facade over deeper stagnation. His eyes followed the crystal-powered train roaring through the city's center, a sleek serpent gliding on shimmering rails. Efficient, practical—yet confined within rigid routes, its movements strictly controlled. A symbol of the Luminaries' approach: power, but only under their direct supervision. Omnipresent Luminary banners, stark white against the grey stone, suffocated even the advancements they allowed.
Emmet understood this was inevitable for humanity's survival. But something gnawed at his mind. Technology felt stunted. Shouldn't it be far more advanced? Why was everything stuck in this state—elevated, yet shackled? Orengard was a fortress of industry, focusing on ore trade, yet technology remained Luminary-regulated. Independent creation was heresy. The contrast to the Northern Veil was staggering. The Veil had peace and stagnation due to magical protection. Here, advancement was carefully curated—a balance of progression and subservience, designed to maintain Luminary dominance.
As he roamed the city, observing, he began compiling meticulous notes for future reference—a dissection of how civilization had changed, how power was wielded, and how innovation was simultaneously embraced and suppressed.
Emmet closed his book. The more he observed, the clearer the cage became—humanity had advanced, but never truly progressed in freedom. The Luminaries ensured survival, but also absolute obedience. This was no era of free innovation. It was a civilization on a leash.
Possible Reasons for Advancement (Yet Restriction)
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Survival Imperative: The Malice Bloom forced rapid development in transport, energy, and fortifications, ensuring settlements could withstand attacks.
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Luminary Control: Progress is not autonomous. Technology must not surpass the Luminaries, reinforcing their role as protectors.
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No Autonomous Innovation: Individuals are forbidden from creating technology; only Luminary-sanctioned tech is allowed, preventing rebellion.
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Selective Advancement: Technology exists only where necessary (transport, power, infrastructure); weaponry and knowledge are restricted, ensuring no threat to Luminary dominance.
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Perceived Divinity: Limiting technology maintains the Luminaries' unique power, keeping humanity dependent and reinforcing their role as gods among men.
Allowed & Forbidden Technology
Allowed Tech (Public Use)
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Melee Weapons: Swords, spears, daggers, and axes—enhanced with energy/runes, but effectiveness relies on the wielder's skill.
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Crystal-Powered Trains: The backbone of travel, efficient but routes and schedules are strictly controlled by the Luminaries.
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Armored Suits & Bodysuits: Protective gear with runic enhancements; physical augmentation, no automation.
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Basic Energy Grids: Regulated power sources, localized to major settlements, under Luminary oversight.
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Medical Enhancements (Limited): Basic healing permitted; no genetic modifications or life-extension tech.
Forbidden Tech (Heretical, Restricted)
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Guns & Firearms: Ranged weapons are banned; combat remains skill-based and close-quarters.
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Automated Warfare: No drones, constructs, or independent combat technology outside Luminary control.
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Private Energy Sources: Decentralized power grids are forbidden; all energy comes from Luminary-controlled sources.
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Unrestricted Knowledge Networks: Access to history, research, and technology is filtered through the Luminary Church.
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Advanced Vehicles: Aerial/high-speed personal vehicles are exclusive to Luminaries; civilians rely on regulated transit.
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Artificial Divinity Projects: Any attempt to replicate divine power outside sanctioned artifacts is heresy.