Episode 3: Flight of the Hearth

  Chapter 008 - Diverging Paths

  The waters were dead silent. But the quiet didn’t last. With the attention drawn away from the red river, the screams of many had returned. Back in the Bareground, elites have overturned the wave of men. Eliminating the strongest ones at the front, the rest of the soldiers have regained formation and advanced, running their blades across the land and shedding any blood that went against the decree. Bodies piled up quickly. Voices silenced by the second. And soon enough, the soldiers passed the Bareground and invaded the slave region.

  Mothers cried out in anguish as the sound of blades slicing through flesh rang again and again. A mist of red settled over the district. When the doors were broken open, mothers and infants were met with steel.

  Cries and bloodshed filled every corner. And far from the chaos of the Bareground, in the high halls of Armiton Headquarters, she paced down her vast chamber where her bare feet touched the cold marble floor. She reached the double doors and pushed them open. With a smooth click, the frames gave way, and Luminar stood at the edge of her balcony and watched the nation unfolding.

  What followed was a wave of unified agony, a cry of hopelessness that span farther than the horizon. She saw the blood rising in the air, smoke bursting from one house to the next. Hundreds of soldiers flooded the streets like ants.

  She looked to the right and saw two commanders leading their battalions forward. They trampled over the corpses of men. In some places, the dead were stacked like hills made only by flesh and bones. A few soldiers slipped on blood-slick stone. Others stumbled, their noses covered by the growing stench. Still, they pressed on.

  Turning to the left, she saw two more commanders commanding their men to smash through the doors. Mothers screamed, clutching their children with desperate strength. And when the killing had been done, they left the homes and moved onto the next, leaving the grieving mothers crawling toward their slain children.

  From the streets to the shops, from alleys to every corner of the district, faces turned upward to the gray, lifeless sky. Tears streaked their cheeks. Fathers shouted. Mothers wailed. Children screamed. Every suffering slave collapsed to their knees, overtaken by the invading force, and cried out to the storm:

  Where are you, lord?

  Luminar heard everything. Her eyes stung with a steady breath keeping her still. Her hands remained limp at her sides.

  “It’s time. The child is killed,” said a low voice from behind, the same woman who had once spoken to her while she knelt on the floor. The figure was nowhere to be seen, yet the voice was unmistakable: it came from within the chamber. She called to Luminar, who had spent too long gazing at the world ahead.

  Then Luminar looked to the center of the Bareground. One last commander stood there. His body faced not to the district, but to her. Their eyes locked onto each other.

  Donnor Thallion stood still amid the screams. His expression was torn. Confused, lost.

  But Luminar gave him no sign or answer. After a brief silence, she closed her eyes, turned her face, and stepped back from the balcony. But Donnor refused to leave it like this.

  He vanished, the blur of Quick Speed taking hold. His body streaked through the bloodied field, weaving between the rich buildings that surrounded the headquarters.

  “Lu!” Donnor’s voice rang out, his figure appearing beneath the balcony. He looked up, catching sight of her as she walked away. His voice grew more urgent. “I know you can hear me!”

  She stopped just beneath the threshold. Slowly and reluctantly, she turned her head. Through the thick railings, her eyes met his again.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asked, his voice soft, almost pleading. “This was never your intention. Do you see what you’re doing?”

  She blinked once. Then she said with a calm and distant voice, “I do. And there is nothing to say.”

  “Why? You know you can stop this. All of it. We came here to destroy what their founder built. You and I, we fought for these people! Go to the kings and stop the decree. You appointed them, after all.”

  “But I will not.”

  That made him on the verge of smashing the ground. In his stricken face, he asked, “Who… who changed you?”

  Silence fell between them.

  Donnor pressed on. “I’ve watched you change these past few days. You’ve been pulling away, and I know damn well you are not the same. And I’ve told you—again and again—something’s not right. You never tell me what happened. I ask again, tell me. Who did this to you? Or will I be ignored again?”

  His words echoed, unanswered.

  Donnor scanned the room beyond her. He searched for anything, any hint that would help him understand what was happening. Perhaps the stories he heard would be true, of how puppets were controlled by masters through unattached strings. And just past the threshold, hidden from the light, in a chamber of shadows, he caught a glimpse of something. A faint silhouette. It moved slightly, as if lowering its arm.

  His brow tensed.

  “Did they change you? Those Groggins?”

  “One of the Shadows has spoken to me,” Luminar finally said. “They are not the evil beings you imagine them to be, Donnor. Don’t hold anything against them. Everyone believed they were docile creatures, wandering the world without meddling in human affairs. I thought so too,” she added, turning away for a brief moment.

  Donnor felt increasingly adrift the longer she spoke. Her calm voice, so composed amid the chaos, disoriented him that it stirred impatience. “Just get to the point. What did they do to you?”

  She turned to face him. “They are here to protect the people. They intervened in response to the cry of the lord. You see all this? The Groggins have no part in this. They are after the prophecy, not the people. This day ended under their Code III. And now that the prophetic child has been killed, they will return to Code I. I would say, moreover, that their desire to protect humanity is far greater than humanity’s desire to protect itself.”

  He needed time to process her words in silence. Long before the events of the past few days, he had never imagined the Groggins held any real significance. They had never shown hostility… until now. At the very least, this proved they could speak. When everyone, including himself, believed they could not, they actually spoke.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Something about those man-like creatures acting differently placed an unsettling thought in him. Were they a threat or not? And here stood his own kin, insisting they were not. He couldn’t make sense of any of it.

  “Donnor,” Luminar said. “You are special. You truly are. And I find that special, too.”

  He took a cautious step forward. “What?”

  “You were born as a man, something our kind has never known. We were all made in the image of our founder. But you... You are a spectacle.” She paused to catch her breath. “You were the reason I could leave RathNah and come here.”

  Her voice grew more distant. “And because you’re special, you will not understand the craving to worship. There is nothing more. Both of us intend to protect the world, and we should keep it like that and forget all the complexities.”

  Donnor hesitated to step inside to face her fully. But she spoke again before he could decide. “I’ve left a note for the kings explaining my absence. They will guide you on the next procedure after the decree. The Sovereign of the Five will not be needed as long as authority is passed onto them. So long, Donnor.”

  Luminar walked away, disappearing into the chamber. He watched her go, watched until her white hair and the trailing hem of her dress vanished.

  He sighed, his thoughts all over the place and unresolved. The chamber around him was empty, but the screams outside continued to disturb the air without end. He placed his hands on his hips and wandered aimlessly through the courtroom. The wind brushed against him, carrying the sharp stench of metal and flesh.

  As he was wondering what to do, his system flickered to life. His body tightened, discomfort creeping in. Words materialized on his screen:

  ● SYSTEM ALERT ●

  WARNING

  Inaction detected — System penalty incurred.

  –0.02% HP/s

  He watched his HP tick downward steadily. It would take over an hour to reach zero, which was just enough time to push a desperate man into action. But Donnor didn’t move. He ignored the penalty. His mind was somewhere else, lingering on a single thought.

  He changed directions and walked down the road leading toward the Armiton districts, where lavish streets of the city were reserved for the rich. Two long branches stretching through the whole region and intersecting in the middle were called the Streets of Rest. The path was broad, the ground paved with intricately laid pebbles that gave pleasant cushion beneath his boots. It was smoother… much cleaner than the Bareground, much less burdening. Treading down this road, tall sandstone walls muffled the cries and sword clashings. The homes were built with layered straw and stone.

  Donnor heard laughter and murmuring coming from inside many houses. Glasses clinked together. Cheerful voices rose.

  To his left, people lounged in cushioned booths that cradled their unworked bodies. Women in revealing garments hovered around the men, especially those with more prominent physiques. The money they possessed screamed strength. Yet Donnor knew the truth: these men weren’t strong. None of them could lift a water-filled bucket, not like the laboring slaves. There was no magic in them. No fire. Just dullness wrapped in flesh and fruits.

  A servant stood nearby, clothed in worn fabric, and a broom in hand. She swept the road with back arched painfully, like she had been doing this without rest, brushing dust from between the stones to keep them pristine, only for the ignorant rich to trample over them, baskets of fruit swinging in their hands.

  When she saw him, she stood straight and mumbled incoherent words. Then she bowed before excusing herself. He watched her depart and wipe another part of the street. Seeing his presence stirred a need to acknowledge him, the Commander of the Legions—a leader of elite squads called upon in times of crisis. But what about those rich men? He looked around. Not a single one acknowledged him. No greeting. Not even a glance.

  Donnor walked until he reached the crossroads where streets branched into other quarters. He paused. Festive noise echoed all around, drowning out the quiet truth: that outside these walls, a hundred people were dying every minute.

  By now, his system had deducted 5 HP.

  His eyes swept the scene from left to right, observing the marble balconies above, the ornamental plants in the courtyards, and the basket of fruits being devoured by overstuffed men. Everywhere he looked, something once sweet now felt rotten.

  His spine tightened. A tickle crawled along his neck. Heat bloomed beneath his skin. His face remained still and unreadable. But there was a shadow settling over him.

  His heart pounded. He heard another snorting laughter from his side. His fingers flexed, curling and uncurling. He closed his eyes and drew a shallow breath.

  Then, his System flared:

  Adaptation Path — 1/15 Activated

  Telekinetic Magic ? Lv. 56

  He raised his hands. Magic seeped from his palms like glittering threads. The light pulsed and grew. This condensed, volatile, intense point of light screamed against his skin, like power boiling with unstable force. He was ready to unleash it—ready to cast his magic over the town and destroy ignorance. Perhaps their shouts for help could be deafened by those in the slave district, and no one would know.

  But then—

  “Commander Thallion,” came a light, high-pitched voice.

  Donnor felt a light tug on his robe from behind. He opened his eyes. The magic in his palms faded at once, and his system display vanished from view.

  Turning around, he found three children standing behind him dressed in fine linen, white and silky, reaching down to their ankles. Their faces stopped him. Their expressions kept him attentive; their eyebrows were drawn in fear. The girl tugging on his robe trembled.

  “Commander Thallion,” she said again, “are we going to be okay? Will you protect us?”

  Donnor slowly lowered his arms and looked at them more closely. He forced a smile.

  “Of course. Nothing is going to hurt you. Don’t worry.” He softened his voice. “What’s making you scared?”

  A boy among them answered, his tone uncertain. “We can hear loud crying… and other scary sounds. It’s making me scared, like, really scared. Are you sure we’re okay…?”

  Donnor chuckled and knelt to their level. He gently placed his hands on the shoulders of the two closest children, hoping his touch would comfort them.

  “That’s nothing to worry about,” he said calmly. “Now, now, go find your parents. They’re probably waiting for you. I have work to do, so make sure you behave. And don’t you ever go near the Bareground, or I’ll find you and give you a harsh lesson!”

  “O–okay!” they giggled, their spirits lifted by his playful warning. With cheerful voices, they ran up the road and disappeared around the corner.

  Donnor watched them go, a quiet grin lingering on his face. But as they vanished, so did the smile.

  His gaze snapped toward the hall that led back to the Bareground, a wide and open stretch that could easily be mistaken for an alleyway. People stayed away from it, unsurprisingly. And as he neared it, he remembered why.

  He left the comfort of the district behind, walking through the narrowing road, where the distant screams grew louder and louder. At this distance, they pierced the air, sounds even the ignorant could no longer pretend not to hear.

  They drilled into his ears, prompting his pace to quicken. Then he broke into a jog.

  “Alright… let’s do this,” he muttered. He had left the narrow corners and stifling streets behind, leaping down to the dirt floor below—the Bareground.

  In the distance, he saw it all. The blood-streaked ground. The bodies, lifeless and rotting. And beyond, the place where pain lived. He took a deep breath, dug his boots into the soil, and the system flared again:

  Adaptation Path — 1/15 Activated

  Quick Speed ? Lv. 43

  In an instant, he vanished, his form bursting forward in a blur. He raced toward the slave district.