Prologue – Paradise Lost

Screams fill the air, accompanied by the sound of clattering armor. Rays of light descend from the heavens, so blinding that they obliterate all clarity. The world is bathed in such unnatural brilliance.

I stand before a colossal gate, its towering height piercing the clouds. It guards the entrance to a spiraling castle, a marvel of impossible altitudes that exudes both awe and dread. No mere structure -- it’s a symbol of my ambition and despair.

Bright figures loom in my path, their humanlike forms made of shifting light. Silent and persistent, they reach out with spectral hands, imploring me to turn back. Their voices don’t carry, but their intent is clear. Yet, retreat isn’t an option. To step away means sending what is before me -- my goals, my destiny -- to oblivion.

What lies beyond this gate? The question burns in my mind. Let me see it. Let me advance. Let me adventure. Let me become king!

For them, I would’ve destroyed the world; for them, I would’ve created it. Yet, in chasing my ambitions, I have lost everything. The people I cherish, the one I love, even the very essence of who I am -- gone. What remains is a hollow shell, driven only by the flicker of vengeance.

This isn’t a hero’s story. I am no savior. I am the defeated, clawing at the ashes of a once-bright life. If the world isn’t kind, why should I be?

As if to answer, the pressure of the Deities resound as a gong more than a hail trumpets, an aura so powerful it warps the world I stand on. I drop to my knees, the weight of failure crushing me.

This isn’t an act of defiance. It’s a plea.

“Change,” I whisper. “Change creates the universe. It builds heavens of emotion and tears down the barriers of life. But it can also destroy. Change is sacred and terrible.”

Tears blur my vision, yet the light of the castle remains steadfast, shining beyond the gate. I feel discouraged, but I will not break. “To the one who created this world with rules and equations, hear me. Grant me the power to rewrite this story. Let me love, even if it consumes me. Let me destroy, even if it saves me.”

The chains of Heaven rattle, resonating like thousands of anvils rang by divine hammers. And for the first time, I feel something stir within me, a defiant ember refusing to be snuffed out.

“My name is Brawler,” I declare, rising to my feet. “I am no hero. I am the greatest Conqueror who ever lived… but not this time.”

Determination rises within me, and I reach for the tower. The shadows recoil, their silent protest fading as the celestial light consumes us all.

...

With a flash of opalescence, the tarot card for The World materializes in hand. This conjuration, emerging from seemingly nothing, feels both extraordinary and routine, as if part of the natural order. It accompanies the arrival of a strikingly attractive Deity, descending gracefully onto heavenly grounds.

Yes. Let us exit the prison for a moment. And ascend to rapture. To the celestial theater.

A sharply dressed man in a tailcoat bows deeply before the attendee. “Welcome to Aeterna, my honored guest. It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Servitor, and as the head butler of Aeterna, I am honored to provide you with the finest service during your stay.”

The brilliance of his white, perfectly styled hair hints at decades of dedication -- a life honed to perfection in servitude. His smile radiates the kind of joy born from finding one’s true calling. Servitor is a man who does not merely serve the gods; he revels in it.

“Did you find the refreshments to your liking? Marvelous! And I trust you had a chance to converse with your fellow Divine Audience members?” He checks an unseen watch, his expression turning slightly apologetic. “My, my, look at the time. The Honorable Madam does not wish to delay any further. If you would kindly follow me to the Room of Aeterna.”

The butler’s tall, elegant frame leads the Divine Audience attendee down luminous corridors to their destination. The Room of Aeterna is a magnificent stadium of a classical theater -- vast, celestial, and absolute. Its grandeur is enough to render mortals speechless, a reflection of divine perfection.

“Here we are. The Honorable Madam will soon commence the Opening Ceremony. And here is your throne -- a splendid view of the stage and the World Fragment, wouldn’t you agree? Please, take your seat.”

He gestures grandly before leaning in with a playful glint in his eye. “Oh, dear… Is that a popcorn stain you just sat on? Mfufufu~.”

Straightening quickly, he clears his throat. “Ahem, my apologies, my honored guest. Of course, I jest. Rest assured, we servants pride ourselves on the utmost cleanliness and service. Please sit back, relax, and enjoy the daily life, sunrise, and nightfall over the glorious capital of Maltrex.”

Among the Divine Audience, one figure commands an unparalleled presence. The Honorable Madam sits above all in her loge throne, radiating dignity. Her robe shimmers with a duality -- pure white as snow, deep black as obsidian -- accented by golden sashes and the rosiest red, woven with divine craftsmanship.

As the curtains part, the stage reveals the First World Fragment: what seems to be a colossal shard of hovering glass. But like a psychic’s crystal ball, it displays the spectacles of the world, granting the Divine Audience a complete view of its chaos and beauty.

In this Room of Aeterna, the world itself is the play.

Excited murmurs ripple through the celestial attendees, but the moment the omnipotent Madam rises, silence falls. Her presence commands reverence, and her voice booms with elegance and power as she throws her arms into the air with enough force to split the starry sky in two.

“The First World Fragment is in order! Show us the calamity of sin and the harmony of forgiveness! Reveal despair and hope, the entanglement of fate’s strings! For this is the stage of many worlds, a box of infinite realities! And you, mortals, are the cat trapped within this eternal cycle of existence, death, and reincarnation!”

Thunderous applause and cheers erupt, reverberating through the crystalline stadium. The Deities drink in her every word, their adulation shaking the very walls.

The Madam’s lips curl into a faint, enigmatic smile as she retakes her throne. Under her breath, barely audible, she whispers.

“…Entertain me. Satisfy me. Satisfy me, and perhaps we shall applaud your end.”

With those words, the First World Fragment begins to stir. The play has commenced. And the human who the greater number of Divine Audience is curious about… is nothing but a lovable fool.

...

“An era yearned for a savior to emerge, Notwithstanding… Graced with prowess, the young man possessing the potential to fulfill that role was… Exceedingly self-centered, Lured by desires, Aggressively a champion, Doubt lingered over his virtuous choices, And the path of righteousness seemed elusive, Manifesting as the heroic Conqueror Brawler!”

“Woah! Become a poet!” The Omine Family Kyōdai roar in approval, among them, the pillar of their love, “Am I really that bad?!”

The girls hang around his neck, the boys pump fists. “It spells out Angel Adam!”

“The context though!”

“Hear ye, hear ye!”

The territories of Burrya, Maltrex, and the Yandex Theocracy are three large realms on the world map, their proximities forming a natural triangle at the world’s heart. Together, these territories are so close, you would hardly think of them as separate. Collectively, they are called ‘The Continent’.

And yet, for all their closeness, peace among them has always been fleeting. The history books are heavy with accounts of skirmishes, failed treaties, and bloodied borders. But two decades ago, something changed. Before the King of Maltrex became bedridden, he successfully shook hands, drank wine, and stamped his seal on a peace treaty with the Chancellor of the Yandex Theocracy. In addition, a contract of armistice was signed between all three countries.

Peacetime blossomed. This was a moment destined for the history books, hailed as the crowning achievement of King Clovis of Maltrex’s prosperous reign. The ink on the treaties had dried more than twenty years ago, but now, those days of triumph feel like a distant dream.

The city of Rosebell stirs early, long before the first rays of dawn can stretch across the sky. This is no ordinary city; it is the grand capital of Maltrex, the beating heart of a kingdom.

Its cobbled streets are alive with motion, filled with the creak of horse-drawn carts, the chatter of merchants setting up shop, and the hurried footsteps of people with places to be. The folk here are friendly enough -- helpful, even, if you ask politely. But only for a small favor; after all, this is a city of ambition. Everyone has tasks to complete, dreams to chase, or loved ones to look after.

The breeze carries the scent of fresh bread and faint hints of the eastern winds, sweeping through the markets and alleys of Rosebell. Above it all, a flock of swallows glides effortlessly over the city walls, dipping and soaring past the grand castle, the bustling bazaars, and the towering insulae buildings.

One of these swallows flutters down to the rooftop of a tall flat-top insula, where it finds a curious sight: a boy, fast asleep in a makeshift tent.

The tent is patched together from rags, pillows, and crumpled newspapers, a cozy haven perched high above the bustling city. The boy within, lost in dreams, seems completely at peace. His name is Brawler, at age thirteen.

Youthful and full of life, Brawler bears the last traces of early childhood, and his gallant features hint at what he might become. His rich brown hair is tousled like the feathers of the swallows around him, and his long lashes would make anyone pause.

His pajamas -- an old tank top and equally worn-out pants -- speak of his humble circumstances. His crimson scarf, folded neatly beside him with a pair of spotless glasses, suggests a hint of pride and care. Despite his poverty, his serene, napping smile betrays no shortage of spirit.

The swallows chirp softly, their song blending with the early morning air. One bold bird hops closer, tilts its head, and lands squarely on him. It prances across his body as if he is its property, all the way to his face.

Brawler stirs, a sleepy chuckle escaping his lips. “Hihihi, I’m glad you didn’t poop on me, little guy.”

He stretches, shifting his tent and scattering the flock back into the sky. The birds wheel in graceful arcs before heading south, toward a sight that dominates the horizon---

The Auralis Gate.

Towering by the city walls, the Gate is an immense, rectangular frame -- seventy meters wide and twice as tall. Its edges shimmer with strange, fractured lines of light, like cracks in glass or frozen lightning. These opalescent fractures extend far beyond the Gate itself, earning it the nickname Shattered Reality.

Beyond the Gate lies the Labyrinth, an endless expanse of danger and wonder. In the lands of Maltrex, it is a place of taboo and legend, whispered of in cautious tones. But the swallows, undeterred by human fears, dive boldly through the Gate, disappearing into the unknown.

Brawler stands on the edge of the rooftop, his crimson scarf belt caught in the breeze as he watches the scene unfold. His heart stirs with anticipation.

“Soon,” he promises to himself. “Just a little more.”

Satisfied, he turns back to his tent, only to freeze. What was once green is now streaked with bright white paint. “Gah! They got me good!”