Lioren, Kingdom of Silence

There was no heroism in this world.
Just people born on the right side. And those who bent the knee.

Lioren, a kingdom of order and power, stood its capitals like blades thrust into the earth.
The wind carried the scent of cold stone, enchanted metal, laws carved into bone and the Ether.

Here, everything was classified.

Nobles: those who possessed magic. Their blood carried the pure Ether, passed down through generations. At their birth, their soul crystals shone with a vibrant color. Power was their birthright. They lived in the High Courts, decided the laws, and shaped the realms in their image.

Commoners: those who served. Farmers, blacksmiths, cooks, scholars. Some silently hated the nobles. Others worshipped them like demigods. But all knew that an impassable barrier separated them from the nobles. Not by force. By birth.

And then, there were the outcasts.
The halves, the anomalies, the mistakes.
Those whose very existence was a disturbance.

Born of a noble and a commoner.
Illegal. Impure.

Officially, they did not exist.
Unofficially, they were hunted. Exiled.
Or they were “made to disappear.”

In the low streets of Lioren, they were called Ashes.
Because they were the remnants of a fire no one would admit to having lit.

Kael was an Ash.
But he had stopped apologizing for it.

At nineteen, he had no home, no last name, nothing left to lose.
His steps had brought him to the borders of Eskel, a land of mist and rock. Too poor for the nobles to visit. Too dangerous for armies to linger.

He slept under roots, ate whatever he could steal or trade.
He spoke little. Watched a lot. And never stayed more than a week in the same place.

He had learned not to exist.

But even that, the world seemed determined to forbid him.

That morning, the light was pale.
Not a real sunrise. A kind of sickly day.

Kael had been walking for hours on a forgotten path, his hands in the pockets of his tattered cloak, his gaze lost in the fog.

His thoughts wandered, as always.

Maybe I could go to the sea. Disappear there. Become a fisherman. Or just a fool. Someone no one questions.

It was at that precise moment that he saw the body.

A man, lying in the grass, his armor shattered, his face covered in blood.

Kael froze.

He could have run. He should have run.
But something compelled him to approach.

The man’s eyes half-opened.
A golden gaze. Noble.

No panic. No hatred. Just... pain.

Kael fell to his knees.
He moved aside the broken metal plate and pressed his hands against the wound.

— Stay with me, he said. You’ll make it. I’ll help you.

The Ether responded.
Weakly. But enough to make the air tremble.

Green and unstable magic flowed from his palms.
He tried to slow the bleeding, to close the wound.

But it was too late.

The noble’s breath faded.

Kael pulled back, trembling.

He hadn’t succeeded.

Once again.

And that’s when the nightmare began.

A scream.
The sound of hurried footsteps.

— There! He’s there! By the gods, it’s him!

Kael turned around.
Three soldiers. A mage. A noble banner.

They saw a young man on his knees.
A corpse.
Magic still crackling on his hands.

— By royal order! You are under arrest for the murder of Lord Alrian of Evrel!

Kael opened his mouth. The words got stuck.

They didn’t see a boy who had tried to save a life.

They saw what they wanted to see:
A monster. An Ash. A murderer.

And he did what the world had taught him to do.

He ran.