Prologue

The world had already ended once.

The God-King ensured it remained that way.

But tonight, in a corridor buried beneath the ruins of his empire, two rebels ran toward the one thing that could end his reign—and maybe the world itself.

Alarms hadn't sounded yet. But they would.

Two figures tore through the corridor like bullets, cloaks snapping behind them in ragged arcs.

Their boots slammed against the stone, echoes chasing them like the ghosts of everything this world had lost.

Somewhere outside the walls—the city slept under its black sky—unaware that before dawn, its silence would break.

Alan Aguilar led the way—bald, middle-aged, lean, and strung with nerves of steel.

Behind him ran Nozomu—younger, taller, broader in the shoulders.

His bronze skin glistened beneath the lights.

"Alan... How much farther?"

"Almost there."

"...It's quiet. "

"Don't jinx us now."

The walls hummed faintly as the corridor bent into darkness.

The deeper they ventured, the more the air seemed to vibrate, as if the entire facility were alive.

The door was massive—ten feet tall, forged from a strange silvery alloy that shimmered like a moonlit lake.

No handle. No keyhole. Just a circular slot at its center.

"...How are we supposed to get in?"

Alan shoved Nozomu aside.

"With Dyna, genius. If you actually listened to me, you would know."

He pressed his palm against the circle.

Light flared instantly, white veins spreading like spiderwebs across the surface.

With a hiss, the door split and retreated into the walls.

The chamber glowed with an unnatural blue hue—brighter, heavier than sunlight.

A cold wind greeted them, and at the center, a glass case floated, untouched by dust.

Inside pulsed a single object: a glowing crystal prism.

"There it is," Alan muttered. "The Iritheum Core."

It was beautiful and wrong all at once—a sphere of contained brilliance hovering above the pedestal, veins of blue light crawling beneath its surface like living nerves.

Power so dense the air itself bent around it.

Nozomu approached. "Hard to believe something so small keeps this whole rotten system in place."

"And hard to believe you're crazy enough to touch it."

"Guess that makes me a revolutionary."

"Or a dead man," Alan grumbled.

The instant Nozomu's hand touched the case, the world screamed.

Alarms detonated like thunder.

The walls exploded in crimson light. The floor trembled.

Somewhere deeper in the facility, gears groaned to life, and the door behind them began to seal shut.

"Take it and let's go!" Alan barked, but Nozomu didn't move.

His eyes locked on the crystal, caught in its pull.

The alarms dulled in his mind.

The red haze faded.

The prism's glow whispered to him—like it had been waiting, and for the briefest moment, he swore he heard a word.

Not in his ears—but in his chest.

A single, sharp syllable...

Live.

"Hey! Move it!" Alan slammed into him.

Nozomu broke free of his trance, shattering the glass case with one blow.

The prism slid into his hand, and just as the floor quaked again, they slipped through the closing door.

The chase that followed was a blur—metal doors slamming, sirens blaring, soldiers shouting orders into the storm.

Nozomu and Alan tore through the corridors, the prism's light bleeding from the cracks of Nozomu's cloak.

"Stop! Halt!" one of the soldiers cried out from behind.

Alan clicked his tongue. "I told you not to jinx us."

"Just keep running."

"We can't outrun them all!" Alan yelled.

"I said halt!" the soldier called out again.

His sword scraped the ground with a metallic shriek. Sparks ignited.

"Flame Manipulation… Hephaestus Flame Dragon!"

The sparks roared into a serpent of fire.

Heat warped the air as the corridor turned furnace-bright.

"Kid, we're screwed..."

Nozomu's eyes burned with resolve.

He reached into the pouch, gripping the Iritheum Core tight enough to feel it tremble in his hand.

"Speak for yourself, old man."

Nozomu tossed the prism to Alan as the wind gathered at his heels.

Alan hesitated for just a second too long.

The air exploded with the sound of energy discharge—a pulse that rattled the steel around them.

With a burst of air, Alan hurled down the hall like a leaf in a storm.

Nozomu turned to the dragon.

"Oxygen Manipulation."

The fire suffocated mid-roar, curling in on itself.

Not in rage, but in panic.

The flames fizzled into embers as the heat vanished.

Soldiers dropped to the floor, gasping, eyes bulging.

Black scorch marks painted the stone walls.

Silence slammed down like a hammer.

A vacuum-like pressure hung in the air.

A sudden gust filled the corridor, and oxygen returned.

Nozomu exhaled slowly. "He should be at the rendezvous point by now."

He bolted forward, down the corridor—riding the wind.

Rain that fell in slow, misty sheets met him on the rooftop beyond the last door.

The air was slick and sharp with wind.

Clouds churned overhead like ink in water, dark and violent.

At the center stood a mountain of a man.

Radcliffe Ironclawe.

Sleeveless armor, arms thick with muscle, mohawk streaked orange and black.

In one hand, he held a battle axe as tall as a man.

In the other—Alan, held by the neck.

"Move, and I crush his throat," Radcliffe said coldly.

Nozomu didn't pause. His blade slid free from its sheath.

Radcliffe squeezed harder.

"Always took you for a coward... But a traitor? Alan, even this is below you."

Alan gagged, the world blurring, his legs dangling—until the soft glow of the prism in his pocket caught Radcliffe's eye.

"I'll be taking this back."

But that moment was enough. Wind flared. Alan vanished from Radcliffe's grip.

Blood sprayed as Nozomu's blade carved across Radcliffe's chest, cutting armor and skin.

"You okay?" Nozomu asked, crouching beside Alan.

"Yeah," Alan rasped. "...I'm fine..." His eyes widened. "Look out!"

Radcliffe's axe came down like a meteor as Alan shoved Nozomu out of harm's way.

Nozomu rolled to his feet, the impact splitting the rooftop.

"Get out of here."

"Don't be stupid! You're strong, but Radcliffe! He's leagues above you!"

Nozomu didn't answer. But then again, he was barely listening.

His eyes were fixed on the sand trickling from Radcliffe's wound.

"…Sand?"

Radcliffe grinned, stomping hard.

The rooftop quaked, and cracks spiderwebbed out beneath them.

Thunder rumbled in reply, and rain poured harder, blurring the battlefield.

Sand erupted from Radcliffe's body like a living wall, each grain sharp enough to flay skin.

It swallowed steel, sound, and hope in a single roar.

His control over sand was absolute. It bent to his will like a third limb—armor, shield, weapon, all at once.

Nozomu dodged, letting the wind guide his steps. He slashed again.

The wind spun around his sword, only for it to collide with a hardened wall of sand.

Every blow was eaten. Nothing stuck. Nothing broke through.

"You're good," Radcliffe growled. "I'm surprised. Wasteland scum shouldn't be able to use Dyna."

He leapt.

"Sand Manipulation… Gaea Crusher!"

Nozomu stood firm. He didn't flinch. There was no hesitation.

He raised his sword.

"Storm Manipulation… Twisting Gale!"

A storm of grit erupted, crushing down on the rooftop. Wind shrieked back in defiance.

Radcliffe descended, his sand-coated axe violently clashing with Nozomu's sword.

Sand and storm collided in a blast that split the sky.

The rooftop detonated like a bomb in a whirl of pressure and grain, the blast sending tremors through the clouds themselves.

From the haze, Nozomu emerged—bloodied, but alive. He lunged.

His sword reached Radcliffe's throat—only for a wall of sand to stop it cold.

The sand began to swallow the sword.

Nozomu retreated. One foot from the roof's edge. No weapon. Chest heaving.

Radcliffe spat blood into the rain.

The sand crawling across his chest sealed the wounds shut.

"Storms pass. Sand endures. Cornered prey always tastes better."

His grin widened, and his chest fluttered with excitement.

"This is the most fun I've had in ages!"

He yanked his axe free from the rubble and marched forward.

"To thank you… I'll kill you in one blow."

Nozomu's knees buckled, his arms shook, and his body felt like lead.

He was at his limit.

He couldn't win.

He knew it all too well, but his pride burned too damn hot to admit it.

And then—as Radcliffe closed in—a shove came from Alan.

Time slowed. The wind howled again.

Nozomu plummeted from the edge, but something else fell with him.

The prism.

Alan smiled—a quiet, tired smile.

"The world will try to break you. Don't let it. Live ugly if you must, but live."

The world went quiet as if it held its breath.

Then came the sound—a single, awful sound.

One so sharp and final.

The sound of the axe cleaving through Alan's body.

The rain fell harder, like a curtain over the rooftop, washing the blood into the broken tiles.

Thunder rolled. Soldiers burst through the door. But it was too late.

There were no enemies left.

Just Radcliffe, who stood alone and victorious over Alan's severed body.

"I guess every rebellion needs a martyr, huh, Alan?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the prism.

But when he held it up—it crumbled into dust, and his grin faded.

"This changes nothing. We will find you. The God-King already owns this world."

The storm swallowed Radcliffe's words.

He looked down at Alan's corpse, drenched in crimson rainwater.

The sight filled him with anger and disgust.

Alan Aguilar—coward, traitor, and fool—had won. Outplaying him to the very end, even in death.

And far from that rooftop, through storm and shadow, Nozomu fled with the Iritheum Core in hand.

He didn't look back. He couldn't. The sand swallowed his pride, and with it, one of the only friends he had left.

Above, the sirens wailed—long, mourning cries that tore through the rain.

The prism pulsed once—and for a heartbeat, Nozomu swore he saw something inside.

Eyes staring back. Then it was gone, and Nozomu wasn't sure if it had been real at all.

And now, somewhere beyond the night sky, the world trembled with the weight of what he'd stolen.

They just didn't know it yet.

Nozomu didn't know why the prism whispered to him—only that its light now lived inside him.

Pulsing like a storm that refused to die.

And in a world ruled by silence...

One storm is all it takes to start a war.

---

Thank you all for reading the opening chapter of Wastelanders: War of Iritheum. The full series updates chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday on Royal Road and ScribbleHub.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/83173/wastelanders-war-of-iritheum

https://www.scribblehub.com/series/1883230/wastelanders-war-of-iritheum/

Follow there to embark on the rebellion and watch the storm that ignites a war!

This chapter will remain as a preview for new readers. Hope to see you all soon in the Wastelands.

— A. Dot

P.S.

What are you waiting for? I know you want to know what happens to Nozomu and the Iritheum Core. Go read it now!