-- Ray --
The first rays of morning sunlight spilled into the small cave as Ray and Caleb prepared to depart, packing what little they had received from their mysterious savior.
It wasn't much.Two drinking flasks. A few animal furs.One last piece of dried fish. And with every item packed, the harsh reality of their situation weighed heavier.
No gold. No real weapons. And now… another problem presented itself.
Scratching the back of his head, Ray glanced down at his bare chest with a faint, awkward sigh.
Caleb seemed to be thinking the same thing. He exhaled heavily, furrowing his brow. "The Red-Black Alliance isn't just trying to conquer the Water Tribes. They want to erase us completely," he muttered grimly. "It's probably not wise to advertise where we come from. We're not in Water Tribe territory anymore — this is the southernmost edge of the Shizen Bistum."
Ray nodded in quiet agreement.
It wasn't just his skin tone that marked him as foreign to these lands — far more dangerous were the unmistakable tattoos carved into his flesh. The ink on his left shoulder revealed everything about him.
Three bold, black rings.
The sacred mark of the Southern Water Tribe.
They symbolized the Three Rings — the rivers that encircled their homeland — and were permanently tattooed onto every warrior during the ceremony on their eleventh birthday.A symbol of belonging.Of loyalty.Of devotion to the tribe.
Now, those same marks had become a target on his skin
"Judging by the direction of the attack," Caleb said, his voice low and cautious, "I'm quite certain the enemy reached our lands through the Bistum. From here on out, caution and mistrust will be our greatest allies. We don't know to what extent the Archbishop and Samael may have struck some sort of pact. The enemy could be walking freely through this region. If they find us, they won't hesitate. Not an escaped Water Tribe warrior. And especially not the son of the chieftain."
His words hit hard, but Ray could not argue.
Even though the tattoos had always been his pride — the living mark of his people — he knew Caleb was right. To display them openly now would bring nothing but danger.
A crooked grin tugged at Ray's lips."Then I suppose we'll need to pay your little savior from that nearby farm a visit," he said, raising a brow. "Let's hope she can offer me something a bit more… inconspicuous to wear."
In truth, he was curious as well. He still didn't know who he owed his life to.
Caleb nodded but narrowed his eyes."And what about me? As far as I know, there aren't many otter-formed beast spirits wandering around the Bistum. Am I supposed to travel in a sack on your back?"
"I would strongly object to that."
Caleb snorted, his eyes flashing with defiance. The thought of being carried like a parcel wounded his pride deeply. Rising onto his hind legs, he now stood nearly to Ray's waist.
"I will walk as a child of man," he declared with full seriousness. "With the proper clothing, my fur — and superior posture — shouldn't draw much attention."
Ray had to bite his lip to suppress a laugh.The idea of anyone mistaking Caleb for a human child seemed… optimistic, at best. Still, he simply nodded and slung the bundle of their belongings over his shoulder.
Side by side, they stepped out of their hidden sanctuary.
Together, they pushed forward — leaving behind the dense cover of the woods, unaware that this single step would mark the beginning of a journey that would one day alter not only their own fate, but the destiny of every nation under the heavens.
-- Jacob --
Jacob's eyes snapped open.
The morning sunlight streamed through the crystal windows of the tower, sharp and unforgiving. Instinctively, he raised a hand to shield his face, blinking against the brightness. His fingertips brushed across damp skin — the lingering traces of tears.
He had been crying.
The vision had been so vivid, so painfully real, that he still felt the echo of sorrow clinging to his body. The sharp ache in his chest had not yet faded.
Another tear slipped free. And then another.
His grey eyes shimmered as fresh drops rolled across his pale cheeks, sliding down unchecked. He stared up at the vaulted ceiling, letting them fall freely, allowing his face to be bathed once more in the salty water of grief.
A tremor ran through him.
The time had come.
Just a moment later, the young druid hurried through the long corridors of the Sora Palace. Morning sunlight streamed through the grand crystal arches, casting soft, shifting patterns of light across the polished floors. With every step, the brilliance of the palace seemed to glow around him, as if alive.
Legends told that the Sora Palace had once been the earthly home of the Celestial Council — a place where angels walked among mortals, thousands of years ago. Its walls, they said, were forged from pure heavenly crystal, rendering them utterly indestructible.
No one truly knew the fate of that mysterious material.Perhaps the mines had run dry.Perhaps, when the angels left this world, the source had vanished with them.
Many had tried to harvest pieces of the palace — for study, for wealth, for the promise of crafting unbreakable armor and weapons. But no blade, no hammer, no chisel had ever managed to damage the walls. Not even a single scratch.
And so the palace stood: a monument to the Light People's faith that they were descendants of the angels themselves, the only ones worthy of inhabiting this sacred place and making it their political heart.
Jacob loved this place.
He loved the legends.The stories whispered through these halls filled him with wonder, even as his sandals echoed softly along the stone floor. As he rushed past one of the towering statues that lined the grand corridors, his eyes flicked upward. There, carved in marble, stood an angel with outstretched arms and a gentle, watchful smile gazing down upon him.
Auriel. The founder of the Kingdom of Light.
As so many times before, Jacob couldn't help but wonder whether the tale was true. They said that after the angels had departed from this world, it was Auriel himself — son of Bariel — who took the throne of Sora, or so the legends of the Light People told. He was the founder of the Kingdom of Light — the forefather of the Lightborn. When old age finally reached him, Auriel summoned the greatest men of his people. One by one, he looked into their eyes. And then, his gaze settled on the youngest among them. He ordered the young man to kneel before him.
The man Auriel declared, possessed a strong and pure soul.Thus, it would not be Auriel's own descendants who would rule, but this man and his bloodline, who would inherit the Kingdom of Light from that day forward. As the new King of Light, he was to guard the sacred palace and the heavens themselves, bringing justice and order to the realm.
The young man lowered himself deeply, kissing Auriel's bare feet — or so the tale went — and swore the oath that was demanded of him, vowing before heaven and earth that he would always lead the Light People on the righteous path.
And with his mission complete, Auriel vanished — content that he had given his people a guiding hand. At the next dawn, no trace of his descendants remained, and from that day forward, the children of the angels were never spoken of again.
Since then, the royal family of the Light had ruled from the Sora Palace, their lineage stretching back to that fateful day.
Outside the palace's glass walls, the records of Auriel faded into obscurity.Stories became legends.Legends became myths.
Only the royal family still clung to the remaining spark of that ancient tale — using it as their divine claim to rule. But for the masses, those stories had long faded from memory. Only the Druids still studied every scrap of ancient knowledge concerning the angels. Just as Jacob had, since the day he could walk.
His steps carried him at last to a towering door, its surface adorned with gemstones in vibrant colours — the entrance to the throne room. With both hands, he pushed the massive doors open. The loud creaking echoed through the chamber beyond, snapping him out of his thoughts about days long past. He was here. Now.
Glittering columns flanked the long path leading to the throne.Without hesitation, he quickened his pace and hurried the final stretch toward his king.
Only a few paces from the crystalline throne, Jacob lowered himself to his knees. His head bowed deeply, hands folded in reverence. "Your Majesty," he spoke softly.
The king — a bearded, broad-shouldered man in his middle years — spread his arms wide and rose from his throne. His silver hair shimmered, catching the sunlight that poured through the tall crystal windows behind him, gleaming like the throne itself.
"Jacob, my good boy."
Rising to his feet, Jacob looked up into the warm, smiling face of his lord and master.
The king closed the remaining distance between them, arms still open, and drew Jacob into a firm embrace. For a moment, Jacob allowed himself a faint smile as he returned the gesture. When they separated, his expression grew serious once more.
His gaze locked with the king's, steady and full of gravity. With a clear, unwavering voice, he spoke: "I have seen him. His path has begun."