"W-Who are you?"
Hasb stammered as he fell onto a pitch-black ground out of nowhere. The room—or rather, the space around him—was pure nothingness. It wasn't just dark like the ground beneath him; it was absolute void.
The only thing he could see was an entity clad in crimson red armor, its body vaporizing like steam from a boiling kettle. Hasb could only see its eyes—pupils streaked with vivid green and blue.
Its left hand extended toward Hasb, who instinctively covered his eyes... and awoke from his nightmarish slumber.
Hasb looked around. His bed's familiar scent, his room filled with posters of military squads—all still intact.
"What was that...?" Hasb muttered as he got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
He noticed his cheeks were wet—streaked with tears.
"Huh...?" he whispered, puzzled, but thought nothing of it and went straight downstairs after answering nature's call.
Hasb Theodore is the son of Aminah Theodore, a single mother in her late thirties. He has a twin sister, Nina Theodore, who is his polar opposite. They are nobles—aristocrats—since Aminah is the daughter of Razkar Theodore, a high-ranking Gorkhun official. Hasb yawned as he descended the stairs. The entire Theodore clan is known for its military achievements, with most of them being members of the elite military order known as the Sigils.
The Sigils were specially formed in Light Year 120 to protect Gorkhun—the realm of average humans, mages, goblins, and elves—from being attacked by entities from other realms.
His mother had already left for her duties. She was the Vice Captain of Sigil 3, known as The Burst of Flames. Hasb himself had shown great potential, having graduated from Sigil Academy and becoming a highly recommended member of Sigil 2, The Black in Storms.
"Ugh, shit," Hasb grumbled, struggling to fasten his belt as he rushed outside. He was incredibly late. Sprinting through the frost-covered streets of Capital Elmiun, he cursed under his breath.
Finally, he reached the large barracks—or rather, a grand castle. It was only called "barracks" to avoid upsetting the commoners. Hasb slipped through the castle door and finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"YOU IMBECILE MORON, DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?"
There was no escaping Doormaster Tyran. Hasb gulped, maybe even laughed at himself.
"Morning, Master Tyran... I see you're in shape as always..."
Tyran's lean, muscular frame, bald head, and singular eye were sights to behold—especially for the single aunties of the capital.
"Oi, brat, just because you're the Theodore pup—Razkar's grandson—doesn't mean I'll let you off the hook every time..."
Hasb shrugged. To Tyran, that was the ultimate form of blasphemy. But then again, this was the Theodore brat. So, he let it slide. Typical behavior from those too afraid to cross the most powerful noble clan in Gorkhun.
To believe the entire world created by the Light Ruler was limited to Gorkhun was foolish. Beyond and above Gorkhun lay realms far beyond even the wisest elven scholars' comprehension.
The most important of them all—more significant even than Gorkhun—was Moulm.
As a child, Hasb had often heard whispers about his father... a man revered and feared by many across Gorkhun: Ezel Fulgur. Seventeen years ago, when Moulm descended into chaos, Ezel—along with twenty-nine Gorkhun warriors—ventured into that realm. It was a journey marked in history.
Ezel Fulgur never returned. He, along with the other 29 Gorkhunians, was presumed dead.