The Dark Continent - Kingdom Building

The Dark Continent

Dust and dawn merged into an unbroken veil of dread. This world, once teeming with might, was now but a shadow of its former glory. Empires crumbled, kings clashed, and brothers turned against one another. It was as if the heavens themselves had forgotten that light ever graced this realm.

As the final flicker of hope dimmed, the storm ceased its rage. Shadows ruled unopposed, creatures of darkness ravaged the lands, and the dead walked—no better than the living who cowered in despair. Centuries passed, and only fragments of humanity endured. Scattered tribes survived, their existence a testament to defiance. Among their relics, the bones of swords stood as silent proof of a once-mighty world now lost to time.

The Tribe of Silas

"Listen, boy. You are the last heir of Silas. You know our roots, our story, but today you'll prove if you are worthy of inheriting our burden," the man said, his resolute voice betraying the turmoil in his eyes.

The boy, battered and unkempt, his body marred by scars, stood unwavering. "I'm ready, Father. Today, the heavens shall take me—or I shall force them to look upon me with glory," he declared, his voice filled with defiance.

"The gods have not abandoned us," the man intoned, lifting his gaze to the skies. "This world—O Lord of Heaven, hear our name! If you could witness our journey and deeds, surely you would look down upon us from your celestial throne."

"I'm ready," the boy repeated, his resolve unshaken.

"Truth, laws—these are the pillars upon which both we and the heavens themselves stand. Some are harsh, others merciful, but it is these laws that keep the heavens from crumbling into the abyss. The world was born from chaos, a singularity that became duality, then multitudes. Chaos was the shepherd—it became a stone. That stone birthed the universe. Yet even the embrace of the universe was empty, until the stone, overwhelmed by chaos, shattered into matter and non-matter—the syllables of life itself. From this chaos came the Gate, the Law, God, and the One Beyond the Stone."

The father's words trailed off, and an eerie silence settled. Suddenly, the boy's body began to steam, his eyes bleeding as if the truth he had heard was a blasphemy too vast for mortal comprehension. So simple, yet so perilous.

"Stay strong, my son. Hold on. God is with you," the father cried, desperation cracking his voice. The boy's screams, raw and primal, echoed through the air, capable of striking terror into the mightiest of beasts.

"Father…" the child's voice softened, trembling as his skin burned with fiery spikes that shimmered in a faint blue haze. "What's… going on? My skin—ahhh—it's burning! Pain! Pain! Pain! Father!" he cried out, writhing on the ground, clutching his arms in torment.

Osiris watched, his glowing crimson eyes betraying neither surprise nor comfort. His face was a mask of anguish, yet his movements were precise. His hand—gnarled, monstrous, and beast-like—transformed in an instant. Before hesitation could take root, it plunged into the boy's skull, cracking bone and crushing brain in one swift, merciful act.

"My boy, Aries… death is not the end," Osiris murmured, his voice trembling. "The heavens will cradle you, and angels will sing their melodies for your weary soul. Your pain is mine, my son, and beyond the Gate, you will find rebirth."

The man's voice faltered, but his resolve did not. This was his third son to fall to the Curse of Cain's Flame. Like his brothers before him, Aries had awakened only to be consumed by the truth—a truth the heavens deemed blasphemy.

Blood coated Osiris's hands, but it did not stain the ground. Instead, it burned into ash, disintegrating before it could touch the earth. Flesh and bone followed, crumbling into fine dust that Osiris gathered in his trembling palms. No tears fell, yet he cried in silent agony, kneeling in the shadow of the moment.

With a heavy breath, he swallowed the ashes of his son. One handful at a time, he consumed the remnants of Aries, his body quivering with each mouthful. When the last trace of his son was gone, he stood, his posture solemn as a lone willow in the wind.

"The bones of my sword, the ashes of death… when one Gate closes, another opens," Osiris whispered, his voice like the rustle of falling leaves. "Thank you, my son, Aries."

As he spoke, his form began to shift. Neither tall nor short, his once sturdy frame trembled as if under an unseen weight. His hair, long and as black as the abyss, coiled like serpents in a slow, sinister dance. His crimson eyes glowed brighter, a blood moon in the night. Then, his skin cracked and split, forming the shape of a Gate across his chest—a curse carved into his very being.

This was his curse—the Curse of Deliverance. On the Dark Continent, curses were not blessings nor punishments. They were truths that shattered the fragile mortal shell. Few survived the awakening, and those who did became something… other. To awaken a curse was to hear a truth so profound it tore apart the soul, blaspheming against the heavens themselves.

In this merciless land, mortals without curses perished swiftly. The cursed were humanity's only shield against the darkness. But awakening one's curse demanded a price.

"He's dead," Osiris said, his voice hoarse. "My last son… gone like the others. Taken by the hand of fate."

He stood before a solitary tombstone, its polished surface far superior to the weathered stones surrounding it. A name was etched upon it: Melody. She had been his wife, a victim of nature's cruelty, devoured by a beast of the night.

With her loss, the tribe had crumbled, leaving Osiris to wander alone. His few possessions—ragged clothes and tools bundled in a small bag—hung over his back. The sun shone weakly through the forest canopy, but the chill in his heart remained.

This tribe, once a bastion of resilience since the Age of Man, was now on the verge of extinction.

Osiris, a name inherited from his father, carried the burden of truth. Born with eyes like the Gate of Hell, he had been destined to bear this curse. Generations of his bloodline passed down the truth of the world—a knowledge so profound it gifted them power, a means to survive in the Dark Continent.

Yet the truth came with a cost. It destroyed as much as it created, granting life through the curse or taking it in merciless silence. Those who heard this truth either awakened their curse… or perished under its weight.