As Malaes observed Griswa with lingering curiosity, she couldn't help but feel a tug of intrigue pulling at her thoughts. His enigmatic demeanor and the unspoken connection he seemed to share with the dragons intrigued her, but she sensed his reluctance to share. Respecting his privacy, she decided to let the matter rest for now and turned her attention back to the task at hand.
Just as their exploration seemed to reach a natural pause, a voice echoed through the cavern, calling the children back. Sivera stood at the entrance, his towering figure silhouetted against the faint glow of the underground world. With a gentle smile, he beckoned them closer, his eyes twinkling with warmth.
"Ah, I almost forgot!" Sivera exclaimed with a chuckle as the children approached. "I never did ask for your names, did I? Quite the oversight on my part."
"Yesdar, sir," Yesdar replied with a sheepish grin, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "And this is Griswa."
"Griswa?" Sivera repeated, his brow furrowing in mock confusion. "Ah, yes, of course! How will I forget such memorable names?"
The children exchanged amused glances, sharing a moment of camaraderie amidst the lighthearted banter. It felt good to laugh, to forget the weight of their past even if just for a moment.
As they settled around a makeshift table, Sivera's expression turned serious once more, his gaze settling on Yesdar and Griswa with a newfound intensity.
"Now, my young friends," Sivera began, his voice carrying a hint of solemnity, "I must ask: would you be willing to join our humble rebel group?"
Yesdar's eyes widened in surprise, his heart quickening with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. To be offered a place among these brave rebels was an honor he had never imagined.
"Yes!" he blurted out without hesitation, his voice tinged with eager determination. "We would be honored to join you."
Griswa nodded in silent agreement, his expression more subdued but no less resolute. It was a chance to forge a new path, to make a difference in a world that had too often treated innocent people as mere pawns in a cruel game.
"Excellent!" Sivera exclaimed, his smile widening with genuine delight. "Welcome to the fold, young ones."
As the children basked in the warmth of acceptance, Yesdar's curiosity bubbled to the surface once more, his mind buzzing with questions.
"What exactly do you do, Sivera?" he asked, his eyes alight with curiosity. "And what are these heists you people have been talking about? You know when we were having breakfast?"
Sivera leaned back in his chair, his expression grave as he prepared to reveal the truth behind their daring exploits.
"You see, my young friends," he began, his voice low and earnest, "we are what you might call... thieves."
Yesdar's eyes widened in astonishment, his mind racing to comprehend the gravity of Sivera's words. Thieves? But why would they risk so much for mere possessions?
"We steal from the wealthy Yahunyens," Sivera continued, his voice tinged with righteous anger. "The ones who have grown fat on the backs of Mackenasian slaves, who hoard their riches while our people suffer."
Griswa's jaw clenched with determination, his fists tightening in silent resolve. It was a cause worth fighting for, a chance to strike back against the injustices that had plagued the world for far too long.
"We steal not for ourselves, but for those who have been oppressed," Sivera declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "To provide for the forgotten people.... some are free, but so what? Their life is still a curse, no rights, no plans, no dreams, no future, no life."
In the heart of Shiyahval, where towering skyscrapers loomed over crowded streets, a different kind of existence unfolded. Among the hustle and bustle of the city, free Mackenasians eked out a living, their small businesses and errands serving the whims of the wealthy Yahunyen elite. Yet, despite their efforts, they remained ensnared in a web of taxation and exploitation, their meager earnings drained by exorbitant fees imposed by the government.
Forced to pay for the privilege of existence in a city that offered them little in return, they lived on the fringes of society, their freedoms curtailed by the weight of economic oppression. In their struggle to survive, they became unwitting pawns in a game rigged against them, their rights trampled beneath the boots of those who profited from their labor.
As Sivera elucidated their mission to Yesdar and Griswa, the harsh reality of life in Shiyahval came sharply into focus. The rebel group's activities were not mere acts of rebellion; they were a desperate bid for survival, a means of wresting back control from those who sought to exploit them.
"We target the wealthy elite," Sivera explained, his voice tinged with steely determination. "The ones who grow fat on the backs of our people, especially the Yahunyen ministers."
Yesdar listened intently, his heart heavy with the weight of their cause. It was a dangerous path they walked, fraught with peril at every turn. But in the face of injustice, he knew there could be no turning back.
"We've been at this for six years," Sivera continued, his gaze unwavering. "And we've yet to be caught. We strike swiftly and vanish without a trace, leaving behind only whispers that lead to nowhere."
Sivera's gaze hardened as he recounted the relentless pursuit by Yahunyen officers, their attempts to root out the rebel group met with frustration and failure. "The Yahunyen families have grown restless," he explained, his voice tinged with bitterness. "They complain of missing wealth, of stolen goods. But what they fail to understand is that we steal not for ourselves, but to reclaim what rightfully belongs to our people."
Yesdar and Griswa listened intently, their resolve strengthened by Sivera's words. It was a stark reminder of the injustices that had driven them to seek refuge in the underground world, to band together in defiance against a system designed to oppress them.
"The main need is always food," Sivera continued, his voice heavy with the weight of their struggle. "But we steal not just to satisfy our hunger, but to provide for those who have been forgotten by society. The money we take may hold no value for us, but it represents a means to survive for those who have been stripped of their dignity."
Griswa nodded in silent agreement, his thoughts drifting to the faces of those they had encountered on their journey. They were the forgotten ones, the ones who had been left behind by a society that cared little for their plight. And it was their plight that fueled the rebel group's determination to fight.
"It doesn't matter that it is a technological world," Sivera declared, his voice ringing with defiance. "We may be outnumbered, outgunned, but we are not without power. With our dragons at our side, we have wreaked havoc in the city of Shiyahval, striking fear into the hearts of the oppressors."
Yesdar's eyes gleamed with admiration, his admiration for Sivera growing with each word spoken. It was a daring feat, to challenge the might of the Yahunyen elite, to defy the odds and emerge victorious against all odds.
"They may have their flying ships," Sivera continued, his voice filled with conviction. "But we have our dragons. And with them, we are unstoppable." With this, Sivera was about to begin his plan.
END OF PART 1
In the southern-western expanse of Mackenas, within the state of Riveral, lay the magnificent city of Fentah. Its skyline was dominated by the towering spires of the World Noble Palace, a demonstration to the wealth and power of those who ruled from within its walls.
Deep within the palace, in a chamber suffused with the soft glow of pinkish light filtering through the red glass windows, knelt Horozonday Ehasor. His form was a silhouette against the ethereal illumination, his long white hair cascading around him like a cloak as he bowed before the altar of Ozem Nurulis, the Brighter Dark.
Clad in flowing white robes adorned with intricate patterns and billowing scarfs, Horozonday exuded an air of regal authority. Each movement was deliberate, each gesture imbued with the weight of his devotion to the deity.
As his prayers reached their crescendo, Horozonday rose with a fluid grace, his robe swirling around him as he made his way to the grand throne room. Here, amidst the whispers of his ministers and the grandeur of the royal architecture, he addressed the pressing matters of the realm.
A messenger approached with a message held aloft on a screen, delivering news of unrest in the state of Grega and the audacious acts of rebellion in the city of Shiyahval. Horozonday's brow furrowed in irritation as he heard the message, his pride wounded by the incompetence of his own lineage.
"Your Serenity," the messenger began tentatively, "I bring news from the state of Grega. The slave orders are in disarray, and reports indicate a growing resistance among the populace. Additionally, your son, Minister Walith Ehasor, has sent word of two puny children escaping from the slave orders near Shiyahval."
Horozonday's gaze narrowed as he listened to the messenger's report, his mind already calculating the implications of this unrest. "And what of the rebel group in Shiyahval?" he inquired, his voice cold and authoritative.
The messenger hesitated for a moment before replying, "They continue to evade capture, Your Emi... Your Eminence. Their brazen acts of thievery have made them a thorn in the side of our forces."
Across the room, Awaya Gomiyor, the top female World Noble and a rival to Horozonday's lineage, watched with a smirk playing at her lips. "Seems your son is incapable of handling the responsibilities of his position, and we, The Gomiyors are never left with chances to establish order." she remarked with a hint of mockery. "And what of these two puny children who managed to slip through his fingers? Your incompetence knows no bounds, Ehasor. If this remains the case, then who'll remain your slave? Then a time will come when I'll ask, who's your slave?"
Horozonday's gaze hardened as he turned to face her, his voice dripping with disdain. "My son may falter, but I have navigated the treacherous waters of politics with finesse," he retorted. "None shall confront me. I remember the times when your birth itself was no news. I used to make friends with stupid people, so that when the time came, it'd be easier to use them, then I'd throw them out like dust scattered out in the wind."
"They say at least aim till the Gods and you may end up in the stars, but I swear to My God Nurulis, when I strike, either the heavens shall fall, or I will."
As the tension in the room mounted, Horozonday's gaze swept over his assembled ministers, his voice ringing with authority and to answer Awaya's question, "You asking who's my slave?" he declared, his words echoing through the chamber.
"THE WORLD, IS MY SLAVE!"
His voice, calm yet commanding, made everyone tremble throughout the chamber with an undeniable authority. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he commanded the billowing scarfs in his hands to unfurl and dance in the air, their graceful movements accentuating his regal demeanor.
As if in response to his proclamation, the ambient light seemed to intensify, casting a radiant glow upon his figure. Horozonday's presence exuded an aura of dominance and supremacy, his form towering over the assembled ministers with an air of unyielding power.
With a dignified turn of his body, Horozonday faced his audience, his gaze piercing through the room with unwavering resolve. Each movement was deliberate, each gesture a tribute to his unwavering confidence in his own authority.
In that moment, Horozonday stood as a titan among mortals, his command over the realm absolute and unquestionable.
Glossary and Extra Information:
Fentah: [FEN]+[TAAH], the Capital city of Riveral
Pronunciations:
Horozonday Ehasor: [HO]+[RO]+[ZON]+[DAY]+[EE]+[HAA]+[SAWR]
Awaya Gomiyor: [A]+[WAA]+[YAA]+[GO]+[MEE]+[YAWR]
Walith: [WAA]+[LITH]
Riveral: [RIVEY]+[RAL]
The History of Ehasor and Gomiyor Families:
The history of the Ehasor and Gomiyor families of The Yahunyen Rage is shrouded in darkness and deceit, their rise to power marked by ruthless ambition and Machiavellian tactics. In the annals of Yahunyen history, they are not celebrated as noble defenders of the realm, but rather feared as masters of manipulation and oppression.
The Ehasor family, with their insatiable hunger for power, stopped at nothing to ascend the ranks of Yahunyen society. Through cunning schemes and backstabbing politics, they clawed their way to the upper echelons of power, leaving a trail of ruin and despair in their wake. Horozonday Ehasor, the current patriarch, was a cunning strategist with a heart as black as obsidian, his thirst for dominion matched only by his disdain for those beneath him.
Similarly, the Gomiyor family's ascent to prominence was paved with bloodshed and treachery. Renowned for their brutal tactics on the battlefield, they reveled in the suffering of their enemies, crushing dissent with an iron fist. Awaya Gomiyor, the current matriarch of the family, was a master manipulator who wielded fear and intimidation like weapons, bending others to her will through sheer force of personality.
During the Great War, the Ehasors and Gomiyors reveled in the chaos, exploiting the conflict for their own gain. They betrayed allies, committed atrocities, and sacrificed countless lives in their relentless pursuit of power. While they may have emerged victorious, their victory was tainted by the blood of innocents and the cries of the oppressed.
In the twisted annals of Yahunyen history, the Ehasor and Gomiyor families are not remembered as heroes, but as villains who thrived on the suffering of others. Their reign of terror left scars upon the land that would never fully heal, a grim reminder of the depths of human depravity and the corrupting influence of absolute power. The way Amaulyans and Shulvris were two royal families ruling over all, Ehasors and Gomiyors are the current world's two royal families, that rule over the world, but their only focus is on Mackenas for now, the rest of the world is still way more free than Mackenas.
Only the Yahunyens respect them which is obvious.