"Are you...?" a voice murmurs, slow and deliberate. It sounds like a man.

"You should be ready. Milah will soon lead the dead, and you—well, you need to be prepared. Wake, eat, sleep—repeat. Because you're going to be the first-ever—and I mean ever—Divine Interpreter."

He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle like dust in a forgotten room.

"It's an excruciating process, I must say. Starting from... dirth, that era... earth then to that city..." His voice grows almost wistful, a strange warmth bleeding through his otherwise sharp cadence. "It holds the most fascinating tales. I'm no Tour Guide, not even close, but the mere act of walking in such an environment—" His voice trembles, catching on the word as if reliving some fleeting ecstasy. "It's excruciating bliss, if I do say so myself."

Another pause, shorter this time, as though shaking off a memory.

"Anyway... make sure to ask a multitude of questions, alright? Right? Za—"

The voice cuts off abruptly, leaving me with the ghost of his last syllable hanging in the air.

The Museum of Narratives stood as a monument to the world's greatest stories, its towering structure seeming to extend infinitely.

The exterior walls, made of gleaming white marble and intricate glass panels, shimmered in the light. The grand entrance featured doors inscribed with scenes from famous stories, legends, and myths.

Inside, the museum was a labyrinth of exhibits, each dedicated to a different narrative. The floor, made of crystalline tiles, sparkled and shifted to match the imaginations of its visitors, leading them through halls where reality seamlessly merged with fantasy.

Pillars soared to unfathomable heights, adorned with carvings of dragons, heroes, and mythical creatures, creating an atmosphere where the extraordinary felt ordinary.

A tour guide resembling a tall, middle-aged man dressed in elegant scholar-like robes led a group of "tourists" through the main hall. His voice echoed through the cavernous space, carrying the weight of countless stories.

"...And that's how General Tollhdem won the War of Generations, a conflict that changed the future of his country. His strategic brilliance and unwavering determination turned the tide in a war that seemed unwinnable," the guide explained, gesturing to a life-sized statue of General Tollhdem. The statue depicted a tall, mighty man in mid-battle, his face a mask of fierce determination and burning fury.

The tourists, wide-eyed and eager, hung on the guide's every word. They marveled at the exhibits, where holographic images and interactive displays brought ancient stories to life. As they moved away from Tollhdem's exhibit, the crystalline floor beneath them shifted and changed, morphing into different shapes and colors that represented the essence of the stories they passed.

"Reality meets imagination here," the tour guide continued. "Some would say it is a mere dream. In this museum, stories are not just told; they are experienced. Each exhibit is a deal made between life and 'Narrative,' a testament to the power of storytelling."

One of the tourists, a young man with a mop of blonde hair, raised his fist enthusiastically, mimicking a scene he had just witnessed. "Tollhdem is so cool! A 10/10!" he exclaimed, turning excitedly to the guide. "Is there any story similar to his?" His eyes shone with passion, a spark common among those who walked these halls.

The tour guide paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. A question mark appeared above his head, an animated indicator of his contemplation, only to change to a lightbulb, signifying the spark of an idea.

"A story made on Earth, six hundred years after Tollhdem's eventual demise. It is set in a country 'that was once his foe, though not remembered.'"

Another tourist raised their hand. "Aren't we going to the era of human space conquest?" they asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Wait, what about the Concurrency Era?" another chimed in.

"Ahem," the guide cleared his throat, a gentle yet firm reminder of their current focus. "I must remind you, it is only your first day," he said, turning to a podium. Sliding his gloved finger over its surface, he paused, signaling that something significant was about to happen. "Well then, it's decided. Leonardo it is."

With that declaration, the scene began to shift. The previous characters and the museum itself seemed to dissolve, replaced by a new world where the sky stretched infinitely, dotted with clouds, and mountains loomed in the distance.

The tourists found themselves immersed in the medieval world of Earth, where extraordinary tales awaited their discovery.

The Empire of Moerlan, roughly twice the size of Texas, comprised fifteen towns, excluding the sky towns. Leonardo resided in this empire, specifically in Volnia, a trading town located far east of Moerlan's capital, Kenlia.

Volnia's architecture resembled a gothic aesthetic, yet with the sun shining on the horizon, it appeared as if it were the safest place on Earth. The streets teemed with people of various sizes and races, most notably humans, Orcs, and Dwarves. Volnia, a trading hub, dealt primarily in the trade of agnite, a rare and valuable material found only in its deep cave systems. Renowned for its mysterious energy, often referred to as "radiation," agnite was highly sought after for crafting powerful weapons and tools.

Despite Volnia's vibrant ambiance, earning a livelihood was a Herculean task.

The mine was a labyrinth of dark tunnels, lit only by the faint glow of firestones embedded in the walls and the headlamps on the miners' helmets. The air was thick with dust, and the sound of pickaxes striking rock echoed through the cavernous space.

Leonardo and Ronald worked side by side, their hands calloused and worn from years of labor.

"That's two! Three more to go, Leonardo! Leon?" Ronald called out, his voice muffled by the dust mask covering his face.

"Wait… deep breaths. I haven't even found one yet," Leonardo replied, frustration seeping into his tone. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his deep brown hair sticking to his forehead. "I just can't seem to…" Clank. "Wait… what is that?"

Leonardo's pickaxe struck something solid, yet not ordinary rock. He crouched down, brushing away the dirt to reveal a glowing blue stone.

[1 agnite acquired]

"No way! You found an agnite? This is awesome! Now we can totally buy that weapon we've been talking about!" Ronald shouted excitedly, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Leonardo turned the agnite over in his hands, its cool surface pulsing with an eerie white light. "You really think Rald will take this? It looks kinda weird," he asked, doubt creeping into his voice.

"Trust me, he will!" Ronald replied confidently. "I've got some info on him."

"What info?" Leonardo inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"I'll tell you later," Ronald said, glancing around as other miners approached.

"Oi, boys, move out the way," a gruff voice called out.

A burly miner carrying a huge metal rod pushed past them, another miner following closely behind, supporting the rod. "What is that for? Cedric?" Ronald asked, eyeing the rod with a mix of curiosity and greed.

The cave, previously shrouded in darkness, began to glow as firestones on the ceiling ignited. The sudden light drew groans of dismay from the surrounding miners, who shielded their eyes from the brightness.

"Ah, not the firestones," one miner's voice rose above the others, frustration evident. "We need new lighting materials for the walls of this damned tunnel."

With the firestones illuminating the space, Leonardo's figure became visible. His tunic was a deep, earthy brown mixed with forest green, matching his brown skin and helping him blend into the environment. It was reinforced with leather patches at the elbows and shoulders to withstand wear and tear. Over the tunic, he donned a sturdy leather vest with multiple pockets. His gloves were padded but flexible, cut at the tips for precision.

Ronald was similarly dressed but wore an additional "miner's carryall."

A bell rang, echoing through the tunnels.

"THE OVERSEER IS HERE," a voice bellowed, followed by the sounds of miners dropping their tools and scrambling into line.

Ronald, his face grim beneath the grime of the day's work, shot Leonardo a worried glance before turning to join the line of miners greeting the overseer. Leonardo stood still, his hands gripping the handle of his pickaxe so tightly his knuckles turned white. His eyes, hidden behind the visor of his helmet, burned with a mixture of resentment and fear.

The overseer, a morbidly obese figure with a sneer permanently etched, approached Leonardo with a measured stride. His entourage of mokri followed closely behind, their dark fur glinting in the dim light of the firestones.

A mokri was one of the creatures from the southern sea or the western borders of Moerlan's port.

"Greet the overseer!", the voice demanded.

"Hail the overseer!" The miners chanted, their voices a mix of fear and bitterness. They dropped their tools, their resentful faces hidden behind their masks.

Leonardo's eyes burned with rage, his facial muscles twitching beneath his mask. His hatred for the overseer was palpable.

He hated the overseers with a burning passion. He hated how they sat on their high horses, and expected everyone to follow their rules obediently.

"Ye over there, wherefore stand ye?" the overseer asked, his confusion turning to fury as he spotted Leonardo standing still.

"What?" Leonardo replied, his voice edged with defiance.

"Thou work now," the overseer commanded, his anger rising.

"C'mon, just mine, Leonardo," Ronald whispered urgently, fear lacing his words.

Leonardo finally moved, picking up his pickaxe.

"Good, for thou art a thrall," the overseer huffed, turning to the mokri. "Guide me unto the task."

"Yes, master," the mokri responded, leading the fat man deeper into the cave.

As the firestones dimmed with their departure, darkness reclaimed the space, and the miners resumed their work. The cave's constant rumbling became more pronounced.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR?! We could've gotten killed. I don't want to die yet!" a man screamed, his voice trembling.

"I'm scared... I don't want to be scared," Leonardo muttered to himself, shaking. His eyes fixated on his hands, trying to understand the fear gripping him.

He glanced at Ronald, who had shut down all thoughts and emotions, focusing solely on his work.

The cave rumbled again. This was the second time today. The overseer had warned them to leave after the third rumble each day, a sign of impending collapse. Paranoia gripped the miners; some were already planning to leave.

"Let's go, Ronald," Leonardo urged, urgency in his voice.

"Wait, if we could just find one more…" Ronald retorted, frustration and desperation evident in his voice.

The cave followed a straight path with multiple false endings. Using lanterns to guide the way, they hurried through the tunnels.

"If we just waited a little longer, we might have found more agnite!" Ronald lamented, kicking at the dirt.

"We need to get out. The cave's not safe." Leonardo responded curtly, his mind focused on getting out safely.

The cave rumbled again, dislodging rocks from the ceiling.

"Watch out," Leonardo warned, pulling Ronald to safety.

"Yeah, thanks," Ronald replied, worry replacing his earlier frustration. "Maybe we should get out of here."

The cave had rest stops along the way, areas called resting pits due to their depth and length. Reaching one, they took a moment to catch their breath before continuing.

Finally, they reached the cave entrance.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows over Volnia. The gothic-inspired buildings, once intimidating, now seemed to blend harmoniously with the encroaching darkness.