The night shroud wasn`t silent this time. The fire burned tents. The scream of men getting pierced, and slashed by the soldiers, who made their way to the village, killing every man and old woman in sight. The final line of defense fell a few hours ago, no soldier was alive, yet the invaders kept the children alive along with young girls.
Yacha witnessed all this, his mind was shattered, he saw innocent villagers getting wiped out one after another, and he rushed to a soldier angry. His eyes were full of tears, screaming his lungs out; he grabbed a sharp tool and stabbed the lower back of a merciless killer, who just finished slaughtering his parents, in front of his eyes.
Crimson red armor with black strips and helmets shows only their facial features; vambraces and gauntlets are covered with spikes that are darker than black. Those are the Akkadian kingdom invaders and soldiers, their orders are simple: "Kill everyone in your sight but children and young female human beings, capture them alive, and bring them ".
The land, the villages, and the forest are a battlefield, to those bloodthirsty, walking killing machines.
A back-kick sent Yacha flying, and another soldier grabbed him, and roughly hit him to his neck, putting him to sleep, they carried him to a nearby cargo.
Those soldiers only obey and carry on the order set to them by their ruler, Sargon the Akkadian, the ruler blessed by the god Anu of the polytheist faith, to rule this land.
Back at an island isolated in the south ocean of Akkadia's territory, a military orphanage where those captured children have to go through a process, stripping them of their origins and their free will, they've been asked one question only.
"What is your name ?"
A spell cast on them erasing the memories of their loved ones, and their homes.
The strong effect of the spell put them to sleep. They wake up in a room built from stones, having no idea who they are, or where they came from, only a tag around their neck with their names.
Yacha, even though his memories are wiped, deep down he held to some of those memories. After witnessing the genocide of his people, he's traumatized beyond repair, perhaps in his case, forgetting what had happened was the best option.
"Welcome young pawns! futures of our country's strongest soldiers, allow me to welcome you, to your home." Said Hadleigh, the commander responsible for training those children.
They filled their heads with promises of glory and the honor of being a soldier.
After testing their attributes, and examining their mana pool, they get organized in groups, for proper training, but still magic isn't something everyone can master. Everyone can use magic, it's born talent, and hard training can give you an edge.
After years of hellish training and brainwashing ideologies,
Yacha, along with Ursang, are at the top of their class, their weapon mastery is bronze, and their magic mastery is second tier, making them a few steps stronger than the orphans.
You see, magic tiers define your mana pool and the amount of spells you can use.
Tier 1: Aspirant (Basic)
The entry-level for magic users. Aspirants can barely use magic. They can manipulate minor magical energies but lack the power and understanding to perform significant feats.
Abilities: Basic spells such as small conjuration, or creating sparks of energy. Requires a weapon to channel any magic.
Tier 2: Adept (Intermediate)
Adepts have a better grasp of their magic, capable of controlling elemental attributes and manipulating magic for practical uses. This is the most common level for magical practitioners in Akkadia.
Here a mage has moderate control over the elements (fire, wind, earth, water.). However Spells require concentration, and magic can be exhausting when overused.
Tier 3: Conjuror (Advanced)
Conjurors are highly skilled magic users who can manipulate the magic elemental attributes, and unlock their abnormal attributes to alter reality in more complex ways.
Abnormal magic is different than elemental magic it`s a supernatural force. But then Magic becomes dangerous when overextended, and larger spells can create unintended side effects. They must also defend against magical corruption.
Tier 4: Master (Expert)
Arcane Masters are rare and highly respected. They can shape magic attributes into powerful forms, bending space and time in limited ways. Their magic transcends physical limitations.
The full control of normal elements attributes and can weave them into complex, multi-layered spells. It can warp space to create teleportation portals, and shields, and do powerful curses.
But Master-level spells require precise control and preparation. Failure to maintain concentration can cause immense destruction.
Tier 5: Archmage (Legendary)
Archmages are legends, their magic transcending mortal understanding. They are one with their core, able to bend magic to their will with ease, the chosen few capable of reshaping the world.
They have multiple abnormal magic attributes.
However, within the kingdom of Akkadia, only few reached higher tiers. Magic wasn`t a thing everyone was blessed with.
As the group erupted in celebration, their voices filled the air with cries of triumph—"We did it! We did it!"—Yacha's thoughts became a blank void. While the others reveled in their success, his body, battered and bloodied, felt impossibly heavy. His eyelids drooped, and he struggled to keep them open. His vision began to blur, slowly darkening as the weight of his wounds took its toll. He had lost far too much blood.
In that fading moment, memories flooded his mind, unbidden and sharp. A woman stood before him in the haze of his thoughts, her lips moving as if speaking to him, yet the words never reached his ears. Her face, obscured by shadows, remained a mystery, but the details of her dress—a light green fabric adorned with delicate pink flowers—stood out in stark contrast. Suddenly, the sound of a blade cutting through flesh pierced the silence. The shroud around the woman cleared, revealing the blood that gushed from her neck, staining the once beautiful dress. Her head fell in slow motion, her eyes snapping open mid-fall. The head rolled toward him, stopping just at his feet. Her face, twisted with rage, contorted into a scream, "RUN, YACHA!!!"
The harrowing cries of agony that followed tore through his mind, blending with the savage sounds of stabbing and the frenzied neighing of horses. Then, everything dissolved into darkness.
Yacha's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself lying in a bed. The temporary infirmary tent was dimly lit, and the rough texture of the hospital pajamas he wore reminded him of his unfamiliar surroundings. Yet, to his surprise, there wasn't a single wound on his body. The kingdom's healers, it seemed, were more capable than he had anticipated.
Nearby, an elderly woman sat at a desk, completely absorbed in her work. Dressed in a simple yet practical gown, she sorted through scrolls and parchment with a meticulous touch. Her gray hair, neatly tucked beneath a faded cap, framed a face etched with the lines of wisdom and experience. The flickering light of a lantern cast long shadows across the tent as her gnarled fingers traced the words on the parchment. Despite the sounds of Yacha's movements and the faint smell of sweat in the air, her focus remained unshaken.
Yacha, growing more aware of his surroundings, spoke up. "Excuse me, lady? Hello?"
At the sound of his voice, the woman's concentration broke. Her stern expression softened into a warm smile, her eyes twinkling with a gentle understanding. The lines on her face reflected a life of patience and compassion.
"My apologies, young man," she said kindly, approaching him.
"I didn't notice you'd woken up."
"How are we feeling today?" she asked, her voice soft but firm.
Yacha blinked, still disoriented. "How long have I been asleep, miss?"
The woman smiled once more, her tone lightening. "Althea," she corrected, her name a beacon of warmth. "You've been asleep for four days, young man."
As Yacha slowly regained consciousness, a murmur escaped his lips. "What happened?" His voice trembled with disbelief, his eyes darting around the dimly lit tent in search of something familiar. The disorientation weighed heavily on him, yet no familiar faces were present to ease his confusion.
Althea, the elderly healer, moved with quiet assurance. Her practical gown rustled softly as she approached. "You lost a lot of blood, Yacha. That's your name, isn't it?" she asked kindly. Yacha managed a nod, still trying to piece together the fragmented memories of the last few days.
"Rest assured, my boy," Althea continued, her voice calm and reassuring, "you were in good hands." With that, she guided him toward the exit of the infirmary.
As they stepped out of the tent, the warmth of the sun embraced Yacha. He stood there for a moment, taking in the vibrant colors of the world around him. Fully healed, he felt an unexpected strength coursing through his limbs. Each step was a reminder of the resilience that had carried him through his trials. A slow smile spread across his face as he breathed in the fresh air, savoring the sense of freedom.
In that instant, his three companions rushed forward. Ursang, Eline, and Speira, their faces alight with joy and relief, enveloped Yacha in a tight embrace. "We thought we'd lost you!" Ursang exclaimed, his deep voice cracking with emotion. Laughter mingled with tears as the three of them clapped him on the back, disbelief giving way to celebration. The bond they shared was stronger now, forged in the fires of survival.
Their reunion was soon interrupted by the approach of a soldier. His expression was unreadable, his voice steady and commanding. "Follow me to the squadron commander's tent," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "They're waiting for you."
Without hesitation, Yacha and his friends complied. As they walked in step behind the soldier, Eline broke the tension with a grin. "We all passed the test," she said, excitement bubbling in her voice. "The three of us have been waiting for you to wake up so we can find out which battalion we're assigned to."
The group's shared anticipation was palpable. Ursang, ever the jokester, nudged Yacha with a playful elbow. "Speira cried, you know? She thought you would die," he teased with a smirk.
Rolling her eyes, Speira shot back without missing a beat, "As if any of you could keep up with me." She pushed past him with a grin, marching ahead as Ursang and Eline burst into laughter.
Eline, always quick to tease, added, "Guess we know who the real leader is now!" Ursang chimed in, "We might need to train just to keep up!"
The four of them approached the commander's tent, standing at attention behind the soldier. His expression remained stoic as he spoke with the same calm and steady voice, "Squadron commander Orcham. The four you asked for are here, sir."
A voice, deep and authoritative, responded from inside the tent.
"Enter."