"Are you ready, Metatron?" spoke a powerful man with flowing white hair, draped in a radiant, white robe above the sea of clouds.
"Yes, Father, I am," replied a young, muscular man with deep crimson hair and a body marked by scars across his chest.
The white-haired man gazed at his servants with a solemn expression.
Without needing a single command, the servants knew what was expected of them. All seven began to sing, their voices spanning from soprano to bass, creating a harmonic resonance.
"Hu," "Huu," "Huuu," "Huuuu," "Huuuuu," "Huuuuuu," "Huuuuuuuu."
After ten uninterrupted minutes, the notes began to merge, fusing into something extraordinary. The tones reached a new realm, a form of frequency magic.
Around the young, scarred man with crimson hair, small, blue particles in the air began to gather, swirling until they enveloped him completely.
He watched as the world around him shifted, his vision darkening until there was nothing but blackness.
The white-haired, muscular figure watched his son with a stern but sorrowful expression as the young man began to disappear.
"..."
"Metatron, do not forget your true name in the new world!" the majestic, white-haired man called out, his voice reverberating in a powerful echo created by the magic of sound.
But before his son could process the words, he vanished as though he had never existed. The servants, overwhelmed by exhaustion, collapsed unconscious.
With a furrowed brow, the white-haired man walked over to a crystal orb, watching as a small baby with deep crimson hair curled into a fetal position.
Ten years later...
"Has that little troublemaker picked another fight with the duke's child?! I can't believe it. What's to become of him?"
Slap!
The youngest prince of the Rose Region struck the face of a lesser duke's child.
The witnessing servant burst with rage, pulling the prince in one direction while the servant of the duke's child pulled him in the other.
One hour later...
Embarrassed, the king stood before the four dukes, apologizing for his son's behavior.
"I'll have a word with Snow. Don't worry; you will be compensated for this incident."
Pfff...
"Very well, I'll speak to my son, too, about not letting himself be so easily provoked."
Snow, the king's youngest son who had been observing the entire scene, noticed the lie in the duke's statement.
Snow had an innate passive ability to detect lies, an inherited skill from his rank within the Gardener class.
There were hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions of abilities yet to be discovered by mankind. One of the established truths known to humanity, however, was the existence of the seven classes:
Gardener [Plant]Blacksmith [Iron]Pirate [Water]Miner [Stone]Seer [Psychic]Priest [Holy]Musician [Frequency]Snow, over his ten years, had developed an affinity for plants, solidifying his place in the Gardener class. By secretly planting a small seed upon touching someone, he could immediately discern lies from truths.