Ned listened intently as Victor wrapped up his lecture. The room buzzed with subdued chatter, but Ned's mind was elsewhere, grappling with the wealth of information just presented. Victor's words had stirred something in him—not awe, but the realization of how little even the nobility knew about their own world.
As a former prince, Ned had access to the royal library, a vault of knowledge unparalleled by any public institution. That privilege, coupled with his insatiable curiosity, had shaped him into the person he was today. He had spent countless hours devouring books, poking his nose into the darkest corners of the archives. Perhaps his innate curiosity influenced his talent, or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, he knew more than the average citizen, and today's lecture only reinforced how much of history was hidden or altered.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he replayed Victor's words in his mind: the Age of Unbroken Sky, the Golden Era, the Cataclysm , the Accord of Forester. These weren't just historical markers; they were puzzle pieces, fragments of a truth far larger than what was taught in schools.
They say history is written by the victors, Ned thought, a bitter taste forming in his mouth. It's written so that the world knows only what the powerful want them to know.
From his readings, Ned had pieced together fragments of a story much darker than the one the Alliance promoted. The world before the Cataclysm had been prosperous, a golden age in its own right. Innovation was slower due to the lack of mana, but it was a peaceful time, unmarred by the horrors of magic and monsters. That peace shattered the moment the fissures appeared, vomiting out creatures that defied comprehension. Chaos reigned, and humanity found itself on the brink of extinction.
The official narrative claimed talents were a gift—a divine boon to fend off the monstrosities. But Ned had his doubts. Talents were indeed miraculous, but they brought with them an even greater curse: human greed. The stage they created wasn't just for heroes and saviors; it was also for the ambitious and the unscrupulous.
Ned's thoughts darkened. "No one is truly evil," he murmured to himself. "Or at least, they don't think they are." Many of the talented had started with noble intentions. Oppressed farmers, merchants crushed under the heel of feudal lords, and laborers bound by the chains of a heartless economy—they all saw talents as their ticket to freedom. But not everyone took the high road. For some, the path to power lay in domination and conquest.
One such group, he remembered, was _The Golden_. Born in the aftermath of the Alliance's formation, they sought to reshape Rior in their image. Their name—a clear allusion to the Golden Era—suggested a vision of prosperity. Yet their methods were anything but righteous. They challenged the Alliance at every turn, plunging the world into a century of bloodshed. While the official records depicted The Golden as a band of marauders and tyrants, Ned knew better.
The Golden almost won.
The Alliance's victory was a tenuous one, achieved through sheer attrition and the betrayal of The Golden's inner circle. Most of the group's leaders perished, but a few survived, vanishing into obscurity. Yet their legacy lingered, buried beneath layers of propaganda and deliberate erasure. The Alliance painted themselves as saviors, righteous and unblemished, while suppressing any mention of their adversaries' ideals.
"At the end of the day," Ned thought grimly, "the Cataclysm wasn't the worst thing to happen to Rior. It was the war that came after." The battle against monsters had lasted fifty years. Humanity's war against itself endured for more than a century.
Victor's version of events, while polished and eloquent, was still a lie. Ned stared at the retreating figure of the history teacher, his gait confident and his voice steady as he addressed a curious student. A preacher of half-truths, Ned mused, though he didn't entirely blame the man. Victor was a product of the world he lived in, bound by the same ignorance and propaganda as everyone else.
His thoughts drifted back to the royal library. Even with his privileged access, the archives held only fragments of the answers he sought. Questions burned in his mind, questions that refused to be silenced.
What are monsters? he wondered. What are talents? Where do they come from? Who was the guy from the Logs? Why did his world get destroyed? Will Rior heading that way too? What is the status window? Is it truly a gift from the gods, or is there something more… calculated behind it?
Ned clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He hated questions without answers. The uncertainty gnawed at him, his curiosity becoming both a strength and a curse. The royal library had failed him, but he wouldn't stop there. He would find a way to uncover the truth, even if it meant leaving the safety of the capital. Perhaps the logs from the watch—or even his strange class—held the answers he craved.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. The world was vast, filled with secrets waiting to be unearthed. And Ned Forester was nothing if not determined.
With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, gazing out the window at the sprawling cityscape of Nexus. Somewhere out there, hidden beneath layers of history and myth, lay the truth. And he would stop at nothing to find it.