Jexi City, the city of sin. A place where anything could be had, if you were willing to pay the price.
Kalem passed by the dimly lit alleyways, the smoke from cigars and burning incense curling into the air. Neon signs flashed overhead, advertising everything from casinos to strip clubs, and the endless rows of luxury penthouses glittered against the night sky like diamonds scattered across velvet. Everything had a price here. No one cared how you paid it—as long as you did.
It was a city built on excess, on indulgence, on people living their wildest fantasies. Anything you could imagine, anything you craved, was just a coin toss away.
But for Kalem, Jexi was just another place to survive.
His eyes darted over the drunks waking up on the sidewalks, their bodies strewn across the pavement like discarded trash. Some of them groaned and pulled themselves up, rubbing their faces, while others stayed still, the stench of cheap alcohol thick in the air. It wasn't even noon, and the streets were already teeming with the aftermath of last night's partygoers. Jexi's pulse was always alive, always chaotic—its heart never stopped beating, even if it was built on vice and greed.
Kalem had been here long enough to know that nothing in this city was sacred. People played with their lives, their money, their souls, and when it was all over, they were tossed aside like empty bottles. Nothing mattered in the end. Not the high-rise towers or the flashy lights, not the lustful promises or the intoxicating buzz.
Everything was a game.
And gods? They were no different.
Kalem's mind drifted as he made his way deeper into the city, his feet moving on autopilot. In a place like Jexi, where gods were real, it was easy to forget that they had once walked this earth, playing their games with mortals—gods of every shape, every form, every power. From mighty warlords to tricksters, from creatures of light to dark forces that lingered in the shadows, they all once lived among men.
But the gods had long since left. The Higher Plane called them back when they were finished with their "games," leaving behind only monsters to roam the streets. Creatures like the Devourers, beings of nightmare that were contracted out to powerful houses—houses that controlled much of Jexi and the rest of Kalos.
Kalem knew how it worked. The strong houses were everything here. If you didn't have bloodline connections to one of them, you were nothing. Without power, without divine favor, you were just another nameless face in the crowd.
Those born with the blood of gods—their descendants—held the real power. That blood was everything. They were the ones who could command divine beasts, monsters like the Devourers, and control entire sectors of the city with the flick of a wrist. For those born with godly blood, life was a constant game of power, manipulation, and control. Some houses took pride in their divine heritage, while others used their bloodlines as a weapon, crushing anyone who got in their way.
But even bloodlines couldn't guarantee your survival. Only blessings were random—whether you received a divine gift, an ability that was unique to your lineage, was up to the gods themselves. And the gods, of course, were unpredictable, merciless in their whims. A blessing could be anything from a gift of strength to the ability to communicate with the spirits. It could even be something more destructive, like the ability to summon and control beasts.
Kalem didn't have the blood of a god. He didn't have a blessing, either. But there were whispers in the streets that he had something else—something that wasn't tied to blood, something that could make him rise above the rest. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was a pull in him, a deep, unshakable yearning for more.
He had been born a street rat. But that didn't mean he had to stay one.
As he walked through the crowded streets of Jexi, past half-drunk gamblers and lushly dressed highborn women flirting with men who had more money than sense, Kalem couldn't help but think about his future. The Dregs—his hideout, his home for now—wasn't a safe haven. It was just another corner of the city where those with no name and no power could hide out for a while, surrounded by thieves and desperate souls.
Kalem clenched his fists, feeling the rough fabric of his stolen cloak against his skin. He didn't belong in The Dregs, just like he didn't belong in the streets. He wasn't going to spend his life scrapping for crumbs, running from shadows. He wanted more. He deserved more.
He had to find a way to rise, to make a name for himself. Kalem didn't know how, not yet—but he would. He would make the gods pay attention. He would get something more than just a blessing, more than just bloodline. He would take what he wanted, no matter the cost.
Give it to me, he thought, the hunger in him growing.
As he passed another gang of drunks, the smell of cheap booze heavy in the air, Kalem's thoughts lingered on the blood-red crystal. He had felt something in it, something that drew him in deeper. Maybe it was connected to the gods somehow, or maybe it was just another piece of the puzzle that would get him closer to the power he craved.
*I will rise,* Kalem swore silently, pushing past the bustling crowd. *And when I do, no one will be able to stop me.*