A castle loomed like a wound on the black horizon—its spires clawing upward into a starless sky. Set upon the jagged surface of Ofratrea's smallest moon, Mesopotamians, the fortress stood alone, cursed by time, crowned in silence. The darkness around it was not night, but something deeper—like the absence of dreams.
Then, above the rim of space, the planet Ofratrea itself began to rise—an enormous orb of blue and fire, revealing the mega-continent of Lofatringia in distant silhouette.
As its glow swept over the moon's rocky plains, the castle stirred. Lights of every color streamed toward its spires—spirits, sigils, ancient powers converging. The black stones drank them in until the castle pulsed red—alive once more.
Inside, a chamber came alight: seventeen grand chairs surrounded a stone table, each occupied by a figure marked by power, fear, and legend. On every body, a unique Marking shimmered.
The blue-bearded man at the head of the table stood.
"Today," he said, "a new Marker has been born. The Marking of the Sword."
His voice cut through the air like a blade.
He was Rodal Ullr Corent (Conjuror Rank 1), an Arch Demon, barely 4'4", but radiating an aura that bent the room around him—a brilliant blue shield marking pulsed on his forehead.
Immediately, voices rose in excitement, mockery, and caution.
"Ooooh, is he cute?" purred Shiba Iris Miotaka (Conjuror Rank 4), a towering Dragon woman cloaked in a flower-patterned cape, her skin moon-pale, her eyes an endless twilight. She giggled, licking her lips. "I can't wait to have a taste of him~."
Taller still and far more annoyed, Shijna Moses Loviont (Conjuror Rank 12), a high elf with pink hair streaked red, scoffed from his seat. A battle-axe mark glowed on his stomach.
"Can't he just die already? Ugh. This is such a pain…"
Dark laughter echoed from Claosa Takemikazuchi Nochoki (Conjuror Rank 8), a seductive dark elf draped in tight golden silk. Her eyes shimmered like the sea before a storm. A card-shaped marking glowed on her bare foot.
"Can I experiment on him first?" she cooed.
Beside her, two teenagers shared a chair.
The girl, Latia Lova Clidos (Conjuror Rank 10), sat lazily on the lap of her twin brother, Domion (Conjuror Rank 10). Their eyes were mismatched mirrors—gold and silver, silver and gold. Their twin Markings, two swords—one left, one right—glowed on their joined hands.
"Would the sword marking be fun?" Latia asked.
"I hope he's strong," Domion murmured, barely audible.
From the far end of the table, a massive orc stood up, his skin green and scarred, arrows lodged into his back like forgotten memories. His name was Clovis Deanis Lopratís (Conjuror Rank 15), and the bow-shaped marking across his shoulder blade shimmered.
"Let me fight him," he growled. "Spar, spar, spar—"
The oldest voice in the room belonged to Thomas Seshat Clovis III (Conjuror Rank 2), a demi-god clothed in layers of luxurious fabric and wisdom. Multiple glasses framed his sharp gaze. A tome marking glowed on his palm.
"The last time the sword marking appeared, the world almost ended," he muttered, flipping open a golden-inked book. "Three centuries ago... Grova Lionheart. A noble who wielded Moss Magic. It twisted time itself. Had Radiant Dawn and the Time Master not intervened..."
" … " Sato Logiats Kroifing (Conjuror Rank 3), 4'11", sat across the other end of the table, black bangs falling straight down, covering his eyes. He held a coffin, his marking on his neck shaped as a fist.
Claosa raised an eyebrow. "We need someone close to him, then. Someone to guide him."
"No thank you," she added quickly, catching Clovis' glance. "That elf girl of his would gut me."
Silence fell.
Then a voice, smooth as moonlight, emerged from the shadows.
"I'll go."
A tall man stepped into view, his golden robes twinkling like starlight. In his eyes burned a spear-shaped marking—burning yellow.
"Rotiun Lugh R'hllor," Rodal intoned. "Conjuror. Rank 5."
Rotiun bowed. "I will watch the boy. I'll stay hidden."
Rodal tossed him a glowing black stone. "A communication stone. Do not lose it."
Rotiun nodded. With a flick of his cloak, he vanished into light.
Then, from the darkest corner of the room, a voice like rusted chains rang out.
"The Order of Swords… it's the only Order that can stop them."
Everyone turned toward the speaker—Sato Logiats Kroifing, a human hunched over a coffin, blood on his fingers, a fist-shaped marking carved into his neck.
A long pause.
Then Rodal whispered, "It's alive...?"
Without another word, the entire chamber shimmered, and one by one, the Markers vanished—leaving behind only stone and silence.
The castle cracked. Walls collapsed. And as the moon turned in its orbit, the ruins fell back into shadow.
.........................................
The twin suns—Ra and Surya—rose in the west, casting golden light across the kingdom of Loipetras. The war-scarred city glowed with soft warmth, and near its eastern edge, nestled between stone homes, sat a small wooden cabin.
The door creaked open.
Achlys stumbled out, eyes half-closed, Cryo curled like a warm scarf around his head.
"Morning, Mom…" he yawned.
Mariola, seated with a cup of tea, yawned in reply. "Did you sleep at all?"
Achlys collapsed onto the floor. "A woman wouldn't let me."
Mariola sighed. "We need a bigger house…"
She left, still in her pajamas.
Tiabishi emerged behind him, arms wrapping around his chest.
"Good morning, Achy," she whispered, kissing his cheek.
He turned to embrace her—and immediately fell asleep in her arms.
She giggled.
.........................................
Five hours later, Achlys woke with his head in Tiabishi's lap. Both had changed—Tiabishi wore a battle-ready dress over light armor, and Achlys dressed in sharp black with a shoulder-fastened cape.
A knock.
"Tiabishi, can you get that?"
She opened the door. No one. Only a letter on the ground.
"Achy… we got mail."
Achlys shot up. "Really?! Let me see!"
He grabbed it with childlike excitement.
Tiabishi's aura darkened.
"Achlys."
He froze.
"Don't ever startle me like that again!"
She slapped him. A loud slap. The neighborhood froze for a moment.
Achlys, with a glowing red palm on his cheek, read the letter aloud:
"Achlys.
You and Tiabishi are invited to the castle.
You shall attend my re-crowning.
Come by tomorrow.
3 PM sharp.
—Akatsuki"
.........................................
The castle was alive with celebration. From all across the empire—demi-humans, elves, demons, beasts, and even monsters had gathered in the massive throne hall.
At the edge of the royal aisle, Achlys stood beside Tiabishi, her hand wrapped tightly around his. Mariola hovered nearby, half-amused.
"The re-crowning of King Akatsuki…" someone whispered.
They turned. A tall green-skinned orc woman walked past them.
"I'm Izzy. Female orc," she said bluntly. "Be careful. The one who uses the sword of Nota is watching you."
Then she vanished.
Achlys froze. Tiabishi caught the fear in his eyes.
"Achlys?" she whispered. "Are you okay?"
He forced a smile. "Yeah. I'm fine. Let's go."
.........................................
Above, in the negotiation chamber…
Akatsuki sat in silence, fingers pressed together, watching the knights assemble.
"Leave me with Saria for a moment."
The room emptied. Nox remained near the window, silent.
Minutes later, Akatsuki descended into the great throne room, flanked by Saria and Nox. Cheers erupted.
He raised a hand.
"People of Loipetras, thank you for coming!" The room fell silent. "I want to thank the heroes who defended this kingdom while I was gone."
Saria and Nox nodded humbly.
"Tiabishi. Persephone. Step forward."
The crowd applauded as the two women stepped onto the dais.
Tiabishi leaned toward him. "Where's Achlys?"
Akatsuki placed a finger to his lips, smiling.
He handed them both shimmering blue shards. "These are Power Stones—to amplify your powers. You've earned them."
The room clapped again.
Then Akatsuki turned. "And now… Achlys. Step forward."
Achlys emerged, uncertain.
And Akatsuki's smile turned cold.
"You are hereby banished from the empire."
Silence. Breathless.
"You are a danger to our people. To this world."
Achlys staggered.
Saria looked down, unable to meet his eyes.
Tiabishi's heart shattered. Persephone froze.
"Escort him out," Akatsuki ordered. "Saria will handle it."
The crowd erupted—not with cheers, but with venom.
"TRAITOR!"
"GET OUT!"
"ROT IN A BUSH!"
"Wait—is there something to eat?"
Tomatoes flew. Coins. Rotten fruit.
Achlys stood, paralyzed in disbelief, as the throne behind him faded into shadow.