Ezram and Montelia
The kingdoms of the lower humans, or at least that was what the game called them. In this world, there existed different creatures: the elves, kaleeds, dwarfs, sea nymphs, vampires, wolf-kin, and dragons.
The reason this world was not in absolute chaos was solely because of the dragons that kept the peace between all these creatures, but that didn't mean they didn't have squabbles from time to time, even internally, as there were two types of humans: the lesser and the higher humans.
Ezram and Montelia were the kingdoms of the lesser humans, while Albion held the higher humans. Well, it wasn't as simple as that. The reason Albion held that title was because most of the humans in Albion were, for some reason, stronger than those of the other kingdoms, and they claimed it was because they were the descendants of some god. No one really knew, but it didn't mean those from the other kingdoms couldn't be stronger—no, it just meant those from Albion had more starting power in the world of ascension. But what was a little more boost without the effort to keep going? Still, the notion persisted, and the discrimination was more evident in the Arcane Legacy.
The academy owned by the dragons—all races vied for a spot at the academy as it was the greatest learning hub, the ultimate of them all, the apex of knowledge. It was where the next heroes that could save the world were created. Yes, heroes.
You see, gods existed in this world, but the thing was, the gods didn't just rule one world—they ruled multiple worlds, and there came a time when they got bored and decided to play games.
This was what the Arcane Legacy was built for: to grow those who would battle against heroes of other worlds to save theirs, just as it had happened in the past.
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The Kingdoms of Ezram and Montelia
In the sprawling world of Aetheria, where magic flowed as naturally as rivers and political tensions simmered like a pot always on the verge of boiling over, two kingdoms stood as testament to humanity's complex hierarchy: Ezram and Montelia.
The game developers had rather bluntly labeled them "kingdoms of the lower humans," which always struck players as unnecessarily harsh. After all, this world teemed with fascinating creatures—elegant elves with their centuries of wisdom, the mysterious Kaleeds with their shapeshifting abilities, sturdy dwarfs who could forge weapons that sang with power, ethereal sea nymphs who commanded the very tides, brooding vampires with their ancient grudges, fierce wolf-kins whose loyalty was legendary, and of course, the dragons.
Ah, the dragons. The only reason this magical powder keg hadn't exploded into absolute chaos centuries ago was because these magnificent, terrifying creatures had appointed themselves the world's peacekeepers. They maintained a delicate balance between all the races, though that didn't prevent the occasional squabble—or the more persistent internal tensions that plagued humanity itself.
You see, humans came in two distinct varieties in this world: the "lesser" and the "higher" humans. Ezram and Montelia housed the former, while the gleaming kingdom of Albion claimed superiority as the realm of the latter. It wasn't quite as simple as a caste system, though it certainly felt like one at times.
Albion's claim to superiority rested on a curious phenomenon: most humans born within its borders possessed naturally higher magical potential than those from other kingdoms. The Albionites insisted this was because they descended from some ancient god—a claim that was impossible to verify and convenient to make. Whether this divine ancestry was real or not, the practical result was undeniable: Albion's citizens started their journey in the world of ascension with what amounted to a magical head start.
Of course, having a boost at the beginning meant nothing without the dedication to keep climbing. Many from Ezram and Montelia had surpassed their supposedly superior neighbors through sheer determination and skill. But the notion of inherent superiority persisted, creating a social divide that was most apparent in one particular place: the Arcane Legacy Academy.
The Academy was the crown jewel of education in this world, owned and operated by the dragons themselves. Every race competed fiercely for admission because it wasn't just the greatest learning hub—it was the ultimate forge where future heroes were shaped. And heroes, as it turned out, were desperately needed.
The gods existed in this realm, but they were far from the benevolent, focused deities one might expect. Instead, they were cosmic beings who ruled multiple worlds simultaneously, and like any beings with too much power and too much time, they occasionally grew bored. When gods got bored, they played games. Dangerous games. Games that involved pitting the heroes of different worlds against each other in conflicts that would determine which realm survived and which would be destroyed.
This was the true purpose of the Arcane Legacy Academy: to cultivate champions who could face heroes from other worlds and emerge victorious, ensuring their own world's survival. It had happened before, and it would happen again.
Crackle.
The sound of dying embers was the first thing that reached Anna's consciousness as her eyes fluttered open to reveal the star-scattered night sky above.
"Huh?" she murmured, confusion clouding her thoughts. She tried to move, and in the next instant, reality crashed back with brutal clarity.
Pain. Overwhelming, consuming pain that seemed to radiate from every fiber of her being.
"Kyaa!" The cry tore from her throat before she could stop it.
"Could you possibly avoid attracting ether beasts?" came a voice, casual and irritatingly calm.
Anna turned her head—a movement that sent fresh waves of agony through her body—to find a young man sitting nearby, methodically eating what appeared to be roasted rabbit. The sight was almost surreal in its normalcy.
"You..." she began, and then the memories hit.
Everything came rushing back: the confrontation, the fight, the moment when everything had gone so terribly wrong. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to process it all, then suddenly remembered something crucial.
Her spatial ring. The healing potions stored within it.
Her eyes snapped open, and her gaze immediately went to her hand. Empty. Then she spotted it—her own ring on the finger of the man who had put her in this condition.
"My ring... give it back," she managed through gritted teeth, each word a struggle against the pain that surged with every movement.
"Hm?" He tilted his head. "It seems you still don't understand the gravity of your situation." He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Anna's vision began to blur red around the edges, whether from pain or rage, she couldn't tell. "I don't know what you did to me, but I swear—if you don't give me back my ring right now, I WILL MELT YOUR BONES!"
Her eyes blazed with fierce blue light.
Then he looked at her, really looked at her, and that feeling returned.
Dread. Pure, primal dread.
"Stop breathing."
The words left his lips with casual indifference, but Anna's body responded as if they were an absolute command from the universe itself.
"KYAAAAAAAAAAA!"
The scream that erupted from her throat was inhuman. Pain unlike anything she had ever experienced—worse than broken bones, worse than magical backlash, worse than any torture she could have imagined—consumed her entire being. Her body wasn't simply preventing her from breathing; it was forcing her to stop, overriding every natural instinct for survival.
But how could she stop breathing? She would die! The contradiction tore at her mind while her body convulsed in confusion and agony.
The pain built and built, becoming something so overwhelming that her consciousness began to fray at the edges. Her body shook, trembled, and writhed as she fought against an impossible command. Tears streamed down her face as she occasionally managed to cease breathing for a few seconds, only to resume gasping a moment later when the pain from her broken bones provided a different kind of torment.
"That should do it," he commented.
With methodical precision, he gathered his hard-earned sticks of roasted rabbit, securing them carefully by the side of his trousers—new clothes he'd acquired from her ring, probably meant for someone named Auston. With considerable effort, he climbed up into the nearest tree, settling himself comfortably on a branch.
From his elevated perch, he watched her rolling, crying, and screaming. He'd never seen her cry before, which meant the pain must truly be abundant.
"Very good," he murmured, though there was no satisfaction in his tone. No glee, no triumph—only a chilling indifference that was somehow more terrifying than any display of cruelty would have been.
He swung one leg over the branch and gazed up at the moon through the leaves, his mind already moving on to calculating his next move. "Hm," he hummed thoughtfully. "The north pole it is."
With that decision made, he closed his eyes and settled in for sleep, as calm and untroubled as if the sounds of suffering below were nothing more than crickets chirping in the night.
"HELP! PLEASE! UGH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Her cries echoed through the forest, but there was no one to hear them—no one except the man in the tree who had already tuned them out, and the nocturnal creatures who had learned long ago that some sounds were best avoided.