He paused, letting the children lean in subtly, eyes glinting in the dim light. "The world is seperated into 4 regions; the North, South, East, and the West.
The south, where you were born, lies fractured. Noble families renounced their names, uniting under the common banner of the House of Daraja.Those who resisted were erased. The merchant union controls the trade. Meanwhile, the Nightwalkers carved out their own kingdom, leaving the land divided into three.
The West,is home to imperials like me, strategists, investors, and soldiers who control the tides of wealth and influence, it is the most influential region. And is ruled by 8 dukes who form the western conclave.
The North is wild and untamed, its people are hardy, often called barbarians.There a man's worth is measured by how big his fist is.
The East are the pure ones in short pure; they're just a bunch of self righteous hypocrites really....never say this to they're face, lest you find a dagger gently lodged into your heart". He said with a bemused smile. "It's divided into two great schools."
The children absorbed his words in silence, their taste for knowledge apparent.
He rose, stretched slightly, and yawned "Get some rest," he said, "Don't try anything funny. My eyes will be on you." With that, he turned, the lantern light flickering across his sharp features.
Azrael, however, did not move. "What exactly do you want to do with us?" he asked, voice steady but tinged with defiance.
The butler paused, locking eyes with the boy. The intensity of his gaze pressed down on Azrael like a weight, forcing the child to lower his eyes. Silence stretched between them before Nuel sat back down.
"The Western conclave," he began."Made the decision to dismantle the noble academy and the commoner academy and merge them to create a unified academy bringing together commoners and nobles alike. Any child who awakens an arcanum will be trained there. As for why such a decision was made, I do not know.
If, by graduation, you have proven yourself by mastering a useful arcanum, you will be made a minor noble. If you contribute greatly to the west you could rise to a hereditary noble and all your descendants will be imperials."
The children's eyes widened. Nobles? Freedom? It sounded too incredible to be true.
Malik, curiosity overtaking him, asked, "What is arcanum? And how do we get one?"
Nuel let out a measured sigh, as if gathering his thoughts, then spoke. "There are five paths to immortality in this world."
The first is the arcanum system; the awakening and training of your soul sigil; shamanism, also called ancestor magic, which uses the strength of ancestors to cast spells.
Bloodline curses, one of such is the nightwalkers.
The path of Dharma which strengthens the body through meditation.
And runic mysticism, which involves inscribing runes upon your body to gain physical prowess and unique attributes.
A persons power is divided into degrees the weakest being 1st degree and the strongest being the 9th degree.
Each path is dominant in a particular region: shamanism and bloodline curses in the South, arcanum in the West and some parts of the north, runic mysticism in the North, and Dharma in the East.
However, talent is not bound by geography. Some may excel in one path; some may find they have no gift at all."
He paused, letting the words settle over the children. "Now rest. We should arrive at our destination tomorrow."
With that, Nuel walked away. The three children exchanged glances, excitement glimmering in their eyes despite the exhaustion. They lay on their backs, staring at the dim lantern light, trying to let sleep claim them.
Malik whispered to Liyana, hesitation lacing his voice, "Are we… still escaping?"
She turned to him, her usual mischievous smile plastered across her face. "Of course not, silly. We're going to that Western region, and we're going to become nobles."
He smiled back, reassured.
Azrael let out a long sigh, closing his eyes. Sleep eluded him, the thrill of what he had just learned coursed through him. It was going to be a long night.
*****
Dawn broke as the group stirred from their rest, beginning the final leg of their journey to the West. Slowly, the terrain shifted around them. The ruins and tangled forests gave way to orderly villages, neatly aligned roads, and cultivated fields. Everything seemed alien to the Shadeek children, too clean, too precise, too civilized.
At one point, Malik emitted a startled squeak, his fingers pointing toward a 4 wheeled carriage emiting slight smoke through a pipe, gliding along the road without a horse. "Is that arcanum?" he asked, eyes wide.
Nuel chuckled softly, amused by the rare display of astonishment from the normally stoic boy. "No," he replied, "that is not arcanum. It is a new field technology. You will encounter more of it in time."
Every unusual sight drew a question from the children, and Nuel answered when he felt inclined; otherwise, a slight frown from him was enough to silence them instantly.
Eventually, the carriage came to a stop near a small village. Nuel guided the three Shadeek children into a nearby inn, leaving them locked inside while he returned with a large bag and two assistants. Swiftly, the assistants placed the slim children inside the bag, one after another, and carried them into the nearby forest. At a quiet stream, they were freed. Nuel emptied some coins into the hands of the men, who nodded in thanks and vanished into the trees.
The children stood wary, curiosity flickering in their eyes. Nuel approached and removed their bonds. For the first time in years, they could move freely. "Strip," he commanded. Without hesitation, they complied. "Jump in the stream," he added, producing brushes and soap. "You have five minutes." With a small stopwatch in hand, he began counting.
The children hurried, scrubbing at the grime and stench accumulated from years of captivity. Their eyes, fixed on the water, paid little heed to one another; there was nothing to see but bones and skin. When they finished, they dried themselves and exchanged rare, tentative smiles as Nuel handed them garments the boys wore long sleeved linen shirts, with rolled up sleeves, sturdy trousers held up by
suspenders, leather boots and a cap, Liyana wore a plain cotton dress.
He attended to them one by one. Liyana first, he brushed her hair, packing it into a tidy bun; only a professional could create a proper plait. Malik came next; Nuel shaved his hair into a neat buzz cut, to the boy's
quiet satisfaction. When it was Azrael's turn, he resisted violently, screaming at Nuel's attempts. Several firm, deliberate slaps subdued him enough for Nuel to crop his hair to shoulder-length, then pack it neatly a compromise that satisfied the boy.
The children were lined up, facing away, as
Nuel washed himself in the stream. After a few minutes, he stepped back.
"Turn."
Before then stood a man in his forties, with streaks of silver in his neatly combed coffee brown hair and a face lined by years of service. His three-piece black suit was flawless, waistcoat buttoned, trousers crisp,
shoes polished to a shine.
A silver pocket watch hung from his vest, the chain glinting with every subtle movement, His presence was calm but absolute. Under his watchful gaze, the children followed
him silently back to the village, mounted the carriage once more, and continued
their journey into the West.