Mercury was a world that had grown old before its people realized it. Its eight continents—Valhalla, Xylanthia, Toth, Sireus, Willowdene, Samsura, Castria, and Luminous—each held their own secrets, their own hierarchies, their own social divides. Valhalla was the seat of government, gleaming towers of steel and glass where laws were written in a language of power and prestige. Xylanthia was known for its scholarly academies and sprawling libraries, where knowledge was currency and intellect could elevate a man from nothing to nobility. Toth's deserts and canyons hid industrial empires controlled by families who had long mastered the art of influence, while Sireus held vast coastlines where trade ruled over justice, and corruption flowed as freely as the tides. Willowdene, with its forests and rivers, seemed idyllic from afar, yet beneath the veneer of tranquility, disputes over land and resources ran deep. Samsura, the continent of tradition and religion, was a place where faith dictated law and devotion could either protect or ruin a life. Castria, Aldric Benedict's home, was a middle ground of sorts—a place where average citizens and struggling families tried to exist under the shadows of nobles who cared little for them. Luminous, the smallest continent, was where wealth concentrated in near-mythical luxury; the air shimmered with tech and opulence, the streets paved with the kind of gold that made ordinary men feel invisible.
It was in Castria, in a modest apartment tucked into the lower levels of a crumbling building, that Aldric Benedict's life unfolded—not in headlines, not in stories told by those in power, but in quiet, unnoticed struggle. The smell of rain-damp concrete seeped through the thin walls of their apartment as Aldric sat at the small wooden table, a half-empty cup of coffee cooling beside him. Outside, the streets were alive with the low hum of traffic and the occasional shout of children playing, a stark reminder of the world continuing its indifferent march.
Aldric, twenty-two years old, had once been a college student, ambitious and eager, until life's weight forced him to drop out. His mother had grown ill with a condition that left her fragile and often bedridden, her breaths shallow and punctuated with coughs that made him flinch every time. His father, once a man of commanding presence, was now a shadow of himself, crippled from the spine down after an accident that had gone insufficiently treated due to lack of funds. And there were his siblings—two young, innocent souls who trusted him with a faith he felt he could never fully live up to. Every day, Aldric was both caretaker and provider, carrying burdens too heavy for a man his age, yet never complaining aloud.
"Morning, Aldric," a small voice called from the doorway. It was his little sister, Mira, her hair still mussed from sleep, her eyes wide with unspoken questions about the day ahead. "Did you sleep?"
Aldric gave a tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "As well as I could. Go help your brother get dressed, I'll make breakfast."
Mira nodded and scampered off, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the quiet ticking of the clock. The weight of the day pressed on him like a physical force. Bills, errands, the constant worry over medicine, the dread of another rejection if he dared seek work—all of it collided in his mind. He pushed the anxiety aside and began preparing their breakfast: eggs scrambled just so, toast, and a small dish of fruit salvaged from the corner store.
After breakfast, Aldric cleared the table and sat down at his battered laptop. He had spent the morning scrolling through employment boards, sending resumes, and watching his hopes dim with each polite rejection—or worse, the silence that implied judgment before even consideration. He felt the creeping despair that had visited him so often before, the gnawing sense that no matter how hard he tried, the world did not care.
It was then, between the frustration of failure and the quiet desperation that weighed him down, that he stumbled upon it. A banner ad, subtle but insistent: "Study Law at Mercury Institute—Free Enrollment for Qualified Applicants. Deadline: June 10th."
Aldric frowned. It sounded like a fantasy, a trick, or a ploy. No one gave away education without strings. Yet something in the phrasing—the promise of opportunity, the formal, almost aristocratic grandeur of the announcement—stirred a long-dormant spark of curiosity.
He clicked. The page loaded quickly, sleek and professional. It outlined a program open to anyone with intelligence and determination, emphasizing merit over birthright, skill over circumstance. It spoke of studying remotely, of training in law with practical courtroom simulations, of learning systems that governed not only Castria but all of Mercury: civil, common, customary, religious, and mixed legal traditions. Criminal law, civil law, constitutional law, administrative law—all offered in an immersive environment designed to cultivate a new kind of lawyer, one capable of defending the defenseless and understanding the machinery of justice in a world that often ignored it.
His eyes lingered on the deadline: June 10th. Today was the 8th. Two days. Too short for preparation, too short for hesitation. His first instinct was to dismiss it; something so perfect could not be true. But he saved the page anyway, bookmarking it, staring at the blinking cursor of the word processor that lay open before him.
He leaned back, letting his chair creak under him, and exhaled slowly. He thought of his mother lying in bed, her face pale, her coughs punctuating the air. He thought of his father, the way his hands trembled as he tried to navigate life from a wheelchair. He thought of Mira and little Julian, trusting him to provide, to protect, to keep their world from collapsing. And for the first time in hours, he felt a flicker of resolve.
"I… I can't give up," he whispered to the empty room. "I won't. Not for them."
Hours passed as Aldric researched law on the internet. He read about civil law and its codified statutes derived from Roman traditions. He read about common law, rooted in precedent and the meticulous judgment of past cases. He read about customary law, its reliance on tradition and culture, and religious law, binding the faithful to edicts older than most kingdoms. Mixed systems fascinated him—the blending of these traditions to suit unique societies. And then there were the areas of law themselves: criminal law, civil disputes, constitutional law, administrative law, statutory law. Each field a vast ocean of rules, logic, and principle, all aimed at a singular purpose: justice.
By evening, Aldric had his application composed. It was more than a letter; it was a declaration of his life, his struggles, and his intellect. He wrote with formality and grace, with an eloquence born of desperation and innate intelligence. He did not shy away from his failures, but he framed them as the crucible that had forged his resilience. He wrote of his desire not only to learn but to serve, to wield the law as a shield for those who could not defend themselves. He infused each sentence with the quiet pride of someone who had fought life with nothing but grit, heart, and mind.
After rereading it for the hundredth time, he pressed send. A quiet chime indicated submission.
He slumped back in his chair, exhaustion washing over him. His mind drifted, thinking of the road ahead: studying from home, balancing work, care, and education, facing challenges unlike any he had yet known.
And then the notification arrived: June 9th — Application Approved.
He stared at the screen, disbelief and elation warring in equal measure. Tomorrow, he would attend his first trial simulation at Mercury Institute. A test awaited him, one that would examine his knowledge of law, his ability to handle clients, and his courtroom presence. He would be given a case, a client accused of a crime, and an opposing counsel ready to challenge him.
Aldric's mind raced with possibilities. He knew this test would not just measure knowledge—it would measure him, his intuition, his moral compass, and his ability to stand when the world was against him. And in the back of his mind, a shadow of suspicion stirred. How could such a flawless opportunity exist in a world as harsh as Mercury? Why had it chosen him, of all people?
For the first time in years, he felt both fear and hope—a mixture that electrified his senses. He knew the road ahead would be perilous, but he also knew he would not walk it alone. His family depended on him, and somehow, that alone was enough to steel his resolve.
As night deepened and the city lights flickered through the thin curtains, Aldric leaned back, closed his eyes, and allowed himself a rare moment of rest. Tomorrow, his life would begin again—not in the streets, not in the failures of yesterday, but in the halls of law, where knowledge was power, and power was the first step toward justice.
Somewhere deep within Mercury, unseen forces observed all things. And Aldric Benedict, ordinary in appearance yet extraordinary in mind, had just stepped into a game far larger than he could imagine.