The desert slums burned beneath the sun. Stone cracked, sand swallowed and the air shimmered with heat
Dice walked alone. His cloak was ragged, boots worn thin but his stride never faltered. Black hair fell across his face, messy from the desert wind.
Beneath his eyes were three dark marks cut into his skin. They weren't scars, they were a brand of exile - punishment carved by royal decree. Each line carried meaning. Disobedience, betrayal and exile. Together they marked him as a traitor to the crown.
People in the slums avoided him. Mothers pulled children away, merchants turned their backs. The branded were dangerous, cursed. That was the law
Dice's steel-gray eyes narrowed.
So be it.
"You are no son of mine."
The words echoed in his mind, sharp as the day they were spoken.
He had been a child back then. A prince. A shadow in the palace halls. He had seen cruelty, slaves beaten, nobles feasting while the people starved. He had tried to resist but his elder brother silenced him every time, loyal to their father's command
So Dice acted. He freed one slave. Just one.
And for that his father finally spoke to him. Not with pride, not with recognition but with fury.
He was cast out of the palace, branded beneath his eyes and thrown into the desert.
But the desert didn't welcome him
Hunger gnawed first.
Thirst followed.
Then loneliness
Nights were the worst. Cries of children faded into silence leaving only the wind. Dice lay awake staring at the stars. His dark marks beneath his eyes caught the moonlight
Was saving one life worth losing my own?
He clenched his staff tighter. The weapon shimmered into existence, polished and engraved, the only remnant of his past.
"No... it has to be."
Years passed, and the boy became a man
He saw soldiers raid the slums dragging children away.
He saw merchants cheat the starving selling scraps for gold.
He saw corpses buried in the shallow graves, forgotten by the world.
Each sight was a wound.
Each wound became a vow.
I will burn the system that made this
Under the pale moonlight Dice stood among the ruins at the edge of the desert.
He raised his hand and the air rippled. A thin crack of light split open beside his palm bending the wind toward it. For an instant it looked as though reality itself had been torn.
From that fracture the staff slid out, smooth, engraved, gleaming faintly as if it had always been waiting. It dropped into his grip with a weight that felt inevitable.
This power... it's mine alone.
The pocket sealed shut, vanishing without a trace. Only the weapon remained, solid and real shining under the moonlight like a promise.
The three black marks beneath his eyes glowed faintly in the night. to the world they meant danger. To Dice they meant freedom, proof that he had chosen defiance over obedience.
He was no longer the boy who begged his brother for mercy.
He was the exile who had survived the desert's cruelty.
And tonight... destiny stirred.
Somewhere in the shadows another figure waited. scarred, burning, carrying flames that could consume the world.
Dice's steel-gray eyes narrowed.
The desert wind howled.
The game was about to begin.