Year 266 of Azaria
Spring, Third Month – Lazarus City
No sound accompanied Jeremiah Azaria except the wailing and broken sobs of his people, echoing endlessly across the great circular plaza at the heart of Lazarus. Men and women lay scattered across the stone ground—children beside elders, merchants beside soldiers—motionless beneath thin sheets of cloth and the tunics they had worn at the moment of death. The plaza had become a sea of stillness interrupted only by grief.
Every time Jeremiah's gaze drifted across the rows of bodies, the same sight greeted him without mercy: cursed blue crystal protruding from skin and flesh. Jagged growths jutted from faces, throats, chests, thighs, and legs, as though the land itself had rejected their humanity and replaced it with cold mineral shards.
The king continued forward with heavy steps, his boots crunching softly against fragments scattered along the ground. At his side walked his son, Zaden Azaria, followed by five royal guards clad in silver armor identical to the prince's own. Their polished plates reflected the dim light of dusk, yet none among them spoke.
Jeremiah's head remained bowed as he walked. His shoulders sagged beneath a weight no crown could balance. Death had taken his people without warning, crushing his resolve with merciless force. The strength and dignity once praised by Netzaleh now lay in ruins, stripped bare by a truth he could no longer deny.
They had died beneath falling blue crystal—shards said to descend from the Sky itself.
Nearly half of Lazarus lay broken. Homes collapsed. Roofs caved inward. Walls fractured under the crystalline barrage. Yet the destruction marked only the beginning. What followed proved far worse.
Sickness spread through the city like a tide without restraint.
Men and women clawed at their skin as crystalline growths emerged across their bodies. Panic tore through the streets. Netzaleh citizens rushed toward the palace, gasping for breath as lungs tightened, legs buckled, vision dimmed, hearing faded, and voices vanished into shrinking throats. One by one, they collapsed, ending their agony beneath the so-called blessing cast from above.
Jeremiah halted.
His eyes locked onto two bodies resting side by side near the plaza's edge.
A woman—his age.
A younger girl—draped in a long gown, her throat and torso overtaken by the same blue crystal.
They lay peacefully, eyes closed, faces pale, breath long gone.
Jeremiah's legs trembled as he approached them. Tears escaped without resistance, sliding down his cheeks the moment recognition struck. He had always believed they would pass quietly in old age, surrounded by warmth. Never had he imagined such an end—claimed by the Sky's so-called decree.
"Zaden," Jeremiah called, his voice breaking as the sobs subsided.
His son stepped forward at once, grief mirrored plainly across his expression.
"Remember this moment," Jeremiah said, forcing himself to speak. "This is when the Sky cursed your mother, your sister, and countless among our people through its arrogance. I want you to swear within your heart that Azaria will never kneel until the Sky itself apologizes for delivering death so carelessly upon Netzaleh."
Zaden removed his silver helmet and nodded.
Jeremiah saw his son clearly now—the dark hair falling near his shoulders, pale skin, blue eyes reflecting his own. The difference lay only in the streaks of gray within Jeremiah's hair and the deep lines carved by time upon his face.
"Why did the Sky curse us?" Zaden asked quietly. "What crime did we commit? I do not even know what the Sky truly is."
"That ignorance is its arrogance," Jeremiah replied. "If the heavens introduce themselves through chaos, then we shall answer with devastation far greater."
"So we strike back using what it left behind?" Zaden pressed. "I still cannot understand its intent."
Jeremiah placed a firm hand upon his son's shoulder before turning away, resuming his march toward the plaza's far end, where a small wooden platform had been erected.
Night approached swiftly. The fading sky deepened shadows across the plaza while grief continued to echo through Lazarus.
Upon reaching the platform, Zaden took position beside his father. Before them stood hundreds of surviving Netzaleh citizens, faces hollow with loss, bodies trembling beneath restrained sorrow.
Jeremiah leaned closer and whispered, "With our current strength, reaching the Sky may be impossible. But its worshippers remain within reach."
"You mean Qaissaran?" Zaden asked.
Jeremiah nodded with grim satisfaction. "Good. Know your enemy before stepping onto a battlefield."
"Valdamar still believes otherwise," Zaden murmured.
Disgust flashed across Jeremiah's face at the mention of his brother's name. He drew his steel blade slowly from its sheath, metal whispering against leather. Zaden followed suit.
"That fool has drowned himself in grief," Jeremiah spat. "He forgets reality, refusing to rise and retaliate against the Sky using the strength granted to us."
Zaden glanced briefly toward the countless corpses behind the gathered survivors. "I do not see Arella among the dead. Valdamar remains stubborn."
"Do not waste breath on weakness," Jeremiah snapped. "I will tear him from his illusion when the time comes."
Zaden fell silent, regret stirring briefly before he dismissed it. His gaze lifted as Jeremiah raised his silver blade high, pointing it toward the darkening heavens above Lazarus.
"Netzaleh!" Jeremiah's voice thundered across the plaza. "This day marks the beginning of our struggle against the Sky that shattered our homes! Against the Sky that stole our families! Against the Sky that drowned us in suffering! Fear this calamity no longer! We are Netzaleh—the strongest people upon this land! Let us show those arrogant heavens that they are nothing compared to our greatness!"
A roar answered him. Shouts erupted across the plaza, mingled with lingering sobs that had yet to fade. Jeremiah glanced toward his son.
Zaden raised his blade toward the heavens.
The royal guards followed, lifting their weapons in unison.
Moments later, Jeremiah's sword ignited with radiant blue light. Gasps spread among the crowd as the glow intensified, drawing all attention toward the platform.
"Magnus, Isaiah," Jeremiah invoked.
Zaden echoed the words. The guards joined, voices rising together.
Blue radiance surged across every blade, humming with power. A piercing resonance spread outward, silencing astonishment across the plaza.
Then realization struck.
The crystals embedded within the fallen bodies began to glow.
Blue flames erupted from the shards, drawing shocked cries from the crowd. Fire crawled across each corpse, consuming them swiftly, reducing flesh and crystal alike to ash. Particles of light lifted skyward, scattering into the night until darkness receded.
Jeremiah's armor gleamed with matching brilliance, as did Zaden's and the guards'. Their silver plating shone brighter than ever, polished by unseen force.
The illuminated sky transfixed the survivors.
Jeremiah raised his voice once more.
"Isaiah has bestowed our weapons and armor upon us! Witness it, Netzaleh! The Sky will kneel before Azaria!"
Cheers erupted again.
Jeremiah smiled, confidence burning anew within his eyes.
Zaden studied his father silently, sensing how Isaiah's power had reignited the king's resolve. His gaze drifted westward toward the palace, where blue motes floated steadily through the air.
He knew what would rise there soon.
A crystal tower.
And beyond it, war against Qaissaran—the Sky's most devoted servants.
The heavens had spoken at last.
And Jeremiah Azaria had chosen to answer with blood.