Long before time, space, or even the idea of the void, there was something called the Unspeakable. It wasn't a god, nor a demon, it was just... the Stillness. An infinite consciousness, formless, floating in the abyss. Imagine an endless ocean, a total silence. It had no need to create, seeing as it already was everything.
And then, pop, a glitch in the machine.
The Unspeakable fell asleep!
And from this big slumber, the first lie was born: Reality. The cosmos, the stars, all of it—it wasn't on purpose; it's just a dream. A bizarre trip from the sleeping brain of a god who doesn't know he's a god. In this dream, bits of him broke off: his fears, his bad sides, his dark thoughts. They became the Archetypes, sort of monstrous guardians for worlds that should never have existed.
But the dreamer wanted to hold onto something. In all the worlds he had imagined, he fixated on a grain of dust: our good old Earth, in its raw state. So, he decided to descend. But how can something infinite fit into something finite without breaking everything?
He crafted himself a prison of flesh and bone. He poured all his power into a mortal envelope just so he could walk on the soil of his own dream.
And on this Earth, he built a fortress: Eisengrad. He created a vibrating energy, Mana, so that the very air would be filled with magic. And because he was bored, he modeled mud and blood to create extras: humans. He gave them a spark of his own divinity so they could survive, build, and... worship him, obviously.
Now, he sits on his throne in a citadel. He is the King, the Father of Magic, the supreme leader. His subjects believe he has a brilliant plan for the world, but in reality, he's just playing his part in his own story.
The whole world, with its wars, its joys, and its sorrows, hangs on one terrifying thing: the King's sleep. If he wakes up... we all vanish.
The air in the Cloaca, this particular district, always had that strange taste: a bit of cold ash, foul-smelling rain, and despair.
Siegfried trudged through the muck, his black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Beside him was Von Ritcher, with his messy blonde hair and an ever-present smirk. He was the only source of light in that dark street.
They were barely seventeen, but their eyes were already tired, like those born at the
bottom of the ladder.
— "Come on, Sieg, one more time!" Von said, waving a piece of rusted metal.
They were at the edge of the Dead Woods, a small forest next to the slum. It was their personal playground. Their weapons were just scrap: broken swords discarded by the Dust (the rank-and-file soldiers) after a fight against an Aberration (a not-so-cool critter). To the kingdom, it was trash. To them, it was the start of a dream.
The sound of metal rang out. Siegfried attacked with all his might, but Von, more agile, spun around and disarmed his friend with a sharp blow. Siegfried's sword flew into the bushes.
— "And that's thirty!" Von shouted, planting his sword in the ground. "Thirty to zero, old man. At this rate, you'll end up peeling potatoes in the royal canteen, not a soldier."
Siegfried picked up his weapon, grumbling but without malice.
— "Lucky shot," he said, even though they had been training for months.
They sat for a moment, out of breath.
— "We're going to make it," Siegfried said, looking up at the massive walls of Eisengrad rising toward the sky. "We'll wear the uniform. We'll eat our fill."
Von nodded, his smile disappearing for a second.
— "Yeah. The money, the glory... We're getting out of this rat hole."
The sun was beginning to set, coloring the sky a menacing gray. They headed back toward the abandoned industrial zone where Siegfried squatted. It was an old warehouse with broken windows, immense and freezing.
The moment he stepped inside, a heavy silence fell over Siegfried. He lived here alone. There was no one left to welcome him.
He dropped onto a rotting mattress in a corner. He looked at the spot where, three years earlier, his parents had stood for the last time. He could still see the dark shadows leaking from their eyes, the black magic twisting their bodies, turning them into those... Class 5 Aberrations. He remembered the sound of the boots of the soldiers, the Dust, who had kicked down the door and put down the monsters that used to be his family.
A tear rolled down his cheek before he could stop it.
— "I miss them, Von. It's stupid, but... even after what they became."
Von, who had stayed at the threshold, walked over and sat beside him. He gave Siegfried a friendly nudge with his elbow.
— "You know," Von said seriously, "I think your father would have wanted you to become a soldier. Mostly so you could learn to defend yourself. You're a total sieve!"
Siegfried blinked, surprised, then laughed. A laugh that chased the ghosts from the room.
— "You're an idiot, Von."
— "Maybe, but I'm an idiot who's winning thirty to zero."
And in the darkness of the warehouse, their laughter echoed a fragile defiance thrown at the night over Eisengrad.
The next day, the morning rose gray and heavy over the Cloaca.
Siegfried was already at work. He was pulling a makeshift plow across old Otto's stony patch of land. The old man, with his broken back and vacant stare, watched him, chewing on a bitter root.
— "Pull harder on the left, kid! The roots are stubborn here," Otto said, though you could tell he was grateful. Without Siegfried's strength, this field would have stayed abandoned.
Siegfried wiped the sweat stinging his eyes when a scream tore through the morning mist.
— "Sieg! Hey, Siegfried!"
Von came running up, his face red. He stopped beside him, hands on his knees, gasping for air like he'd run a marathon.
— "Forget the turnips!" he said, his eyes shining. "They're here. At One-Eyed Dog Square. The Grey Knights!"
Siegfried's heart leaped. He let go of the plow handles.
— "What? Now?"
— "They're recruiting, Sieg! A levy for the royal army. This is our chance!"
Without a word, Siegfried apologized to Otto and followed Von.
They ran through the muddy streets until they reached the district's central square. A crowd had already gathered a mix of fear and hope.
In the center, on a platform, stood three Grey Knights.
They looked nothing like the neighborhood.
Their matte steel armor seemed to absorb the light. There was a cold discipline radiating from them. The one in the middle, an officer with short-cropped hair and a hard gaze, held a scroll. His voice carried easily over the noise of the crowd a clear, precise, cutting voice.
— "The Bastion needs fresh blood. The safety of Eisengrad depends on its children. We aren't looking for heroes; we're looking for walls."
Siegfried shouldered his way through to see better, and his eyes landed on a young woman with chestnut hair, wrapped tight in a mended shawl. It was Lena. She was listening intently. Siegfried felt his cheeks flush; he had always thought she was different, softer. If she was here, it meant she was hoping to leave, too.
The Grey Knight continued:
— "Enlistment is open for the rank of Dust. The King needs strength."
He pointed to a metal measuring rod beside him.
— "One meter seventy-five. That is the minimum. Below that, you cannot carry the shield. Above that, you can sign."
The crowd murmured. Some lowered their heads, already defeated. Von straightened up, puffed out his chest, and nudged Siegfried.
— "You're lucky you hit a growth spurt this winter, old man. We're going in."
Siegfried looked at the rod, then the Knights, then Lena. He clenched his fists. For him, this was the exit door from hell.
— "Let's go," he said.
The line moved slowly, each name called out like a death knell or a liberation.
When it was Von's turn, he stepped forward with his usual cool air. He stood under the rod and puffed his chest. The scribe, a thin man who looked bored, slid the metal bar down onto his head.
— "One meter eighty-eight," he said. "Next."
Von winked at Siegfried as he stepped aside.
It was Siegfried's turn. He felt the cold metal on his head and held his breath.
— "One meter eighty-three. Fit. Next."
A wave of relief washed over him. He joined Von on the side where the chosen ones were gathered.
But the mood wasn't festive for everyone. Veterans Dust soldiers with battered armor watched them, spitting on the ground.
— "Look at that," one of them said. "Fresh meat for the beasts."
— "Hey, Blondie!" another shouted, pointing at Von. "Enjoy your teeth while you can; they won't stay white for long!"
The soldiers snickered, but Von ignored them. Siegfried, meanwhile, kept his eyes on Lena.
In the women's line, it was her turn. The mark was at one meter seventy. Siegfried watched her step forward, chin held high. She stood straight, her hands barely trembling. The bar came down. It touched her exactly.
— "One meter seventy exactly. You're in," the scribe said.
Siegfried exhaled. She had made it.
An hour later, the sorting was finished. The Grey Knight stepped forward to face the new recruits.
— "You have the height, but do you have the heart? We shall see. Assemble tonight at the foot of the Saints' Quarter. Do not be late. Eisengrad waits for no one."
The crowd dispersed. Siegfried and Von walked away, hearts pounding.
— "We did it, Sieg!" Von shouted, slapping him on the back. "We're getting out of here!"
— "It's true..." Siegfried said with a goofy smile.
They reached the spot where their paths diverged.
— "I'm going to grab my stuff," Von said. "I don't have much."
— "Me neither. Just some clothes and... the memory of my parents."
Von held out his fist.
— "Four o'clock sharp, at the Cloaca gates?"
— "Four o'clock," Siegfried said, bumping his fist against his friend's. "Don't be late, you future legend."
They parted ways.
On the walk back, Siegfried felt as though the mud no longer stuck to his boots.
At the corner of an alley, he saw the Old Man sitting on a crate. The old man looked up at him and said:
— "You look happy, kid."
Siegfried stopped.
— "It's done. The army took me. I leave tonight."
The old man's face cracked into a smile. He pulled out a small book wrapped in leather and handed it to Siegfried.
— "Take this. Up there, steel isn't always enough."
Siegfried took the book. On the cover, it read: The Art of Magic. He almost laughed. Magic? That was for nobles. He didn't see what he could possibly do with it, but he tucked it into his pocket anyway.
— "Thanks, Old Man. I'll read it."
He went back into the warehouse. He packed a few clothes into a bag, then took a medallion his mother's necklace. He slipped it around his neck.
At four o'clock, he was at the Cloaca Gate.
Von was already there.
— "You were almost late, recruit," he said.
— "Not in your dreams," Siegfried replied.
They left the lower district. The path to the Saints' Quarter was grueling. They had to cross a thick forest.
They walked for four hours. The landscape began to change.
As the sun set, the forest opened up.
Before them rose the walls of the Saints' Quarter, bathed in light.
— "Halt."
Two spears crossed in front of them.
The guards, Bloodhounds, were cold and calculating.
One of them asked:
— "Names?"
— "Siegfried Dorn. And Von Ritcher," Siegfried answered.
The guard checked two boxes.
— "You're on the list. Pass."
But another Bloodhound laughed.
— "Being on the list only gives you the right to participate. Out of five hundred, fifty will wear the uniform tomorrow. There is the Test of Iron... and the Initiation."
Siegfried asked:
— "The Initiation?"
The Bloodhound smirked.
— "You'll see soon enough if you have the guts. Now, move along."
A steward led them in. There were cobblestones, the smell of roasted meat, and well-dressed people.
In the center of a square stood a statue: King Aethelgard.
Siegfried looked at the statue.
They arrived at the military zone. It was full of recruits.
Siegfried saw Lena. She had traded her shawl for a tunic.
Von waved at her vigorously.
— "Hey, Lena! We're saving a spot in our squad!"
Lena ignored him.
Siegfried laughed.
— "Tsk," Von grumbled.
But Siegfried's laughter died away when the war horns sounded. The tests were about to begin.