holy sun empire...
Thunder rumbled in the turbulent skies above the imperial capital of the Duskbane Empire. Jagged spears of lightning tore across the heavens, illuminating the vast stretch of land in violent flashes.
Storm clouds churned like raging beasts, forming a vortex at the heart of the sky, and the empire's main river, normally calm and revered as a blessing, had flooded its banks, swallowing streets and fields alike in a hungry surge.
Countless blue-robed mages stood in the thick of the chaos, their garments soaked, hair plastered to their foreheads as they chanted ceaseless incantations. Arcane sigils glowed beneath their feet, flickering with instability from the overwhelming power of the storm.
They strained to bind the furious discharge of the river and reinforce the crumbling defenses of the city. Every passing second felt like the last, and every breath tasted of the metallic tang of fear.
Inside the grand Church. prayer bells tolled in frantic rhythm.
Priests and nuns knelt shoulder to shoulder, voices cracking as they begged the divine for mercy, protection, anything at all that could save the capital from destruction. The sacred halls, usually serene, now trembled as thunder roared directly overhead.
And then—an earsplitting crack tore through the air.
The barrier protecting the capital, an ancient formation that had stood strong for centuries, split open like shattered glass. Its fragments dissolved into shimmering dust that rained over the city. It had failed—unable to withstand the wrath of the heavens.
Far inside the imperial palace, in one of the most heavily guarded chambers, an entirely different storm unfolded.
The pope of the Church of Light stood unmoving, his golden robes immaculate despite the chaos outside. His cold gaze was fixed upon a trembling woman, her breath uneven, her body barely standing. Blood matted her hair and streaked across her pale cheeks, remnants of the brutal struggle she had endured moments before.
In her arms rested a newborn, its skin sickly pale, its breaths shallow, faint, and frighteningly inconsistent. The child's weak wail barely escaped its lips.
Surrounding them were countless knights clad in gleaming armour. Their swords were drawn, not in defence of the palace, but pointed at the weakened woman who desperately raised her own blade with shaking hands. Her desperation alone was what kept her upright. She was defending the single light of her existence.
The pope raised a hand, his expression devoid of emotion.
"Knights," he commanded, voice echoing coldly across the chamber, "imprison the heretic in the Iron Hell Prison for the rest of her life. And take that cursed incarnation of the devil away for purification."
The woman's eyes widened. "No—! You cannot take him!" She swung her sword weakly, but her strength had already been sapped by childbirth. Her mana was depleted, her limbs heavy like lead. She stumbled, nearly collapsing.
The knights moved without hesitation. Strong hands tore the newborn from her arms, ignoring her screams and futile thrashing. Her vision blurred with panic and grief as she saw the small bundle being carried away.
"No! Please—give him back! He has done nothing—!"
But her cries fell on deaf ears.
The knights dragged her down the long corridor, cold metal scraping against marble as she resisted. Just before the doors shut behind her, she caught one last glimpse of her child—her heartbeat—being tossed out from the balcony like discarded refuse.
"NOOOOO!!!" Her scream was raw, tearing from the depths of her soul as she reached out with bleeding fingers. Tears streamed down her face, blurring the world into streaks of agony. That moment was enough to shatter her spirit completely.
In the skies above the imperial capital, the tempest abruptly subsided.
As if guided by unseen hands, the storm clouds dispersed, revealing warm rays of sunlight that spilled across the devastated land. The river calmed, its raging currents quieting to a mere whisper. Citizens peeking from hiding spots gasped in relief. They had survived what they believed would be the end.
The heavens, still streaked with the remnants of smoke and lightning, shimmered as sunlight refracted through the lingering moisture, forming countless rainbows. The once ominous sky now resembled a breathtaking mural painted across the horizon.
However, amidst the gentle glow of the reborn sky, a piercing cry echoed, a cry belonging not to a bird, but to a majestic swan streaked with silver across its wings. It descended gracefully, yet urgently, clutching a small sack of cloth in its beak.
In the heart of a quiet forest, away from the eyes of the empire, the swan landed. Its talons dug lightly into the earth as it gently laid the sack down, nudging it with surprising tenderness.
The cloth loosened, revealing the tiny figure of a newborn, pale and unmoving. The swan tapped its beak against the child's cheek, nudging repeatedly in a futile attempt to stir life. After several moments passed with no reaction, the swan lowered its head in silence.
Then, with a heavy flap of its wings, it rose into the air and departed, leaving the child behind as though abandoning a lost hope to the mercy of the wild.
Minutes passed. Then more. The forest remained quiet.
Until—
A twitch.
A gasp.
Then a sudden, shrill cry that tore through the stillness of the woods.
The baby was alive.
He cried and cried, tiny limbs flailing weakly, his voice cracking from exhaustion. The forest stirred with faint echoes, yet by fortune or fate no beasts prowled nearby. Had even one approached, the child's life would have ended before it had truly begun.
Hours slipped by as the baby's cries grew feebler. Just when his strength was nearly spent, fate intervened once more.
A caravan passed along the forest path, returning from a distant border. The old knight leading it a grizzled veteran named Kaiser, halted when he heard the faint wails. His weathered brows furrowed as he exchanged a glance with his wife.
She rushed ahead first, following the sound until she found the small body lying helplessly against the roots of an ancient tree. Her eyes filled instantly with tears.
"Kaiser…" she whispered, voice trembling. "We cannot leave him."
The knight approached slowly, staring down at the child. Memories of his own fallen son struck him like a blow. His jaw clenched, but he felt his heart soften.
His wife pleaded gently, "Let us take him. Please."
He sighed. His retirement had meant peace, quiet, and the dull fading of his days, yet perhaps this small life could bring warmth back into their home.
Finally, he nodded.
"Very well," Kaiser murmured. "We will raise him."
Thus, in the northernmost village of the continent, far from the empire that had cast him aside, the newborn would begin his story.
A story that would mark the beginning of Will's journey to the top.