Ostina—once brimming with joy, laughter, and the golden glow of peace—has been cast into shadow. With the death of its king, the light has dimmed. The kingdom has begun to sink… into the abyss.
---
The fear was accurate, I whispered to myself as I stood before the shattered throne.
The King speaks no more.
His face… it was no longer human. Once kissed by the sun, now darker than coal, twisted and charred as if scorched by something unholy.
Who could have done this? I pondered. What force could obliterate the king of Ostina, a man chosen by the gods?
Only one thought emerged.
The non-godblood.
Those cursed people—banished to the outskirts of the kingdom. Forsaken by God. Forbidden from touching mana. A lineage bound by ancestral sin.
Despicable. Wretched. But what sin did their ancestors truly commit to deserve such a punishment?
"Where is the Prime Minister?"
That voice—
Father?
"Dad!"
"Johannes… shouldn't you be training by now?"
"I heard the explosion and rushed to the scene. Is Mom around?"
"She's with your sister, Elina. Stay alert, my son. These are uncertain times."
--
A week has passed.
The king's death still looms like a storm cloud over the capital.
Whispers drift through the palace halls, like ghosts. Rumors of neighboring kingdoms preparing armies. Foreign envoys arriving too soon. Spies hiding in plain sight.
Even the loyal nobility begin to tremble.
Without a king, Ostina is a ripe fruit hanging on a branch—waiting to be plucked.
"Welcome, students."
The elderly lecturer bowed slightly before adjusting his spectacles.
"I will be your teacher for this session. Today, we study history—specifically, the species that inhabit this world."
As he lectured, something in his tone caught my attention. It wasn't about the beasts of the land, the sea, or the skies. It was about something else entirely.
The Firstborn.
Humanoid creatures. God's first creations.
According to scripture, they were raw, powerful, and... flawed. Their violent nature and lust for chaos angered God. So He wiped out most of them in a divine purge. But out of compassion, He spared a few.
Then came humanity—God's finest creation.
Or so we believed.
Among the earliest humans, one listened to the whisper of wickedness and defied divine law. He ate from the World Tree—a primordial structure that existed before even time itself. A sin that changed the course of history.
The punishment was eternal.
His descendants were cursed, unable to manipulate mana. These are the
non-godblood.
The rest—those who obeyed—became the godblood. The chosen ones. The inheritors of mana. The blessed.
I am one of them.
---
"Today's lecture was pretty long, Johannes," Peter said, stretching.
"Yes," I nodded. "But… interesting."
We walked through the academy halls, our footsteps echoing against the marble floor.
"Peter," I said, lowering my voice, "my heart quakes."
He looked at me curiously.
"I feel… the non-godblood are driven to commit such crimes because of how we treat them. They live in the outskirts—no access to fresh air, to technology, to proper homes. And we separated them with a mighty wall. Even the gods fear to cross it."
Peter scowled. "Johannes, don't think like that. The scriptures are clear: 'Suffer not the devil to live, for even his descendants shall bear his crime and his judgment.' Any chance we have to kill a non-godblood, we should."
His voice was resolute. Cold.
Is this really justice? I thought. Or just an ancient cruelty hiding behind holy words?
CRASH!
My door burst open with a thunderous crack. Wood splintered. Metal hinges snapped. I turned, heart racing.
"Who's there?!"
A blur of movement. A figure—hooded, fast—rushed past me into the shadows.
No time to think.
I gave chase.