In a kingdom torn by power struggles and political intrigue, Jieun, the rightful heir to the throne of the East, finds herself sidelined as her brother, Jungwon, takes control. Determined to reclaim her birthright, Jieun seeks alliances and forms a...
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STARFALL WAS A BUSTLING CITY, teeming with life and diversity. Its cobblestone streets weaved a tapestry of human existence, where the stark contrasts of wealth and poverty painted a vivid picture of the realm. For Jieun, it was reminiscent of her childhood home, Firestone, where she had spent her formative years.
In Starfall, as in Firestone, the cityscape pulsed with the ebb and flow of merchants, citizens, and common folk. The air was alive with the vibrant energy of bustling markets, where vendors called out their wares, enticing passersby with promises of fine fabrics, exotic spices, and precious trinkets. The rich and the poor coexisted, each occupying their own distinct corners of the city, shaping its character and rhythm.
The city boasted streets renowned for their brothels and taverns, where pleasure-seekers sought refuge from the trials of everyday life. Revelry echoed through the night, intermingling with the aromatic scents of roasted meats and ale-soaked laughter. These streets held secrets, whispered promises, and forbidden encounters, where fleeting moments of passion and desire could be found.
Yet, not all of Starfall revelled in indulgence and luxury. Other districts were defined by the laborious toil of its inhabitants. Fishermen cast their nets into the sea, their livelihood intertwined with the bounties of the ocean. The rhythmic clanging of hammers echoed from the forges, where skilled blacksmiths shaped raw metal into formidable weapons and intricate works of art.
But amidst the tapestry of life, there existed a harrowing underbelly — a place known as the Wormhole. This forsaken enclave, tucked away from the prying eyes of the privileged, was a desolate home to the dirt poor, where the claws of poverty gnawed at the very fabric of existence. Here, forgotten souls fought tooth and nail to eke out a living, scavenging remnants from the unforgiving ground, their existence a daily struggle against the relentless tide of despair.
Within the Wormhole, survival bred desperation, and desperation birthed a darkness that stained the hearts of its inhabitants. Crime, like an insidious companion, lurked in the shadows, woven into the very fabric of their lives. In their relentless pursuit of survival, some trampled over the corpses of the fallen, their moral compass shattered by the harsh realities they faced. A few had even succumbed to the depths of desperation, turning to unthinkable acts, such as cannibalism, to sate their hunger. The innocent laughter of children, akin to the squeals of pigs rolling in mud, echoed through the air, a poignant contrast against the starkness of their existence.
