The Successor's Many Edges

1

A tale is often told by the people of this land. Each community has different versions of the telling, however, it is clear they all depict the same tale. From where golden sand blankets the trail of ancient paths, to the white sea, ever-luminescent, yet hides the darkest evil. From the high-race of Treht, with their boundless devotion towards their deity, detached to mortal concerns, even to the most secluded tribe of the low-race of Qirins, wielding martial techniques as majestic as the Supreme Control. For with not a single trace of doubt should be accompanied when one say that the tale had influenced every single point in this world. The tale of: The One True Hero; The Summit's Apex; Quadrilla's Chosen; Muta Fortuna; -or as a certain boy like to call it: "The tale of my dumb dad."

It is the 4th day of the 173rd year after The Supreme Control's descension, shortened as: C.173/4. The two spheres shining it's gaze upon the land is at their apex, melting the snow from the old season. They become the watchful overseer of the scene unfolding before them. It was in a room filled with many people, all of which are standing neatly in pre-designated rows and columns. They all are short in statures, and wearing the same kind of clothing, grey-colored blazers, with deep-red accents, and black undertones. They are Finian students from the school of Cyrus. Finians have short lifespans, but they are quick to mature, at the age of 9, they have already finished their education. Cyrus is one of the 7 Finian city, located nortwest of the continent, and this is it's center of education. One student from among them had separated from the lines, his opening statement had taken even the headmaster, who had called him to the front, interested. 

The boy has red hair, buzzcut from the side, leaving the top of it quite long in comparison, seemingly well-kept as he glosses his fingers through it and to the side as he's walking to the front. Stepping unto the podium, the others were watching him closely, some are whispering, but even collectively, they are not loud enough to be distracting. Some of the girls are holding their mouth with their eyes wide open, and some words along the lines of ''Course it's him.', 'Look at handsome-boy.', 'Did he just get a haircut for this?' were spouted from the crowd. Handsome-boy takes a deep breath, perhaps to compose himself. He faces the lined up students, and begins, 

"He was the people's hero- the pride of the Finians. I'm fully aware of his deeds. Throughout my academic years, I've been compared to his outrageous tales, even though none of us have even met him. Which is why as this year's honor student, I would like to clarify something..."

One of the teachers who was standing at the side of the room quickly runs up to the headmaster infront, frantically, the headmaster widens his eyes in response, and in a panic he tried to yell out, but his voice was overwhelmed by the honor student's speech, 

"Everyo-" 

"Everyone! I, Rexim Ervarius, am-" 

Boom! 

A sound of what seemed to be an explosion was heard, but it was too quiet, and there was no explosion, at least, that's what everyone thought. From the center of the crowd, one student was lifting up his right hand, in a form almost like he just threw something with the flick of his thumb. He was aiming at- 

Thud! 

It was too quick for anyone to notice. Rexim's body falls to the side, limp and with a gaping hole on his forehead. Blood was leaking to the floor, and his eyes remain opened, only capable of staring lifelessly at his fellow students. After the longest second, the students screamed and started to run away through the hall's door. Some teachers are helping the students escape the room, while some battle-prepared ones, have unsheathed their weapons, and are gathered around a single student who had his arm raised. The student with gray hair and yellow eyes had the biggest smile they had ever seen, and as if to continue the honor students speech, 

"Dead!"

Outside of the school, the public masses are in a panic. Sounds of metals clashing can be heard, and the city's enforcers have moved to the streets from their respective stations to protect the citizens. It's an attack in 3, no, 4 points inside the city. The attackers are a group of cloaked figures, wielding short-blades strapped to their wrists. They move fast, like the flight of an insect, they seem to dodge all attacks the finian soldiers are throwing at them with their hammers and crossbows. Despite their small statures, finians have better muscle strength than most races, so it's no detriment to their speed, even when holding large weapons, but even then, they are unable to strike a single hit to the enemy. 

On the other hand, the blades of the cloaked-figures have already been stained with the finian's blood. One soldier has called backups from the central of the city, and another have been keeping an even ground with one of the enemy, before suffering a lethal blow from three other cloaked-figures who had attacked him from his flanks, as if the enemies have perfect group coordination.

Eventually, three soldiers have appeared into three points of the battlefield from the central office. One of them is wielding a lance, the other, a bow, and the last one, a hammer. Each of their weapon has a black marking on the metal of it, it looked like texts that are written in a circle, of a language none spoke. However, none of these didn't matter.

The gray-haired student left the corpse-filled hall, his clothes are tattered and ruined, with scorched marks scattered all over his body, yet, his laugh echoes throughout the empty building all the more loudly."6 years! Looks like I won that bet, after all, Bea!"He covers his face, as if he can't contain his amusement, and his boots left a bloody trail, to be seen only by those who will never breathe again.

Somewhere in this world, a single scabbard is left floating on the sea of grains; a lone fairy has been ripped of her wings; a line has streak across the sky, treading at inhumane speed; the cries of a god has been left unheard; the son of the hero has been killed on the day of graduation.

"The only one who gets to call himself the son of the hero is me! Rexim Ervarius!"

The tale of the hero has many versions. Due to it's nature, many also have different opinions of it. Some say the hero was a Finian, some say a Treht. Without any way of verifying, a lot of them have also began to claim that the hero's son is of their race, sharing only the name of Rexim Ervarius. But who truly is Rexim? Does the hero even had a son? This is the story of Rexim- a Rexim.