Two Worlds Apart

PROLOUGE

A flawless sky stretches over the city, divided by an invisible line - two worlds, one realm. To the north, the Upper Slate gleams with skyscrapers wrapped in steel and glass, towering like solemn sentries. Their rigid forms catch the light, reflecting a cold beauty across the immaculate, paved streets below. Here, beneath the hard, artificial sun, the wealthiest move with quiet efficiency, their eyes cast forward, never straying. There is no laughter, no hum of conversation. To speak idly is to waste time, and in the Upper Slate, time is a currency spent only on purpose.

A thin, guarded border separates the Upper Slate from the Dark Slate, where city lights dim, and the air grows warmer, touched by a life both weary and wild. Makeshift houses line the cobbled streets, built from fragments of metal, wood, and other remnants salvaged by the hands of the poor. Lanterns swing above doorways, casting soft amber hues that bathe the faces of those gathered outside, and a murmur of voices rises like the harmony of a song - laughter, shouts, music, grief. Here, the poor celebrate the fleeting, precious moments of joy they can find. Every smile, every laugh, every tear shared is a rebellion against the hunger that gnaws and the cold that creeps into their bones.

Two children are born into this world on the same night, though fate has cast them onto opposite sides.
Adrian Silvermyst comes into the world wrapped in his mother's trembling embrace, her smile wide despite the ache of exhaustion. His father's hands are rough but gentle as they cradle the newborn, his voice low and thick with love as he whispers promises into his son's tiny ears. In Dark Slate, the Silvermyst family has little to give beyond affection and loyalty. Yet to them, it is a fortune.

Across the border, the Everien family receives their daughter, Cheverie, into a silence that feels as cold and polished as the walls of the hospital where she lies. Her mother's hand rests delicately on her shoulder, the touch almost too careful, as though fearing that any softness might tarnish her future. Her father stands back, watching with proud, steely eyes, offering not a word but a small, priceless gift - a silver rattle, crafted and handed down for generations. It is symbolic, a reminder that her life will be one of structure, respect, and unbending purpose. They do not know how to hold her close; love is something shown in silence and inheritance.
In these first moments, Adrian and Cheverie lie with eyes closed, hearts beating to the same quiet rhythm, unaware that their worlds are bound by walls and whispers. Fate has already drawn a fragile line between them, a thread that will tighten and test them as they grow.

Each life begins with the weight of different promises, both heavy in their own way, and the stars seem to hold their breath, waiting.