Forged in Ruin

Prologue: The Remnants of War

The war tore the world apart in a matter of years, but its scars will last for generations. Once-great nations were reduced to smoldering ruins, their cities shattered by bombs, artillery, and the unchecked fury of human conflict. What began as skirmishes between old rivals quickly spiraled into a global catastrophe that no one could control. Governments fell, borders vanished, and all that was left were the skeletal remains of civilization, cloaked in smoke and ash.

The lucky ones died quickly. For the survivors, life became a struggle against a landscape that no longer cared whether they lived or died. The sky turned gray, choked with the debris of a world on fire, and the air tasted of ash and regret. The land was pockmarked with craters and littered with the wreckage of war—burned-out vehicles, collapsed buildings, and the eerie silence of cities that once pulsed with life.

But in the aftermath of the Great Collapse, from the ruins and the dust, the survivors did what they had always done—they rebuilt. Not out of hope, but out of necessity. They gathered what was left and began to piece together a new world from the wreckage of the old.

The city of **New Bastion** rose from the ashes, a grim monument to the will to survive. Built on the ruins of an old metropolis, it was a patchwork of salvaged concrete, steel, and whatever materials could be scavenged from the surrounding wastelands. Its skyline was jagged and imposing, dominated by fortified buildings that seemed more like bunkers than homes. The streets were narrow and twisted, winding through what was left of the old city, hemmed in by towering walls that kept the remnants of the outside world at bay.

New Bastion was a city of divisions, a reflection of the fractured society that had emerged from the war's aftermath. At its heart lay the towering fortress of the **Council of Unity**, the new government that had seized power in the chaos. Comprised of former military leaders, wealthy industrialists, and the ruthless few who saw opportunity in the destruction, the Council ruled with an iron grip, enforcing order through fear and control. Their headquarters was a stark, imposing structure that loomed over the city like a watchful sentinel, its high walls and barbed wire a constant reminder of who held power.

Beneath the Council's watchful eyes, the city was divided into layers, each one reflecting the new social order that had emerged from the ashes.

**The Upper City**, home to the wealthy and powerful, was a walled enclave within the city's center, guarded by armed soldiers and surveillance drones. Here, the air was cleaner, the streets wider, and the buildings taller and more pristine. The rich lived in relative comfort, their lives cushioned by the resources hoarded in the chaos of the war. They enjoyed privileges that most could only dream of—private security, access to clean water, and the luxury of ignorance. For them, the war was a distant memory, buried beneath layers of wealth and privilege.

Beyond the Upper City lay the **Middle Wards**, where the remnants of the middle class fought to maintain a semblance of their old lives. These neighborhoods were crowded and tense, filled with the working families who toiled in the factories and service industries that kept New Bastion running. The Middle Wards were a place of constant struggle, where the people lived on the edge of comfort and collapse. They were close enough to the Upper City to see its lights, but far enough to know they would never cross those walls.

Here, the Council's influence was felt in every aspect of daily life. Propaganda filled the airwaves, preaching the virtues of loyalty, obedience, and hard work. Those who complied were rewarded with food rations, employment, and the thin promise of stability. Those who didn't faced harsher consequences—loss of privileges, public shaming, or worse. The Middle Wards were a place where people played by the rules, not out of respect for the government, but out of fear of losing what little they had left.

At the outer edges of New Bastion lay the **Lower Wards**, a sprawling, decaying slum where the poorest and most desperate struggled to survive. The war had hit these areas hardest, and the scars were still fresh—burned-out buildings, makeshift shantytowns, and streets littered with the detritus of forgotten lives. The Lower Wards were a lawless place, ignored by the Council unless their inhabitants became a problem that needed crushing. It was a breeding ground for crime, disease, and dissent, where the people were left to fend for themselves in a city that had long since turned its back on them.

In the Lower Wards, every day was a fight for survival. Food was scarce, water often contaminated, and the ever-present threat of violence hung in the air. For many, the only way out was to be drafted into the Academy, a brutal institution that promised a chance at a better life but often delivered something far darker. Parents sent their children to the Academy not out of hope, but because it was the only option left—the last, desperate gamble in a world that had no mercy.

Above all of this loomed the Council's headquarters and the **Academy**, the city's most formidable structure. The Academy was a place of discipline and control, where the strongest youth were sent to be molded into the enforcers of the new world order. It was a fortress of concrete and steel, with towering walls topped with razor wire, watchtowers at every corner, and a reputation that filled the city with both fear and respect. For the Council, the Academy was not just a training ground; it was the heart of their power, a place where obedience was bred and defiance was crushed.

The government's iron grip was maintained through the Academy's cadets, who were trained to be more than soldiers—they were conditioned to be loyal, to protect the status quo, and to enforce the Council's will without question. Those who succeeded were rewarded with status, power, and the chance to climb above the rubble of their origins. Those who failed were simply forgotten, absorbed into the city's machinery without a trace.

In New Bastion, the line between order and chaos was thin, held together by the Council's ruthless control and the unspoken understanding that only the strong would survive. The war had ended, but its echoes still reverberated through the city's streets, a constant reminder that peace was a fragile, fleeting thing, bought with blood and sustained by fear.

And as the city continued to rebuild, its people were left to navigate a world that had been reforged by fire, where survival was the only measure of success, and where the cost of weakness was too high to bear.