The throne of dominance

Chapter 1: A Quiet Kingdom

In the kingdom of Sairaku, nestled along the edge of a slow-moving river, lay the quiet city of Morinaka. The city was neither grand nor insignificant, merely a modest place where homes and shops huddled together, their rooftops unevenly scattered like a patchwork quilt sewn over generations. In the early morning, the cobblestone streets gleamed with a slight dampness, and mist clung low to the ground, curling around doorways and wafting lazily down the alleys.

Morinaka was a city where life unfurled gently. Stone buildings lined the streets, each weathered by the years, some tilting slightly as if to lean into each other for support. Windows were shuttered tightly, though here and there, gaps allowed glimmers of the first morning light to seep through, casting soft patterns onto the walls within. The houses here were modest, built not for show but for function, with clay tiles that were chipped and worn, ivy clinging stubbornly to the stonework, and wooden beams polished dark with age and use.

In a narrow street just a block from the town square, three figures moved together, their footsteps echoing lightly on the stones. Jean led the way, his feet bounding over the uneven path with an energy that seemed endless, his black hair sticking out in wild tufts as he glanced back over his shoulder with a grin. Behind him, Jonas followed, his stride steady and calm, his green eyes scanning the street with a quiet attentiveness, as if absorbing the details without haste. Bringing up the rear was Yuri, who walked with his hands tucked into his sleeves, his violet eyes catching the morning light in brief, unplanned glances.

Jean paused suddenly, his eyes alight with mischief as he turned to face the other two, stopping in the middle of the street. "You know, I bet you couldn't catch me even if you tried," he announced, his voice filled with playful challenge.

Yuri rolled his eyes, his face neutral but for the faintest twitch of annoyance around his mouth. "Jean, it's barely morning. Maybe we could walk to breakfast without you running off like you're in a race?"

Jean laughed, stepping back a few paces and dropping into a crouch, his gaze bouncing between his two friends. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, you know the market is already setting up. There's probably something good to eat if we get there first!"

Jonas looked on, unbothered, a faint smile playing at his lips. "I think Yuri's right this time. You're always hungry, Jean. You'll eat anything you can get your hands on, but maybe today we walk a little slower?"

Jean straightened, frowning with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "You two are just too slow. If I wait for you, I might wither away from starvation!"

Yuri let out a sigh, looking to Jonas as if to confirm his resignation. "If he really wants to make a scene, who are we to stop him?" Yuri muttered.

But Jonas only shrugged, his gaze flicking past Jean to the street beyond. "He'll end up causing trouble, and then we'll all end up in it, too. Might as well keep an eye on him."

As if sensing he had some leeway, Jean grinned and took a few daring steps backward, nearly colliding with a fruit stand set up outside a small shop. The vendor, an older woman with graying hair and a worn apron, eyed him warily, muttering under her breath as she arranged apples into neat rows. The fragrance of ripe fruit wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery, where baskets sat on the windowsill, steam rising from the warm loaves.

Jean gave the vendor a cheeky nod before darting off toward the market square. Jonas and Yuri exchanged a look before following, their pace steady and unhurried. They watched as Jean wove in and out of the sparse morning crowd, his movements light and quick, drawing occasional looks of both amusement and irritation from passersby.

The market square was beginning to come alive with the morning's bustle, vendors calling out as they arranged their wares, stacks of cloth and leather goods displayed beside baskets of vegetables still damp from the fields. Barrels of spices were lined up in neat rows, their vibrant colors standing out against the muted grays and browns of the stone buildings surrounding them. The air was filled with the low hum of conversation, the occasional laugh, and the distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer echoing from somewhere down the street.