First Light of a New Age

Vol 3 Chapter 105: Burning Hearts

A/n: Sorry for the long delay, fellas. Just finished my Final Exams in Calculus yesterday, and I am confident that I might get a very high score!

And later that evening until midnight, I just got another hours of long sex with my friend again for the third time this week :P

Anyways, enjoy the chapter!

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Kingdom Of High Tarxa, New Tarxa, High Elven Ville, Outskirts, Inside A Room.

1st Year of God, Tuesday, 4th Week, Month Of Jonah.

Dark times were ahead over the Tarxans, and their treatment of the inferiors grew increasingly worse and cruel with each passing day. The string of defeats they suffered at the hands of their adversaries, an enemy known only as the Iron Kingdom, fueled their bitterness.

But despite the mounting failures, King Acheron has not publicly declared their humiliating defeat as he remained silent and refused to acknowledge these humiliations.

Without official word from their king, the Tarxan elite relied on underground vigilantes and shadowy syndicates for scraps of intelligence.

Suffering such hardships, the lives of the inferiors spiraled deeper into misery. They held to the faint hope of salvation, a hope sparked months ago when foreign men, cloaked in strange garments, had delivered a mysterious black box.

But days had turned into weeks, and weeks into months, with no further word. Doubts crept into the hearts of the desperate, had they been abandoned? Or worse, had their unlikely saviors been captured?

Nevertheless, they are rapidly losing hope of any liberation. Such hopes of things getting better have been becoming more and more blurry lately.

Some whispered that the transmissions had been nothing more than a cruel trick played by some superior-class organization, mocking their desperation. Others began to question if liberation had ever been possible, or if the messages were merely a mirage, designed to manipulate and humiliate them.

It all began with that man with an attire unlike anything they'd seen. His clothes, woven from strange, muted fabrics, blended seamlessly into the environment, making him nearly invisible to all but the most watchful eyes.

In a world where bright, flamboyant attire was worn as a mark of honor in battle, this man's garb seemed alien, even dishonorable. But over time, the inferiors came to understand its purpose that these clothes were not meant for pride, but for survival and for silent calculated kills.

However, things were going to change soon enough.

On a far side of the outskirts of the High Elven Ville, there was a desolate village of inferiors who had reached their breaking point. Poverty was at its highest and many were dropping like flies on the streets.

Starvation ravaged their bodies, exhaustion dulled their minds, and despair had extinguished the last flicker of their will to fight.

At this point in time, they no longer dreamed of freedom or salvation, they merely awaited death, imagining the black crows hovering around them, pecking their eyeballs and eventually their entire body. At least their flesh would serve some purpose, feeding the animals of this bleak world.

But just as the silence of death seemed certain, a sudden, jarring noise echoed across the village.

"Hello..."