The Pallor Of Knives

Nature is a creature of balance. So would men say.
A Tilism bearer would say otherwise. Such men boast the knowledge to bend nature to their will.
But can they really do it without repercussions? Can water really boil without fire? Can winds really be made to stop?
Or these so-called vain magicians have been harbouring a lie for ages?

Centuries ago, the people were driven out from their rightful land of the north -- the fertile plains of the seven rivers -- to the south. Exiled in shame and poverty, they embraced the harsh life of the plateaus, and made a new home. Anathia.
In the land of Anathia, life is hard. The dry air is coarse, the black soil is dark. And dark are the lives, and the hearts of the people-- fueled by the rage and jealousy at their northern neighbours.

In a world of brewing hatred, one man wakes up alone, with no recollection of who he is and how he came to be. He is surrounded by people who have scorn for him in their eyes, contempt in their words. They all call him by the same one-word -- Whiteman.
Exiled in the land where he doesn't truly belong, he is surrounded by poverty, and bigotry and death. So he dreams -- dreams to escape back among his own people -- where he can finally live a life of freedom.

But can he ever be truly free?