[This name is taken]
"…" Giuseppe blinked.
'What…?'
Giuseppe Castellano was baffled beyond belief.
'Who the hell else would even think of picking that name? Was it Marcus?' His jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth in anger.
'I will find you. I swear.'
[Grim]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
"Fuck!"
[TheRealGoat]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
"I HATE YOU!"
[BucketGod]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
"Fuck you!"
[KingGiuseppe]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
"I WILL KILL EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM!" he shouted into the empty sky.
[FuckYou]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
He stared at the screen, dead inside.
[JustLetMePlay]
[Confirmed]
[This name is taken]
A silent, ancient scream welled up inside him—one born of the purest despair deep in his soul.
[Bucket]
[Confirmed]
[Username Accepted]
Giuseppe stared at the screen with a soulless face, as if betrayed by the heavens themselves.
"Why…"
Before he could dwell any longer, the world around him began to fracture.
In front of him, he saw a single thin, jagged black line appear out of nowhere, like a small tear in paper. But before long, thin, jagged black lines raced across the endless white sky like that paper was now going through a shredder. The warm, sacred light flickered and dimmed. The clouds below his feet trembled, then began to fall apart.
CRACK.
The sky split open.
A deafening, rumbling roar echoed through the infinite expanse as the heavens shattered like broken glass. Huge fragments of the glowing sky tumbled into the void below.
Then, through the cracks, multiple eyes appeared, looking at Giuseppe with malice.
A force yanked him down like a giant unseen hand, pulling him through the collapsing heavens at a dizzying speed. The wind howled past his ears, though he couldn't tell if it was real wind or the screaming of reality tearing itself apart.
The fragments of the shattered heavens blurred past him like comets.
Blink.
Suddenly, he found himself sprawled across a deep, cold floor.
Groaning, Giuseppe pushed himself up onto his elbows. He rose to his feet—unsteady at first—and looked around.
The sight before him made his eyes widen in awe.
Towering bookshelves stretched so high they seemed to last forever, filled with countless tomes, scrolls, and manuscripts.
The air was thick with the scent of ancient parchment.
Above, massive glass domes crowned the cathedral-like ceiling, revealing a swirling, starry expanse beyond. It was as if the very constellations danced directly overhead, their lights bleeding down in rivers of gold and blue.
Suspended in the air were colossal orbs of pure light, each one burning with a gentle, radiant glow. They floated serenely, casting warm, shifting patterns across the marble floor below. Though Giuseppe couldn't tell their purpose.
Golden dust hung in the air like suspended stars, giving the entire space an ethereal, dreamlike quality.
The library seemed endless; and if this place was where he thought it was, then there was no end at all.
The Akashic Library.
The very name whispered itself into his mind.
Where every story is written, every possibility is stored, and every universe is held.
A deep vibration stirred in the pit of his chest, resonating with the very floor he stood upon, as if the library itself acknowledged his arrival.
With that recognition came a calling sensation. Immediately, Giuseppe knew what that was. His Foundational Script.
He didn't resist the feeling and let his instinct guide him. He walked the glorious halls of the library until he came across a single book floating on an empty table.
Giuseppe sat on a soft, black, cushioned chair lined with gold runic patterns that no mind could comprehend.
A white-and-gold holographic screen appeared before his eyes, which had set themselves on the book.
[The Edathis Chronicles]
[In a world born in blood. A land where mountains whispered secrets, rivers laughed with the blood of old gods. And skies shimmered with colours beyond name.
Four great nations rose, each shaped by their dreams and legends.
In the North stood Crovania, the Stoneheart—mist-wreathed mountains and endless forests, where cities were carved into the bones of the world. Its people were proud, enduring, and bound by ancient oaths.
To the East, the Federation of Zathain, a confederation of jewelled cities strung along emerald rivers. Inventors, alchemists, and dreamers dwelled here, where a merchant's smile could hide a thousand knives, and a poet's song could topple kings.
Beyond the southern seas bloomed the Kingdom of Wistoria, a realm of eternal spring, golden meadows, and crystal lakes. Beneath the masks of beauty, secrets held the kingdom together.
And in the blazing West thrived the Sultanate of Jottrye—a land of golden deserts and grand cities shimmering like mirages. Here, the voices of old retained Jottrye's tight grip on the world.
Thus began the first pages of The Edathis Chronicles.]
Giuseppe stared at the floating book after reading the description on the holographic screen.
He tilted his head, brow furrowing. His eyes locked on the glowing book.
After some moments of silence, he muttered, "Alright... I'm ready."
He reached out.
The moment his fingertips brushed the surface—
The world turned dark.
***
The throne room of Veyndral Keep was a cathedral of blue and silver.
Vast banners of midnight blue hung from the towering stone pillars, each one stitched with ancient symbols of power written in a language long lost. The floor was a vast, polished white stone, so smooth it reflected the silver-lined ceiling like a mirror.
A the far end of the hall, upon a throne made from white stone and lined with veins of living silver, sat the King.
Tall, ageless, wrapped in flowing blue and silver robes, his cyan eyes held a deep wisdom that only came from countless years at the helm of a kingdom.
Atop his head sat a brilliant white crown. Forged from celestial ivory and veined with faintly glowing silver, it curved like the branches of an ancient tree reaching for the stars.
At his side stood a figure cloaked in grey, head bowed low—his trusted adviser, known only as Vaelen the Whisperer.
Vaelen knelt and spoke, voice a careful whisper against the heavy silence.
"They will arrive soon, my liege," he said. "The next batch of travellers from beyond."
The King said nothing at first.
He lifted one hand lazily to stroke his chin. "New seeds," the King finally murmured, voice deep and commanding, echoing across the empty hall.
"Some will bloom into mighty oaks. Others will wither before they see the sun. It matters not. Their blood will feed the soil of this world."
Vaelen dared not raise his head.
"Shall I send the Watchers to observe, sire?"
The King leaned forward slightly. "Observe?" His lips curled into something almost like a smile.
"Yes. Vaelen, but let them struggle first. Let them believe they are free. It is in their missteps—their strange tongues, their borrowed customs—that they reveal themselves. And only at the brink of despair do they show their true worth to me."
The King rose to his feet.
"Prepare for the carriage ride to the meadow," he commanded. "I will join my daughter in her ceremony. The people will expect a blessing from their king."
He paused as he stepped down from the throne, casting a glance toward the stained glass windows shimmering with myths.
"And if one of these new seeds forgets whose soil they tread... remind them."
"They walk upon the grounds of the future fifth great nation... Vel'kharin."
____________________________________________________
Author Note
;)