07: The Erityians

Humans, as creatures of comfort and habits, had long feared change. However, whether they like it or not, everything was bound to change—whether it would be a progress or a regress.

During the 16th century, humans had undergone a substantial shift through speciation, thereby creating a new and distinct race of people. Eruptive may it seem, this change was gradual and undetected for the last couple of centuries, ascribable to what the modern day would refer to genetic drift. This evolution was characterized by their physiological and developmental changes, such as rare eye colors and inhuman abilities.

The new race of people was further diversified through their physical and cultural differences, and upon the discovery of each other's existence, these disparities would drive the groups even more apart. Unbeknownst to the ordinary, the rifts among these groups would be the cause of every great war and all those that would happen in the far future.

⊶⊷⊶⊷

Shinji's clan had been traveling the world for years in search of new knowledge and members. They roamed the coldest cities and seemingly infinite deserts of the Rusnia, bartered with the nomadic tribes in the steppes, and even fought against some of them. They had learned each country and empire's culture—from arts, language, to military strength—as more people like them joined the group. Although there were mishaps along the way, he was contented with their journey. That contentment and safety immediately vanished upon stepping into the Holy Roman Empire's territories, facing adversity after adversity. Without any awareness about the ongoing dispute within the great empire, they were caught in the middle of some full-scale conflicts.

With forty people under his care, it was hard to protect and feed them amid a warring land. Every day, they had to risk their lives to put food in their mouth as military men and soldiers would roam around territories. Shinji tried to delve into the origins of the war and learned that religion was a crucial factor.

"From what I have gathered, there are three prominent religious factions in the land: Catholics, Lutherans, and Calvinists," Frida Heren, whom Shinji had given a new name, Kiku, reported. "The Empire lacks central authority; hence these factions sought to destabilize it and expand their own territories."

Ishida, his righthand man, acknowledged the report. Wanting to leave the nation sooner, Shinji ordered Ishida to accompany Kiku to gather more information while he and Natsue planned for their escape route.

"Lord Shinji," Ishida called once the counselors left. He had told Ishida to address him as Shinji, but the kid was stubborn.

Shinji liked to think of him as a kid even though he had grown so much for the past few years. Ishida had a lean, muscular body that could rival that of a military commander, especially with the sharp blade hanging on his waist. The wild look in his eyes before turned calculating. Shinji told him that strength does not always win, hence he needs to hone his mind, too. The kid started respecting him after saving his life twice that he swore his loyalty, which honestly made Shinji uncomfortable and gave him a lot of pressure. Worse, the kid started calling him lord when they had amassed several people who wanted to join their adventure, and everyone followed what he did.

"What is it, Ishida?"

"May I ask you to entrust my job to Kiku?" he said. "She's competent enough and I can trust her judgment."

Shinji looked at him curiously. His eyes glinted ardently, reflecting the embers of fire beside them. Ishida had never given up on an order, especially one given by him, unless there was something bigger and more important to take care of.

"What are you thinking about? Tell me."

Ishida nodded. "I shalt look for . . . ways to feed our people. You and Lady Natsue shalt focus on planning."

For some reasons, he had a bad premonition about Ishida's proposal. The kid's unique skill was most effective in gathering information, but Ishida, being born and trained as a hunter, must've had his instincts awakened upon witnessing large-scale fights. Ishida had been a wonderful righthand and had held back his self for the past few years, but he was afraid he'd revert to his true nature.

He contemplated for a while. The kid had also been earnestly showing his loyalty, doing things that could cost him his life. Sure, he was afraid of the kid's tendencies, but he did not want to disappoint him as a leader.

"I shall allow you," he uttered while raising his finger, "however, in one condition."

Ishida's eyes glinted in excitement. "What is it, lord?"

"You shant hurt civilians."

"I shall not," he promised.

With renewed purpose, Ishida marched outside, while Shinji watched his back in worry.

***

After nights of discussion and planning with the counselors, they had finally secured an escape route to Amerigen, the nearby continent. Natsue helped him explain the operation.

He had realized her love for literature and writing after he and Ishida saved her from being bought, but besides those, she was also a proficient tactitian. It took her some time to be comfortable enough with others and see herself as a free person, but he was glad she was fine now.

They meticulously concocted the plan—from where and when each small group would be stationed, to how they would move and convened at the rendezvous point—but everything went down the drain when they were informed that Ishida was caught.

"What happened?" he asked with a raised tone, worried and frustrated at Ishida's situation.

The messenger flinched. Before he could speak, Kiku took over. She looked at the messenger and he scampered away. "Ishida sold his service as a mercenary, my lord. The bounties for the targets were . . . quite high."

"What?"

"His mission was to annihilate as many soldiers as he can in a military camp at one of the borders, not knowing a village was taken hostage by the camp." She paused, gauging his reaction. "It escalated quickly, and before he could realize, some civilians were . . ."

She let the words hang up in the air, but everyone knew what she meant. Dread coursed through Shinji's body. He should have not allowed him to do things alone, and it was all his fault. Now, the counselors were criticizing Ishida for his reckless decisions and feared that the whole operation would be jeopardized.

If only he was wise enough to foreknow what would be the best course of action . . . if only he was valiant enough to confront them regarding their decisions. Watching his people's faces filled with perturbation, he knew he was a failure as a leader.

***

He and Natsue, whom Ishida considered as his closest friends, felt responsible for what had happened, hence they volunteered to save him themselves. Their abilities were proven to be a perfect complement to each other as they infiltrated the camp holding Ishida quite easily.

Ishida could escape by himself, but Shinji surmised the kid wanted to lay low to prevent the empire from finding any connection between him and the group. Or perhaps, the guilt of killing the innocent and breaking his condition debilitated Ishida despite his overwhelming strength.

A stone pillar stood in the middle of the camp. Chains as thick as a person's wrist were affixed on the pillar and Ishida's hands and feet were bound by them. A guard stood close to him; iron rod ready on his hand. His heart almost sank upon seeing the red blotches on the Ishida's clothes and the cuts on his face.

His vision turned red from anger just as Ishida saw them from the corner of his eyes. The next thing he knew, he was running toward his comrade's direction with Natsue close behind, and instincts took over his body.

***

Shinji winced as he tried to open his eyes, but a wave of nausea hit him as fragments of his memories came rushing in.

"Lord Shinji," a familiar voice called. Her voice was warm and soothing, and it quelled the panic rising through his throat.

Natsue's face came into view, but instead of her usual impassive expression, it was filled with worry and dread. He tried to sit up, but everything spun around him. Fortunately, she caught him by his arm.

He suddenly remembered what happened. His emotions had taken over him after seeing Ishida's state. Without a definitive plan, he charged by himself. He remembered Ishida's terror-stricken face and Natsue's panicked expression as she trotted behind him. Soldiers from every direction came . . . and there was blood everywhere.

He looked at his trembling hands in horror. "What have I done? Where is Ishida? What did . . ."

Natsue looked at him with her pained eyes. "Come with me, Shinji. The counselors are waiting."

His body was still trembling, but he followed Natsue silently. They entered the wrecked shack beside the old bunker where they were staying. The shack served as their command center.

The counselors were waiting by their seats, but his gaze drifted to the guy on his knees. He silently heaved a sigh of relief after seeing Ishida in person. He was safe, at least, he thought.

They discussed about what had transpired and by the time they were finished, beads of cold sweat covered his forehead and temples.

He let Natsue free Ishida from the chains while he slashed the nearby soldiers. He was frantically telling them the way out as he could see everything around. He needed them to run away, and he didn't care if he would be left here. It was all his fault anyway. But it did not go as planned. Something hit his nape and his vision blurred. The last thing he saw was Ishida carrying him and Natsue leading the way.

Shinji heard what happened while he was unconscious. Fearing their secrets would be discovered, Ishida used his power to break the minds of those who witnessed them, much to his horror.

The counselors were aggrieved. They said the kid broke the oath they had all sworn to uphold: they are never to harm nor execute the ordinary except those who did unforgivable crimes.

"B-but I did, too," Shinji reasoned after remembering what he did to the soldiers.

"Pardon the insolence, my lord," one of the counselors said, "but that would not have happened if this boy right here did not attack a camp with a captive village by himself."

The other counselors agreed in unison.

Shinji appointed the counselors a year ago to guide him in his decisions as he was still young and naïve when it comes to leadership. Now he started to wonder if he made the right choice.

"Lord Shinji," Ishida spoke, which sent the whole shack into silence. "I deserve death after desecrating our sworn oath."

"No," he replied with such force that some counselors shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

His heart grew heavy. Shinji knew he would lose the counselors support if he favored Shinji. As a leader, he should be as impartial as possible, but it was difficult. The kid was the first person he met after he got separated from Ryou, his younger brother. And he did not want to lose him.

But he was a leader now. And Ishida understood that, too.

"Jikko Ishida," he called, and his lungs tightened. "You shall stay by my side until we get to the next land and shall do nothing. You are not allowed to partake in any fights or operations." His throat felt dry, but his eyes were moist. "And banishment awaits you, shall we arrive at Amerigen."

The counselors wanted to protest, but he shot a glare at them, something he did for the first time, and their turned silent. "That is my verdict."

Ishida looked at him with his remorseful eyes and melancholic smile. "I accept it, my lord. And I apologize for everything."

Tears quietly ran down Natsue's face and seeing that made it harder for Shinji to hold back his. That moment, he was just Shō, who would lose someone he treated as a brother. 'I will let you settle in an island near my homeland. I want you to be nearby when I . . . when I come home.'

The kid let out a weary chuckle. 'That will be nice . . . Shō.'

Before the meeting got adjourned, a messenger knocked on the door with a letter on his hand. Natsue took it and she stifled a gasp, tickling everyone's curiosity.

"I-It's . . ." she looked at Shinji, still in disbelief.

"What is it?"

She breathed deeply to calm herself. "A letter of invitation."

"From whom?"

"From someone like us."

⊶⊷⊶⊷

The village had been known as a ghost town, a land of death, after the slaughter that happened several years ago. The tragedy had given birth to an eerie canard about a monster living in the deserted village. A shinigami, the reaper of souls, who had claimed hundreds of lives and spilled blood on their land.

Ryō thought the preposterous story would make the neighboring daimyo, feudal lords, fear the land. Contrary to his belief, these lords would give anything to expand their lands. Their silence for the past few years was a preparation for another attack.

He felt a familiar presence nearby. Upon recognizing Isamu, one of his top vassals, he willed the darkness to bend and create a door.

Isamu came into view and walked toward his direction. He could still see the same wariness in the vassal's face every time he enters the strange realm.

For the past few years, he had explored and analyzed his power. His father's mind and body deteriorated because he hid and sealed his power inside him. He did not want to have the same fate.

After Yoru's desperate attempt to save his life, it dawned on him that opening gateways to other places was just a fraction of his ability. He had the power to control and access the shadow realm, and now, it had anchored itself in a synchronous way to the village. Shadows and darkness, things he thought were intangible, became the physical manifestation of his powers.

Ryō spent years trying to navigate the dimension, but time and distance worked differently there. Still, it was the only place where he could feel safe. Where Yoru could be kept away from any danger. Hence, he started building a village, mirroring the ghost town where his people were currently living. He surmised that he would need a safe place for them, too, once the greedy started pillaging their land again.

"Ryō-sama," Isamu called, pulling his thoughts back on the present.

"Speak."

"Our scout reported about the preparation of Yamato-sama's samurais."

He winced upon hearing the daimyo's name. He was the one who orchestrated the attack few years ago that cost the lives of his new clan and incapacitated Yoru.

The past few months, he had appointed samurai positions to those who exceled in swords despite not having noble bloodlines. He realized that he needed strong people by his side to protect the village . . . yet even that would not be enough.

"How many soldiers are they planning to send?" he asked.

"Around fifty samurai, Ryō-sama."

He grimaced at the news. The strength of one samurai was already challenging. Fifty meant they had angered the feudal lord enough for him to send his best men.

Ryō stood from his chair, his black cloak billowing like a tendril of smoke amid the darkness. "Tell Yuma to guard the perimeter," he ordered, and his expression softened upon turning his gaze to the humble house on his right. "And Isamu . . ."

The vassal followed his gaze, and a mutual understanding came between them. He wanted Yoru to be safe even if she were already inside the realm.

"I will, my lord."

With his vassal's affirmation, he donned his menpō, a mask worn by warriors during a war, with a shinigami face. It was time to declare one.

***

The daimyo's home towered over him with an eerie grandeur. It stood on the center of an enormous garden, and by its side was a small pond. Maple trees of different colors, cypress and bamboos covered the surroundings in a pleasing splendor. Each building was symmetrical to each other, and everything was connected by long hallways. It could have been a great place if it weren't for its owner.

Ryō observed the mansion closely in the shadows. The daimyo Yamato, together with the other feudal lords surrounding the area, had killed so many of his brethren few years ago and it was time for them to pay the price.

He realized these people would not stop until they could conquer their land. His people could not defend themselves every time. He thought perhaps it was time to let them taste the fear of getting attacked.

The setting sun cast a crimson glow on the mansion, as if a bloodbath had just occurred. A menacing smile appeared on Ryō's face. An auspicious omen, he thought, as he imagined the blood that would be spilled once the night has come.

At the grandest place in the residence, Ryō caught sight of Yamato surrounded by his best samurais. The feudal lord was wearing an iron plate instead of his usual kimono and hakama regalia. On his waist was a high-grade katana, which he surely would not use at all. His usual disapproving frown was hidden underneath his menpō. The samurais by his side donned the same attire, with a variety of mempō on their faces—from oni, to tengu, to much frightening faces that could intimidate their enemies.

Ryō knew that samurais were loyal to their master and would do anything to fulfill the latter's wishes. They were the true power behind Yamato's strength and influence, hence he needed to be careful.

As soon as the moon rose, the feudal lord's samurais and retainers marched toward the direction of the village. Two samurais, whom he assumed to be the strongest based on their armors and katana, guarded Yamato. His eyes gleamed with foreboding. He had hoped the daimyo would send his best men to the battlefield, but it seemed like even the powerful lord feared for his safety.

Ryō reckoned the army would reach the village by morrow. He had already advised his own retainers to be ready at dawn in the event that he did not come back by then. He was confident in leaving the village because he knew what Isamu and Yuma were capable of. Despite their low upbringing, the two could wreak havoc once provoked.

The mansion was illuminated by the gleam of the moonlight. It turned eerily quiet without the daimyo's troop. He carefully infiltrated one of the small houses connected to the main building through a wooden hallway. He did not risk using his power as he was still not familiar with the daimyo's home.

Upon sneaking into the lord's quarter, he saw the lavish banquet that was prepared in his honor—an early celebration of their supposed victory to conquer his land.

His anger flared. The daimyo had already enough land and riches for a lifetime, yet his hunger for more made Ryō's village his next target to conquer.

"By morrow, I want good news," Yamato told one of the samurais.

The daimyo's shoulders slightly drooped, a sign that he loosened his guard a bit, and Ryō did not miss the chance. Using the shadow realm in a crafty way to conceal his presence, he swiftly went to the daimyo's blind spot.

A precise single strike, he mentally noted as he aimed for the neck, but his plan was immediately thwarted by the samurais by his side.

Metals clanged against each other. Yamato scampered away, terrified at how he almost lost his life.

"Who are you?!" the daimyo snarled.

Ryō was occupied by the samurai on the right, and he had to assume into a defensive stance. If I let my guard down even for a second, I would get killed, he reminded himself. Fortunately, the other samurai did not make any move and was solely focused on protecting the feudal lord.

"Kill him!"

He did not want to use his power yet, but he had to. In the shadows, he would have an upper hand. With a deep breath, he attacked again, knowing that the three were still stunned at how he just disappeared.

***

Fighting with two skilled samurais would have been impossible if it weren't for his brilliant control over his own power. He would attack from their blind spots and where they least expect it. It might have been a cowardly move, but he was no samurai who needed to uphold honor. Even their own clan had been besmirched for a century after his ancestor became a rōnin. He had no prestige to lose.

His last strike critically wounded his enemy. The samurai crumpled into the floor, soaking in his own blood. At his last moment, the fallen samurai's eyes flickered in fury, and before Ryō could deliver the final strike, the samurai ended his own life.

The body went limp, and silence enveloped the quarter. "Pity," he murmured. "You could have been a great retainer."

His gaze shifted to the daimyo and the remaining samurai. With blood dripping from his sword, he slowly walked toward their direction.

"Hurry, you fool!" Yamato said with his trembling voice. "Get me out of here!"

He held his gaze with the samurai despite its mask covering his face. "Serve me, warrior," Ryō announced. "You do not belong here."

He took off his menpō, revealing his virescent eyes. While fighting the other samurai, he felt a unique presence nearby. He thought it was just his own, but once he was inside the shadows, he realized it wasn't. Then, it dawned on him. There must be someone like him around.

Yamato stifled a gasp. "M-monster! Kill him! Now!"

The samurai remained still, and a moment later, he removed his own menpō, sending the daimyo in absolute shock. His amber eyes stared a long moment at Ryō. The daimyo fell on his back upon getting a rude awakening from one of his loyal servants.

"If you have already decided, wait for me outside."

The samurai quietly walked out while Yamato's face became pale as the moonlight. He raised his katana while the daimyo kept on begging for his life. Standing in front of death, the feudal lord's status, wealth, and influence amounted to nothing.

"Blood has been spilled on my land on your command," Ryō said. "Now, pay the price with your life."

With a swift slash, the daimyo's head rolled on the floor, and his home was bathed in his blood.

***

The daimyo's death brought a widespread unrest throughout the neighboring villages. Fortunately, most people believed the rumors about his greed and the infamous shinigami visited him as soon as he ordered for the conquest of the cursed village.

Without any kin, Ryō inherited the daimyo's wealth. One of the reasons why he had to kill him was to control the lord's riches and power. If he became a feudal lord, he would have the strength to confront any imminent threat. And this way, he could protect what mattered to him the most.

But even with more vassals guarding the land, someone had managed to sneak into the main village.

Isamu, Yuma, and Genkei, the former retainer of the deceased daimyo, all drew their katanas, but Ryō gestured them to halt. For some reason, the veiled intruder was masking his true presence.

"Announce your appellation and purpose, intruder."

The guy removed the cloth covering his face and earned a chorus of gasps when his crimson eyes were revealed.

"Call me Hagen, sire," he stated. "I am here as a messenger."

Hagen pulled out a paper and handed it to Isamu. The retainer shot a glare at the intruder before handing it over to Ryō.

A smile escaped Hagen's lips. "My chief and . . . the others . . . expect your presence."

⊶⊷⊶⊷

The gray wolf's coat draped around Yllka's shoulders felt heavier as soon as she stood in front of the other clans' harjas. After their emergence—individuals with abilities channeling the powers of nature—they were elected as protectors, and later elevated their status as their respective clans' chiefs, while the previous chieftains became advisers.

Thrown into the pool of leaders at a young age, the responsibilities would sometimes overwhelm her, but Yllka did not complain. She wanted to prove that despite being young and the only female amongst them, she could still do her job, and that was protecting her people and her land.

What she did not expect was the disharmony among harjas.

"The rivers are in our territory," Bruig, a water harja, said in a controlled tone. "Why must you exhaust our food source?"

Casmir scoffed. "The rivers cut through our village, too, hence we have the right to gather resources from them."

They had agreed on sharing the uninhabited areas in the mountain range, but there had been differences of opinions over staple-abundant places bordering the villages. Some wanted priority given to the villages near them while others wanted equal rights.

Yllka thought there would be comradeship among the village clans as they managed to be united when they were driving out the people from the urban away from their home, but after years of this assemblage, nothing had changed.

Most still wanted territories and resources only for themselves.

Ivankov, who was sitting beside him, yawned and slouched on the table. "This conclave is futile," he murmured.

She studied him closely. "May I know why?"

"We are all hunters, hence, we can be quite territorial," he answered. "And as chiefs, everyone wants what's best for their village. Taking control of the rainforest will be a big help."

"Do you plan on securing it, too?"

Ivankov shrugged. "We still have plenty of resources up there, haven't we?"

Realization instantly hit her. Perhaps the reason why she was dithering about their enclave disputes was because the northern tribes had fewer competitors when it comes to their staples. Must she care when it would not even affect her or her tribe?

Why did you even become a chief? A harja? Would you only care about what affects you? she chided herself.

She dreamt of a united nation, a shared land, for everyone. They needed one another and figuring out the differences would be the only way for everyone to partake in the solidarity.

"Listen—"

Her voice got drowned in the clamor of the village chiefs. They were upbraiding each other's behavior, and several were already preparing to use their abilities. Exasperated by the older harjas' actions, she froze the huge slab in front of them, and it disintegrated into ice crystals.

Everyone fell silent; their gazes on her. Some looked terrified, others intrigued.

"I am pleased that I finally got a little of your attention," she commented sardonically. "Perhaps a proposal from a young one can help you?"

Most looked uncomfortable with her impertinence, but she could see Ivankov suppressing a grin and Casmir glaring at her. She had been silent over the past few years because she thought she wasn't needed, but now it was apparent. These men, most of the times, only use their strength even in situations that need wisdom.

I won't be the same, she thought. I'll be better.

"How about we make the rainforest a common hunting ground?"

Casmir raised an eyebrow. "Won't that be just the same as before? What a foolish thought."

She ignored him and faced the others. "A common ground where everything you take is yours. However, nobody is allowed to kill a tribe member. The reason why our kind are slowly vanishing is because we see each other as adversaries. We kill for food, for territory, and for threats. Perhaps getting rid of that practice can lessen the death of our people and we can learn to share our resources."

"Sharing? That's absurd—"

"Listen first," she interrupted. "We from the highlands can give you animal coats during winter. In exchange, we request some crops. Those who live near the rivers can share fish during summer and those in the plateau will exchange their winter crops when the rivers freeze. We can all benefit from each other only if we set aside our greed and pride."

Her speech left everyone bereft of speech. The courage she had a while ago immediately left her body and all she could feel at the moment was worriment. However, one by one, the chiefs started agreeing with her proposition.

"Well done, Yllka," Krudj, the wind harja, commended after the meeting.

For once, she could feel the warmth spreading through her body. She was not used to compliments, so she was a little flustered. "I-I . . ."

"You have the presence of a leader," he added. "Perhaps people should listen to you more."

Krudj's words came to be true few years later as she was appointed as the overlord of the harja tribes. More of their kind from the lowlands also sought solace in their territories, earning a peculiar assembly of harjas.

The people started to build a temple in their common ground, hvítr, as a symbol of unity, representing each tribe's traditions and their respective chief's powers.

Upon completion, their conclaves were carried out there, but during one, an unexpected guest arrive. What surprised them was the stranger's eccentric eyes.

"An urban settler," Casmir hissed as he drew his weapon. "How did you get here?"

"Casmir," Yllka called with a hint of warning.

"Are you not too lenient?"

"Fear not, blue-eyed ones," the guy announced. His gaze shifted to Yllka and smiled. "You are the leader, aren't you?"

She glanced at Casmir who had grown resentful after her furtherance to an overlord. Reluctantly, she nodded. "Who are you?"

"My name is of little importance, but my master wants to talk to you," he said.

"Master?"

The guy curled his lips, as if the thought amused him. "Yes. The all-knowing one. You shall meet her, as well as the green-eyed people."

Green-eyed? she queried in her mind. Realizing how much she did not know about their kind or the world, she was suddenly interested in the guy's words.

He handed him a map where the center was marked with a red X.

"We shall wait for you, lord of the harjas," he declared, and it dawned on her that the guy knew a lot about them.

Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" she repeated, but the guy had already turned around.

He halted and smiled. "If you are the protectors of the mountains, then you may call me one of the guardians of truth."

Before she could ask another question, the guy had already disappeared from their sight.

⊶⊷⊶⊷

Nestled in the hills near the shore, Edda's mansion had a majestic view of the everlasting and serene ocean.

It wasn't until last year since she had gotten the place. Casimir, the reigning duke of the nation bestowed her a fief after her years of service and loyalty. Little did he know, Edda had never been completely loyal to him.

The duke was a good ruler. He would listen to people's demands and do things in the nation's best interest. However, Edda had learned the hard way not to trust a person in power, hence she was only loyal to herself and to her kind.

Behind the duke's back, she established a guild of people who possessed innate peculiar abilities who could help her with her grand endeavor.

"Chief."

Her thoughts were pulled back to the present upon hearing her subordinate's voice outside the room. "Come in."

Morgan, a skilled mercenary whom she encountered during a classified mission, walked toward her direction. "I have delivered your message to the blue-eyed people."

Her eyes twinkled in merriment. "Did they respond?"

He grinned as he stroked his beard, a habit he does whenever something seems auspicious. "She did not, but the youngling seems intrigued. She shall come."

She had learned to trust the mercenary's intuition over the years as he would always successfully foretell some of the most significant occurrences they had encountered. If Morgan said the harjas would participate, it would probably be realized.

Upon her discovery of her own kind through Hagen, she started gathering and convincing them to join her cause. She knew how difficult and lonely it was to not find a place you truly belonged to. Edda wanted to provide a safe space for her kind, and at the same time, ask them for help.

It was not hard to identify one as they had an aberrant feature—crimson eyes that seemed to reflect blood. But what she did not expect was the existence of other people who shared the same peculiarities, but differed features in their irises.

The sudden awareness of their existence completely changed her perspective. Edda started trailing these people, and soon ordered her subordinates to observe them furtively, much to their wonderment.

"I can't believe they exist!" Hagen exclaimed after witnessing a green-eyed one use his power to escape from a mortal soldier during one of his missions.

Ethedred had been gathering information from different world governments. She knew what countries wanted to start wars, the military strength of each nation, looming political turmoil, and even those who would emerge as rulers in the next centuries, but that moment, nothing was more exciting to her than knowing about those blue- and green-eyed people.

She had kept tabs on them without their knowledge and even tried to infiltrate each group through her subordinates, but there was the risk of being exposed.

After years of reconnaissance, she had come to realize that their kind shared the same fate—wherever they go, death follows.

Their very existence attracts chaos. Sooner or later, it would affect the world in a much larger scale.

That supposition forced her to make a move. She had to meet the respective leaders of each group, and perhaps discuss what they could do. She sent her best subordinates to send her message and after months of waiting, Hagen and Morgan had returned with good news. The three groups would participate in the assemblage.

Her attendants prepared the ship they would use to their voyage. "Set sail!" she ordered.

The time had come. The true rulers shall finally meet at the center of the world.

***