“Humans are social creatures; this has not changed since the very beginning of our existence, and it is why we so often seek solace in the companionship of another. We congregate around those of similar beliefs, forge trusting relationships, and we toil the land as to bring future prosperity onto our descendants. Through this process, a most miraculous existence is born - the single greatest invention in mankind’s history - and that is the formation of a community. Many begin with humble origins, but as time goes on that little clan transforms into a nation of millions. More people beget greater prosperity, more attention towards cultural and technological advancement, and most important of all… a more plentiful military.

“But what happens when a nation expands far too grand such that it becomes impossible to fully manage on its own? Well, a curious system arises: one called hierarchy. It separates the people into an even further subset of groups.

“For Polus, the hierarchy is of nobles and common folk: Ishmahab’s rich and poor; Augurium’s scholarly and ordinary. But for those of Nox Caelum… their class division is rather unique.

“Before, politicians ruled over the citizens, and there were many parties that each resembled a different ideology for how the nation should be ruled. But with the election of Grand General Xeros, he did away with the old system and instead split the capital into four unique layers:

“The Slums, where society’s outcasts and most useless are dumped.

“The Freedman, where those of average skill are assigned to work in mundane occupations.

“The Proletariat, a more luxurious district composed of experts and the accomplished who have proven their value as an essential contributor to Caelum’s affluence.

“And finally, the Erudite. A paradise for the nation’s finest where the leaders and chiefs of the Grand General’s retinue call home.”

- A History of Sociopolitical Divide: Penned by Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy

———

Satanael

Satanael is a very well traveled man. He has visited many nations, and with every passing jaunt does he forever engrave another soul to his garden. Salvation does not discriminate, after all; the worthy can be found in even the most isolated of regions.

But there is one place he cannot help but feel fond towards, and that is his hometown: Caligos Imperium, the capital of Nox Caelum.

It is nostalgic, this smell of oil. The man takes a greedy sniff of the polluted air, and he lets out a most blissful groan. The grey lifeless sky, the coarse roads covered in a layer of soot, and the ever pervasive overcast of smog… yes, everything is so terribly grim.

Yet, that is exactly why Satanael adores this wretched city. One would think the hostile conditions to cultivate naught but broken, battered souls, but that cannot be any further from the truth. No, it is because the people endure such harsh conditions, such utter contempt for one’s well being, that beauty blossoms ever so delightfully within.

And what better to discover these hidden masterpieces than on a lovely little stroll? The midnight hour has come, and Satanael finds himself practically skipping in thrill as he treks through the filthy avenues of what they call the Freedman District. The capital itself is better likened as four sectors stacked on top of one another, creating a most interesting visual of a ringed city.

Caligos has not always appeared this way, courtesy of the Grand General’s renovations. Satanael must admit his changes are rather interesting, but there is no surpassing the Freedman’s charm; the district is most similar to the Caelum of before.

Here, ragged carriages of metal creak and groan as they trample upon the blackened lanes, and this time in particular is plagued with a sea of weary-eyed laborers returning from the factories. Their faces are covered in dirt and the odd boils, and they all shuffle forward - one step after another - until more people join the sullen procession, and soon not a speck of the ground can be seen: only an ever proliferating wave.

If one is not careful, they may find themselves swept away without a sound, for these sorry souls have not the energy to even look forward. No, their eyes linger upon their grimy boots, head tilting down as if the very act of keeping upright is far too much an effort. They merely entrust themselves to the wave—to the countless days and experiences of repetitive routine.

But even in this crowd does Satanael notice a few budding individuals who harbor potential to be a beautiful flower. He wishes to spirit them away right this moment, yet… alas, he has other matters to attend to. A shame, but perhaps another day.

His destination is elsewhere. He slips past the crowd and ducks into a sequestered alleyway: under the overpass, take a right at the creaky post, a left, another right, and straight through a derelict tunnel until… finally, he arrives at a door with a shabby, flickering sign hanging above in bright glowing letters: ‘Sarah’s Speakeasy’.

If there’s anything Satanael has learned in all his years of travel, it is that the people love to gossip. A bit of merrymaking, some alcohol perchance, and soon their lips loosen as a river of gold spews forth from their weary mouths. Yes, there is no better place to collect information than at a bar.

Satanael approaches the door, and the sign illuminates his snazzy figure. He is dressed quite fashionably for the occasion despite the drab environment, donning a pitch-black suit of tweed fabric while a burgundy-red tie with patterns of sharp thorns lies snugly on his chest. It does not matter where you are, one must always look their best; it is only polite.

With a raise of the fist, he knocks on the cold metal with three rapid taps. A tiny slot opens and reveals a pair of beady eyes carefully inspecting him.

“What’s the—” the doorkeeper begins. “Oh, my apologies Mr. Rose. I should have recognized you what with that… eccentric mask of yours.”

He laughs. “My, my, what happened to those passwords you all are so fond of?”

“Heh, as if anyone else would dress like you around here. Why do you always wear a suit to these run-down places anyway?”

“I simply adore looking charming.”

They roll their eyes. “Fair enough. You’re an odd man, Mr. Rose, but who am I to judge in a world like this? Come on in.”

The door parts way, and Satanael is welcomed into a quaint, dimly-lit room filled with people hoping to forget the day’s hardship. The ladies wear provocative blouses and play games of darts off to the side while gentlemen in grease-stained jackets drown their woes in drink.

Establishments like these are not necessarily forbidden by the Caelum administration, but it is better for such places to be situated away from the prying eyes of the public. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ or so they say. The secrecy also aids in the discussion of more controversial topics.

“Ohoh? Now who’s this fine lookin’ good sir over here?” A strapping young woman waves over at him from behind the bar counter. Her hair is scrunched into a ponytail, color of vibrant red that would normally look like the sunset if not for all the grease and oil, and hoisted over her shoulders is a long apron with the words ‘Drink ‘till you’re dead!’ displaying in crude font.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“It’s been quite a while, Mr. Rose,” she says, greeting him whilst expertly juggling between cleaning, serving, and attending to the needs of the other guests. “You haven’t forgotten about little ol’ me now, have you?”

“A pleasure as always, Madam Sarah,” Satanael says, taking a seat. “You know a man like I cannot be contained in this little corner of the world. I have been quite busy searching for high-quality buds to blossom in my garden.”

She gives him a funny look. “You know, you’re always going on about flowers and such, but I’ve never actually seen your supposed miracle garden before. Mind lettin’ me have a look sometime?”

“Perhaps one day. The time is not ripe for you quite yet.”

“Well, it’d better ripe fast. I don’t want to be an old woman before I finally see some damn greenery in this city.”

“It may come sooner than you think.”

But before Sarah can reply, she is interrupted by a surly, middle-aged man in a brown cap and thick overalls. His eyes are glossy, complexion very much inebriated, and he manages to part from the bottle in his hands just long enough to slur out a barely-coherent sentence. “Ah, bollocks. As if anything could grow around here. Only place free from all this smog is in the Erudite, and sorry Mr. Fancy Mask or whoever you are, but… frankly speaking I find it hard to believe you’re one of those schmucks.”

Sarah giggles and quickly replaces the drunk’s old bottle with a full one. “Who knows? Maybe Mr. Rose over here is a high-ranking official, disguised to mingle among us poor folk.”

The man lets out a hearty laugh. “If it’s a disguise, then it’s a damn terrible one. Nah, he’s just a weird fellow. No offense.”

“None taken, Mr…?” Satanael says.

“Call me Barker. Cid Barker,” he grunts. “I’m just a humble engineer over at the Vulcan Workshop.”

“The Vulcan Workshop… is that not in the Proletariat? Oh my, you are quite the high-ranking individual yourself Mr. Barker.”

The man scratches his head. “Bah, I’m not like those geniuses. I only made it up there after years of honing my craft, and in the end my skills’re no better than young un’s half my age.”

Satanael pats him on the back. “Nonsense, you’ve still achieved what many in this district can only dream of. But that does make me curious; why spend your time down here? I’m sure the conditions in the Proletariat are much more hospitable.”

He chuckles. “Eh, booze up there is just diluted drivel. Sarah’s the only place I can get some half-decent ale in this city.”

Sarah giggles and slips him another shot. “Aw, don’t go flatterin’ me now you old drunk.”

“Heh, you deserve it. I would’ve gone mad long ago if not for this bar.” Cid sighs and thumps his head against the hard counter. “Especially since the higher-ups have been workin’ us like slaves lately. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’re preparing for a full-on invasion against Polus.”

Her expression darkens, and Satanael can spot a twinkle of something interesting in her eyes: displeasure. “The Grand General’s really committed this time around, huh?”

“Guess so. Apparently we managed to slay that Heaven’s Throne lady, Lorelai, or whatever she’s called. It’s the perfect opportunity to finally annex the kingdom.”

“Do you think Xeros’ll finally leave that eyesore of a spire?”

Cid carefully looks around the bar before leaning in close and replying with a whisper. “Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but some buddies of mine said that he’s already gone; apparently out on an excursion to the Steppe for some talks with the Overlord. I don’t think he’ll be back for another week or two. When he does, though… let’s just say it’s gonna be busy.”

Sarah raises her brow and attempts to appear indifferent, but Satanael notices a sly smile creeping onto her face. “Well, that is mighty interestin’. Suppose it doesn’t concern us regular folk, but I do feel bad about the soldiers. It’ll probably be a real blood bath—for both sides. Ugh, it gives me the shivers just thinkin’ about it.”

He shakes his head. “That’s the nature of war, darling. People gotta die in order to make things better; that’s just how it is.”

“Does it really though?” she says with sincerity. “All this fightin’… for what? Will this war really make our nation a better one?”

Cid himself doesn’t seem to have the answer, but nonetheless he remains firm in his stance. “Listen, I… I know life isn’t the best right now, but you have to understand just how worse it was before Xeros took. You were, what, maybe ten around the time?”

She huffs at him. “It’s rude to ask a lady’s age, but yes. Around that.”

“Right. I just entered my twenties myself, and if you asked any adult at the time how things were, they’d all answer the same: horrible. People were starving on the streets, magnates and big businesses treated their workers like subhuman garbage, and the politicians were only interested in lining their own pockets. Each and every one of them: big promises but all talk.”

“That’s weird, I remember things changin’ for the better,” Sarah says. “My parents talked about it often—about how excited they were after Luxmi was elected.”

“Luxmi… yeah, now she was a good woman.” Cid sighs and sets his bottle down in a rare moment of sobriety. “May the Stars bless her soul. She really did try hard, and I doubt anyone would say otherwise, but her policies were too lenient. Our system was corrupt to the very core, yet she wanted to bring change slowly—to solve everything with peace when what we really needed was to raze this nation to its roots.

“Her way would have only prolonged our suffering, and the people? We were all tired. Tired of the empty promises; tired of all the false hope; tired of being led on year after year only to see that nothing truly changed. And that… that’s why Xeros was a real breath of fresh air. He saw this nation for what it really was, and he vowed to cleanse it with his own hands. There was no compromise rubbish, no talks of bending the knee before those factory tycoons: no, he was going to bring change even if it meant by force, and it’s that intensity that made us all so smitten with him.”

Cid finishes his speech with a most patriotic shake of the fist, but Sarah’s reaction appears to be more underwhelming than he has expected; she merely rolls her eyes and lets out a bored yawn. “So?”

“So… what?” he says, incredulous at her apathy.

“So what about now? Did he make Caelum into the paradise he oh-so touted during his campaign?”

Cid groans and smothers his face in his hands. “Okay, I know where you’re goin’ with this, but let me make this clear: yes, there are some problems. But… it’s enough. The factories are safer, the hours aren’t as long, and no one goes hungry anymore. Best of all, our children can get an education. I was forced to work with machines because that was the only thing I could do, but that’s not the same for my daughter.”

His face turns soft, and he swirls his bottle in his hands. “She loves helpin’ people, you know. Always worryin’ about the little scratches on my face. She has her own first-aid kit she likes to haul around everywhere, and her teacher’s even told me that her grades are good enough to be enrolled into medical school. Heh, imagine that: my kid as a doctor. If she does well, becoming a Proletariat’ll be easy. Hells, after a couple of years she might even climb up to the Erudites. Something like that would’ve never been possible back in my day, especially with a dad as dimwitted as me.”

Cid’s demeanor suddenly grows cold, and he shakes his head whilst scowling in annoyance. “We’re doing just fine around here, but then you have those lunatics running around as of late… shouting and screaming about staging a rebellion. Have you heard about them?”

Sarah turns rigid. “Oh, you mean the resistance? Yeah, I’ve, um, heard about them. What was their group called again…”

Satanael seizes his chance to join the conversation and chimes in with an enthusiastic reply. “The Yurodiviye, or so I recall: an elusive organization dedicated to the fall of Xeros’s regime.”

“Aye, that’s the one,” Cid says with a grim nod. “They’ve been raiding workshops all throughout the Proletariat the last couple of weeks. They used to be pretty docile, but… guess the Grand General’s departure got leaked somehow. All of my buddies are scared about being attacked—it’s madness, I tell you. Can’t sleep a wink these days without a nice swig of the bottle. Especially after hearing about their leader…”

“Their leader?” Satanael says, voice dripping in amusement as he casts a side eye at lady Sarah. “Do go on.”

“I don’t know much,” he begins. “But apparently she’s called Seraphina the Witch. No one’s ever been able to get a good look at her—not alive at least. And if you’re unfortunate enough to cross her path… gives me chills just thinking about it.”

Cid sighs and stands up from his seat, although not without some drunken wobbling first. “Well, it’s been fun, but I’ve gotta head back home; don’t wanna worry the wife. Thanks for all the drinks, Sarah. Save me a spot for next week, would you?”

“Of course! I’ll even bust out the good stuff.”

“Thatta girl, I’m looking forward to it.”

With a final parting gesture, Cid stumbles out of the bar and into the cold evening air. He is gone, and so are the rest of the patrons. The only ones left are Satanael and Sarah.

“Welp, looks like you’ll be my last call, Mr. Rose,” she says, stretching her shoulders with a little moan. “What can I get ya, another shot of brandy?”

He chuckles. “No, I am quite satisfied. However, I do have something I must tell you. It is very, very important.”

“Oh? You’re makin’ me a bit nervous here.”

“Do not worry. It shall be quick.”

Satanael leans in close, and he whispers in her ear.

“I know your secret.”