Chapter 1: Shadows and Sovereigns: War for essence

We sprint through the alleys, the shouts of the guards hot on our heels. Olly wheezes as he struggles to keep up, but I don’t dare slow my pace. I tighten my grip on his wrist, refusing to let him fall.

“Can't…. Kormen…” Olly says.

“Just a bit further, Olly! We’ve outrun worse,” I say over my shoulder. But it's not, and we haven't, and Olly knows it.

If we’re caught we’ll be thrown into the endless war against the void in the Sovereign’s Tower. Certain death.

But the risk is worth it if we can get magic, and get out of here. Damn the Six. Those fake essence vials I forged should’ve been untraceable. It should’ve worked, should’ve made us rich enough to start a new life.

The alley narrows, forcing us into single file, its walls snagging my shirt and biting into my skin. Above, faces jeer, their insults and rubbish raining down. I shield my head, hoping they’re aiming for the guards at our heels. The clamour of our pursuers swells—a roar of shouts and clanging armour. I risk a glance back, catching the glint of fire on steel. Too close.

"Ahead!" Olly says, pointing with his free hand. An unmarked doorway looms in the shadow of an overhanging building, and I veer toward it. The door's old wood groans under the impact of my shoulder, before reluctantly admitting us into the darkness. We stumble in, the door swinging shut with a thud that swallows the sounds of our chase.

For a moment, we stand there, panting, letting our eyes adjust to the dimness. The room is barren, save for the scraps of what might have been furniture. Walls loom close, the air thick with dust and abandonment. A faded map is still pinned to the wall, showing the Amenion surrounded by endless desert. It’s marked with faint scratches, tentative paths across the barren sands. We’ve been in this house before, knew the people that once lived here, and I don’t want to think about it.

Olly slumps against the wall. His glasses slip down his nose, and he pushes them up with a grimy hand, a gesture as familiar to me as my own heartbeat. Our breaths come out in whispers, mingling with the silence. "Kormen, that was... too close."

This is the same part of the city where I first met Olly. Back then he was a scrawny boy with cracked glasses too big for his face, and the loudest laugh I’ve ever heard. I didn’t know what to make of it; a sound like that was so out of place in the slums.

"We'll make it," I say, more to convince myself than him. "We always do."

Olly's smile is weak, not reaching his eyes. “You're the brains,” he tries to joke. My snort cuts the silence. “And you're the heart.” His smile warms slightly, and he nods "Lead the way, then, brains."

Before I can, there’s a shout of pain from the street; I peek outside. Guards haul a struggling beggar, his mouth bleeding, fists faintly glowing. Onlookers gawk from the safety of doorways and windows.

"Stolen essence," the whispers spread through the onlookers.

I suck in a sharp breath. There’s wide-eyed panic on the beggar’s face. They’ll take him to the Sovereign’s tower. Everyone knows he’s innocent, but it doesn’t matter. The guards can’t return empty-handed to the General, so he’s the unlucky they’ve pinned my crime on. The man's terrified eyes lock with mine. Six-damn it. I stand up, mouth open.

Fingers grasp my wrist, and Olly yanks me back down beside him. He looks at me, green eyes wide. “What in the fires are you doing?”

I rock back on my heels. "I can’t let some confused old man take the fall.”

Olly sighs. “Kormen, think for a second, will you? They nab him, they nab you. Then what? We’re both done for.”

He’s right, even though my stomach roils. I look up to the skyline. The top of the gigantic timeglass rises above the packed buildings in the centre of the city. The last golden grains of sand trickle down from the top bulb. The last moments before the deafening bell will toll out, signalling the cycle’s end, and the end of the window to meet our mysterious contact.

I turn back to my friend. "We can't stay here, Olly. We’re running out of time."

The street has emptied, guards and onlookers vanished. “Clear,” I say, ushering Olly out. The alley's heat slaps our skin, thick with the stench of sweat and dirt.

"We'll head for the markets," I say, glancing at Olly. "Blend in with the crowd."

He nods, his resolve firming. "Then we find Balen."

Balen. The smuggler, who promises to take us to the forgotten treasures of a dead civilization. Far out in the desert. Our one chance to escape.

The sun beats down on us, relentless, as we trudge towards the centre of Amenion. Dust kicks up under our feet, sticking to the sweat that sheens our skin. Olly's ahead, a silhouette against the glare, moving with determination.

He’s got a slight limp he's been trying to hide since our last run-in with the market guards. That time was my fault as well, another plan that went awry. Yet, he's never mentioned it, never blamed me. That's Olly—loyal to a fault, even when it costs him.

"Hey, slowpoke," he says, breaking into my thoughts with that grin that's too rare these days. "You planning to camp back there?"

I pick up my pace, catching up. "Just trying to avoid your smell."

He chuckles, but it's short-lived.

As we emerge from the claustrophobic embrace of the narrow alleys, the market square opens up like a desert bloom on a day of rain, revealing the pulsing heart of Amenion. Here, the chaos is a symphony, each stall and shout assaulting our senses, from magically enhanced fruits to the shimmering silks that dance in the breeze like captured rainbows. The air is thick with scents—spiced meats, sweet perfumes, and the underlying current of magic that makes the very atmosphere thrum with energy. It's the opposite to the smell of decay we left behind, as if we've stepped into another world entirely.

Olly leans closer, his curiosity piqued by a toy peddler whose miniature figures dance on his palm, animated by a whisper of magic. "Imagine having enough essence spare to play with toys," he says, a hint of longing in his voice.

I watch as a child, cheeks flushed with excitement, tugs at his mother's sleeve, pointing at the peddler. The mother's smile is tight, her eyes scanning the price before she shakes her head and leads her child away. The magic here is tantalising, but like everything else in Amenion, it's a luxury.

I lead, and Olly follows, his lighter steps barely audible over my heavy ones. I'm broader, built like the fighters in the stories Elwin used to tell us in a life that now feels like someone else's dream. Olly, on the other hand, moves with a wiry grace, his lean frame slipping through gaps I have to shoulder through.

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

We make for one of the main thoroughfares radiating out from the square like spokes on a wagon wheel, and Olly squeezes in to walk beside me. He pulls out a grungy map from his pocket, and hovers his finger over a spot circled in faded ink.

"You think it's real?" I ask, scepticism threading my voice. The idea of an island in the sky, remnants of a civilization long vanished, sounds like the fevered dream of a sun-addled mind.

Olly's gaze fixes on the horizon, where the city's edge blurs into the sky, a fervour in his voice as he shares his vision. "Balen wouldn't lie about this, Korm. He's seen it. An island, floating high above, untouched and full of ancient magic." He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper charged with possibility. "Imagine what we could find there—artefacts, spells, knowledge that's been lost to the world below."

I let his words paint pictures in my mind, the worn fibres of the map in his hands promising a future so different from our grim present. "And if we find something, anything, we could sell it. Get enough essence to..."

"To buy our way into a caste," he jumps in, nodding, the spark in his eyes kindling hope. "Even if it's the lowest caste, the Hammers, and we have to spend our days building palaces for the Minds or temples for the Voice, it's a start. A step toward something better."

As we weave through the bustling streets of Amenion, we pass a group of Hammers work nearby, their magic empowering them to lift stones heavier than men, crafting the skeleton of a future monument. Their efforts, fueled by a magic that seems so out of reach to us, remind me of where we stand—or more accurately, where we don't.

"The Sovereigns crafted this system when the world broke," Olly says, a touch of reverence in his voice, "to keep their people from crumbling apart." He gestures, encompassing the scene before us and beyond. "There are five castes in Amenion, each wielding their own form of magic. Or six, if you count those like us." He pauses, a wry smile touching his lips. "Nulls. Without essence. The forgotten."

I feel the weight of that label, 'Null', heavy on my shoulders as we pass by a patrol of Swords. Their armour gleams, magic shimmering around them like a second skin, forming shields and weapons that buzz with power. I can't help but stare, the image of what we could become if we escape our current fate burning bright in my mind.

"Above the Hammers are the Swords," I say, my voice thick with a longing I hadn't realised was so strong. "Elite warriors, defenders of the city and the Tower." The idea of joining their ranks, of being able to form a weapon of magic from thin air, sparks a flame of ambition within me.

Olly nods, his enthusiasm undimmed. "And then the Voice," he says, his voice softening in awe. "Historians, priests, scholars... They say their magic can create visions or absorb a bookshelf of tomes with a glace." He glances at me, a silent acknowledgment of the dream that seems so far out of reach. "The Minds rule empires of trade, their magic the thread that binds the city's wealth. And above them, the Sovereigns—each lord over their caste."

As we continue our journey, the city's elite glide past us on discs that glow like captured suns, their robes shimmering with threads of magic. They move with an ease and grace that feels worlds apart from the grit and grime of our existence. Olly's words hang between us, a bridge spanning the chasm between our dreams and our reality.

"That could be us up there," he whispers, his gaze following a group of Minds as they negotiate in hushed tones, their magic weaving patterns in the air. "Changing lives, making a difference." His conviction stirs something within me, a blend of hope and defiance.

I let out a huff, the bitterness of our current station colouring my words. "Not squandering it on gaudy displays," I say, my eyes still tracking the Minds. Yet, beneath my scorn lies a kernel of envy, a desire to wield such power, to rise until we will never have to run from anything again.

Our steps lead us ever onward, toward the outskirts where the city's walls stand tall, a barrier between us and the unknown. The promise of meeting Balen, of taking that first step toward a future we hardly dare to dream of, propels us forward.

Further through the city, we come across one of its many essence dens.

A line of people wait outside, filing in one by one. A weathered woman with a kind face emerges, leaning against the wall. In her hands is a handful of coins, but the grey pallor of her skin draws muted sounds of dismay from onlookers. She’s sold too much. She stumbles toward two small children.

"Let's move on, Korm," Olly says, his voice heavy. He tugs at my arm, urging me to turn away. . He grips my arm, steering me away down the street. "There's nothing for us here."

I let him guide me onward, but my eyes remain fixed on that little family until the surrounding bodies hide them from view. The mother will be dead within a week at most. And her children...how long before desperation drives them to follow in her footsteps?

We walk in heavy silence for several blocks. The crowds thin as we near the outskirts, gutted slum buildings replaced by expanses of rubble and debris - remnants of Amenion's grander past.

It's Olly who breaks the silence. "When I gain magic, the first thing I'll do is open a clinic. Heal anyone too poor to afford it." His jaw sets with determination. "I'll change things, Korm. I have to."

His vow kindles the fire deep in my chest. "You'll be the greatest healer this city has ever known," I say, clapping him on the shoulder. Of all those clawing their way up this six-damned ladder, Olly alone deserves power. I know in my bones he will stay true to himself, no matter the temptation.

Olly gives me a small, grateful smile before his expression turns thoughtful. "What about you, Korm?" he asks. "What will you do when we have essence?"

I'm silent for several paces as we pick our way through the dirty streets. In truth, I've never allowed myself time to dwell on dreams like that. For so long, survival has been our sole focus, putting food on the table our only goal. But Olly's question stirs up old hopes and desires—to be someone who matters, someone with the strength to protect what I hold dear rather than always running.

“Me? I’ll join the ranks of the Swords. Make a real difference, you know? Like General Lorentine, but... I’ll fight for those who’ve got no one else to fight for them.” I picture again the gaunt mother and her children.

“Look at you, Kormen the Mighty, sword in one hand, heart on your sleeve. Who would’ve guessed beneath all that scowling was Amenion’s next legend?”

I cuff his shoulder in mock affront but can't restrain a rueful grin. Trust Olly to joke around even now. In so many ways he is my counterbalance - optimistic where I tend toward gloom, gentle when my anger threatens to consume me. He never loses hope.

The crumbling buildings fall away, replaced by rubble-strewn lots and tracts of weed-choked earth that stretch to the towering wall encircling Amenion. We've reached the true outskirts, a refuge for the city's shadowy denizens. Up ahead, I spy the cracked statue marking our meeting place, just visible beneath accumulated layers of dirt and debris. Excitement wars with apprehension in my gut, my pulse quickening. This is it—our sole chance to secure passage out of this festering city and into the ruins beyond the walls, where artefacts of power are said to lie waiting, ripe for the taking.

I glance sideways at Olly as we pick our way through the rubble toward the statue's crumbling plinth. His jaw is set, eyes alight. This means as much to him as it does to me—a lifeline, a way out of here.

In ones and twos, shadowy figures emerge from the surrounding ruins and converge on the meeting place. Some prowl with coiled menace, others swagger with false bravado, but it's all posturing. Scratch away the bluster and underneath beats the same bone-deep desperation that has driven us into this illegal venture. We're the forgotten, the expendable - the type a man like Balen looks for to do his dirty work.

As we draw near, I size up the other ragged hopefuls with narrowed eyes. Any one of them could turn on us in an instant if they think we’re rivals or liabilities. My muscles coil tight, nerves thrumming beneath my skin.

We halt at a wary distance as Balen's hulking figure emerges from behind the statue's crumbling base. Even at fifty paces his physical presence is formidable, with mountainous shoulders and arms like banded iron. His hard gaze rakes over us, assessing costs and benefits with a merchant's shrewd eye.

"Stay sharp," I say to Olly. "There’s something off about this."

When Balen's flinty stare lands on me, a muscle twitches in his jaw, and he stomps toward me. One of his scarred hands shoots out and stabs a blunt finger into my chest. "Didn’t think I had to state no Vardos scum welcome."

His words make the rest of the scavengers stare, and the blood burns in my cheeks. I’ve endured countless taunts and sneers in my life for my mixed blood, but it still stokes my anger, no matter how hard I try to ignore it. I’m too sensitive. My hands curl into trembling fists and I throttle the urge to fly at him.

Before I can act on impulse, Olly steps between us with hands raised. “Kormen’s blood doesn’t matter,” he says, voice clear and steady as the time bells. “He’s my brother in all ways that count. There’s no one braver or more loyal. I vouch for him with my life.”

Grudging respect washes through Balen's glare, before he scoffs. He turns the full force of his attention on Olly, raking him up and down with the assessing eye of one pricing livestock.

“Your loyalty to this half-breed is going to be your downfall,” Balen growls. There’s a dangerous edge to his voice now. “Let’s see if he’s worth it.”

Balen lunges forward, massive fist hurtling toward my chest with the speed and power of a siege weapon. Pain explodes through my torso, hurling me backward. I hit the ground hard, the air whooshing from my lungs.