Before I tell my story, I need a little bit of context. So, before I was born, humanity didn't have magic. I know right? Weird. How they got around, I'll never understand. I mean, I do understand, because I took History class, but I won't understand... You know? So, basically, someone found out they could do magic, and long story short, they gave everyone the ability to do magic by linking their soul-flames to the Hearth Forge (a giant forge used by aliens to create the universe). Add in a few centuries and political instability to the mix, and you get today's age. By today, I mean like, today like when I was a child. I mean, this stuff isn't really important. You already know this stuff from your history classes, and the only reason this is here is to help that one kid who slept through the entire unit (happens to everyone).

Today, there's the Empire (where I was born), the Republic, the Syndicate (a conglomeration of rich-business folk), and the Vwarin. The Vwarin used to be a radical militant group who sought the destruction of magic. I know right? So much can change in just a few decades (when you're reading, probably). The Republic and Empire each, individually, had enough power to delete this world tens of times over, and they were itching towards each other's throats for... I'll tell you later.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

And then, there was me. I don't actually know why I'm writing this. I didn't fight any battles or make a compromise or anything. I was just... there. The only reason I'm writing, is because my deceased friend told me to (before he died, not after...)

This will be the last time I break the proverbial "third wall". Everything you read from now on will be my own edited thoughts and feelings. And please keep in mind that a lot of stuff feels dumb in retrospect but felt perfectly responsible back then.