The morning sun filtered weakly through the dusty windows of a large, dimly lit room in Omaproz, casting a pale grayish hue across the ancient stone walls. The city outside lay under a thick veil of mist, its jagged spires reaching into the sky like claws, while the narrow, twisted alleys below pulsed with a subtle but ever-present sense of dread. The air was heavy, thick with the taint of dark magic that permeated every corner of the cursed city. Omaproz was a place of immense power, but that power came at the cost of its soul—if the city had ever had one at all.

Inside one of the many tall towers that dominated the skyline, a young man stirred from his sleep. He sat up slowly, stretching his lean frame before moving toward the window. Xanus, at nineteen, had the pale complexion of someone who rarely saw the light of day, and his sharp, piercing black eyes reflected a cold detachment from the world around him. His gray hair, slightly tousled from sleep, gave him an almost spectral appearance, a fitting match for the eerie landscape outside.

"What a pitiful land," he muttered softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet clear and steady. "So much pain, so much anguish. And yet, it thrives on suffering."

His words carried no sympathy—only observation, as though the misery of the city was as natural as the weather. Xanus gazed out over the bleak horizon for a moment longer, then turned away, his mind already elsewhere. He dressed quickly, pulling on a simple but finely tailored dark tunic, and left the room. His footsteps echoed through the stone hallways as he walked, the silence of the tower broken only by the occasional rustle of fabric or distant murmurs of incantations.

Two mage bodyguards met him as he stepped into the main corridor, their long, dark robes obscuring their faces. They moved with mechanical precision, their voices hollow and devoid of emotion.

"Good morning, sir," they greeted him in unison.

Xanus barely acknowledged them, his gaze wandering down the hall as something caught his attention. A door, slightly ajar, one he had never noticed before. There was something strange about it—something that tugged at his curiosity.

"How peculiar," he muttered, more to himself than to his guards. Without hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room beyond was small, almost forgotten. Dust hung in the air, thick and undisturbed for years. It was a library, though one that had clearly been abandoned long ago. Shelves filled with books lined the walls, their spines faded and covered in cobwebs. The scent of aged parchment filled the space, a reminder of knowledge that had long since been neglected.

Xanus frowned as he surveyed the room, his expression one of mild disgust. "To leave such a place in disarray... What a waste."

The young mage moved with purpose, his hands brushing gently over the books as he began dusting off the shelves. For the next hour, he worked in silence, carefully cleaning and organizing the forgotten texts. As he worked, his fingers lingered over one book in particular: "Introduction to Alchemy."

He paused, memories of a conversation with his master, Izana Kurayami, surfacing in his mind. Izana had once spoken of the art of alchemy, though it had been more of a passing remark, something to file away for later. But now, as Xanus looked at the book in his hand, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was what his master had meant.

"I wonder if this is what Master Izana was talking about," Xanus murmured. He tucked the book under his arm, planning to study it further, and left the room, now spotless and organized. As he walked down the winding corridors of the tower, the weight of the city’s dark atmosphere settled around him again.

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He finally reached the heart of the tower, where a large, dimly lit chamber opened up before him. The room was filled with mages, all of them clad in dark robes, their faces hidden behind hoods as they gathered around a central table. Some whispered in low voices, plotting and scheming, while others practiced their spells in the shadows, the flicker of dark energy lighting the room with ominous glows.

At the head of the chamber sat Izana Kurayami, his presence unmistakable. Izana was a man of immense power, a tall, pale figure with dark, piercing eyes, and long black hair that flows down his back, often clad in flowing, dark robes that give him an air of ominous authority. His face, pale and almost statuesque, seemed to glow in the low light, and his lips curved into a sinister smile as Xanus entered the room.

"Ah, Xanus," Izana said, his voice smooth and rich with amusement. "I was wondering when you’d grace us with your presence."

Xanus inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "I grow tired of my quarters. I thought I would see what’s going on here."

Izana chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "As curious as ever, I see. Well, if you must know, our plans to take Furashima are nearly complete. The time to strike is upon us." His smile widened, dark and foreboding. "Soon, the city will fall under our control."

Xanus didn’t flinch. He had grown accustomed to his master’s schemes, to the bloodlust that drove so many of their plans. But something about this conquest felt… unnecessary. "Is the bloodshed really necessary, Master?"

Izana’s amusement vanished, replaced by a cold, serious expression. "Bloodshed is always necessary. How else can we ensure the world remembers our power? How else do we strike fear into the hearts of our enemies?"

Xanus considered his master’s words for a moment, his gaze steady. "If there is no one left to fear us, then what is the point of such power?"

Izana’s eyes darkened, his tone becoming more menacing. "Do not forget, Xanus. Power is not just about conquest. It is about control. Without it, we are nothing."

Xanus merely nodded, unaffected by the shift in Izana’s demeanor. "Of course, Master."

Izana’s gaze lingered on Xanus for a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. Then, he waved a hand dismissively. "Go, then. Continue your training. We leave for Furashima soon."

Without another word, Xanus turned and left the room, his thoughts already drifting back to the book he had found. As he walked through the winding corridors of the tower, his mind raced. He had seen enough of Izana’s cruelty, enough of the mages’ twisted sense of superiority. But Xanus was not like them—he didn’t thirst for destruction, nor did he crave control over the weak. There was a subtle, terrifying difference in his ambition.

And that made him far more dangerous.

Outside the tower, the city of Omaproz loomed, shrouded in mist and mystery. Dark alleyways stretched like veins through the twisted landscape, and from the shadows, figures moved, whispering secrets that would never be spoken in the light. The mages ruled this place with an iron grip, their dark magic entwined with every stone and street. Omaproz was a city that thrived on despair, a place where only the strong could survive.

Xanus wandered through the city’s streets, his presence almost unnoticed by the people who scurried past, their heads down and their faces gaunt. He passed by merchant stalls selling strange and unsettling artifacts—charms made of bones, enchanted trinkets that glowed with malevolent energy. The people of Omaproz had long since become numb to the darkness that surrounded them, their lives dictated by the mages’ control.

But Xanus was different. He didn’t belong to this world of despair, even if he was part of it. As he walked through the streets, he felt the weight of the city’s misery pressing down on him, yet he remained untouched by it, his expression calm and detached.

After some time, he found himself standing at the edge of the city, overlooking the distant horizon. Beyond Omaproz lay the rest of the world—places untouched by the mages’ influence, lands that still held hope, light, and freedom. And yet, as Xanus stared out into the distance, he felt no desire for any of it. The world beyond meant little to him.

But there was something he sought. Something far greater than conquest or control.

And for that, he would play his part.

He turned away from the horizon and began walking back toward the tower. The mages’ plans were in motion, and soon, the city of Furashima would fall. But Xanus had his own plans, his own ambitions—ones that stretched far beyond the reach of even his master, Izana.

As he re-entered the tower, his mind was already set on what lay ahead. Furashima was just another step on the path. The real game was just beginning.

And Xanus was ready.