Prologue
The Last Chance
Once there was a country called Ars’ Lucia. A country with notable traits that go along the line of ‘noble, upstanding citizens united under an unwavering allegiance.’ Alas, it is now a far cry from its former splendor. Following their loss in the Great Genocide, Ars’ Lucia has been gradually reduced to a desolate, pitiful shell of its former glory, abandoned by hope and welcomed by despair. Concentration camps line the streets and outskirts where most of the residents—the Luciians—now await their untimely demise at the hands of their captors. However, some still cling desperately to what little hope remains, pushing the jaws of death open and persisting for a better tomorrow.
Clink. Clink.
The steel echoes inside the mine as laboring men and women are forced to work below the earth. Their hands are as coarse as the rocks that entrap them there, coughing up blood, fighting for their lives to get through the shift. Outside, the winter wind gnaws at its victims, regardless of captor or laborer, while some are unfortunate to be swallowed whole. An icy grave where none will mourn them. A temporary encampment with hastily assembled tents surrounds the mineshaft like children around a hearth; radiant yellow light emanates from the lanterns and illuminates the entrance, and from the outside, one might believe that such a place might provide refuge from the frigid, wintry climate.
The people here know better than to seek refuge in that damnable hell. Warmth and shelter are a petty consolation. Nothing awaits them but bitter strife and suffering.
Down below, men and women throw their bodies into full motion to fulfill a near-impossible quota for this nearly dried-up vein, filling wheelbarrows full of minerals as a small girl runs to retrieve them. Her hair was covered in soot, and her body was showered with scrapes and bruises. The adults work to provide what they can for their children while the orphans scrounge together scraps, sometimes forming small groups before being promptly separated by their captors. The only payments they receive are the bare necessities required to sustain living until their next quota, and only so long as their previous quota has been attained.
Somnia sets down the last wheelbarrow, barely making ends meet as her quota grows with her age. Today’s haul had been exceptionally arduous; her captors demanded that she increase her workload as her muscles began to develop. Two of her colleagues died; dust or execution was the leading cause when it came to the mines. She’d be responsible for some of their work on top of her own for the foreseeable future. Her face is determined in light of this as she wholly believes in the motto of the slaves who go through hell with her: fight for a better tomorrow.
However, she wasn’t a slave to begin with. Somnia’s arrival has been somewhat of an enigma to those around her; years have passed since her appearance at a young age, but to the shock of those around her, she had amnesia. Somnia’s only knowledge was her name and basic vocabulary. She could not even fathom who her parents were, as her appearance was unique among the prisoners there. With dark black hair, red streaks, near porcelain skin, and blood-red eyes, no soul had an iota of similarity. In the end, nobody volunteered to take care of her, or unable to as the burden was heavy enough; regardless, her cellmates did their best to educate her on essential topics.
With the day finished, Somnia is shepherded back to her tent alongside the other miners and their respective tents, where they may finally keel over and lick their wounds. Scattered cries echo throughout the camp once more tonight, and as always, their whimpers are met with silence. Somnia won’t grant that satisfaction to her captors so easily. With her flame still burning hot, she retains a stoic expression that she’s managed to wear in every situation to spite her captors. Her turn will come to whimper and moan, but she must keep that spark alive tonight for now.
The cold, harsh weather dies as night approaches, and in its place, a silent night. Somnia and her mentor retreat to their tent to begin another evening of instruction. The two stand across from each other at a beat-up table with only a flickering lantern as the only source of light and heat.
“There is always more to war than violence. Strategy, diplomacy, vigilance, and, of course, experience. While the latter cannot be taught, even you, Somnia, can triumph without it.” The older man takes a swig from his waterskin before offering it to her.
She looks down at the waterskin quizzically. Her mentor, Deidru, was the first to offer to teach Somnia when she arrived. He was the epitome of a war veteran, a tall older man with scars riddling his muscular structure and a heavy, gruff voice. One spot, in particular, catches Somnia’s attention: a gash across his left arm. However, Somnia never asks about it, and Deidru never speaks of it, leaving it an untold mystery. Since the beginning of her teaching, she has been glued to every lesson, making each day much more bearable. “Don’t worry about me, Deidru. I’ll be fine for a couple more days. Please continue.”
Deidru frowns at her refusal, “Somnia… you know I am not long for this world. I would rather not have what little scraps remain down here be wasted on this bag of bones. Nothing would satisfy me more than to provide a better tomorrow for you with the years I still have left.” Deidru scoffs at himself, “If you weren’t here right now, I would have fallen years ago. You know that. We are always fighting for a better tomorrow, our future.”
Somnia shakes her head vigorously. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re exaggerating…” Somnia reaches over and gently folds Deidru’s hands over the pouch, “... drink it. Could you do it for me? A better tomorrow would have to include both of us, nothing less. Now, please.” She pushes Deidru’s hand away and sits down. “Continue with the lesson.”
Her old mentor lets out a short grunt but downs another swig, setting it aside. “Of all the ideas you could have cultivated from me in our time together, you chose to inherit my stubbornness.” A small sigh escapes his lips, one of pride or exasperation. Somnia is unsure, but she knows better than to ask. Deidru cradles his chin, thinking of what topic to teach next, then starts with, ”The Great Genocide began almost a century ago on this very land. Once thought invincible and immortal, an unknown force slew our Queen. Upon hearing the tragedy, the Luciians first lashed out at the races in Ars’Lucia, regardless of whether they were residents. Unsurprisingly, the entirety of our world, Radria, fell into the flames of war soon after.”
Deidru lays out a worn-out but intricate map of Radria that they’d previously smuggled from the guards and gestures at several countries. Somnia leans over, attempting to absorb all the information on it. Deidru points at a large landmass at the top of the paper, “We are currently here in the freezing north. The Luciians first invaded Apocrypha, home to the Velkanese to the east. The land itself was technologically advanced. Unlike our warlike civilization, it fell quickly due to being a research-focused society. The Velkanese themselves were known for their brilliance and unique craftsmanship. In the end, they lacked everything we had. We massacred them all. The Velkanese race was no more.”
The older man strokes his beard with a sorrowful expression as he leans over the map, likely reflecting his time in the war. Somnia could only take an emotionless face as this transpired well before her arrival.
“...After that atrocity, we advanced onto other lands, expertly launching forays on several fronts. Our country of Ars’ Lucia was the largest and boasted a large military to do so. The most memorable would be the southern front, which was approaching Gaol. The shapeshifters that inhabited Gaol, called Nilrean, proved to be the most adaptable to our tactics. They had an overwhelming advantage in their homeland as no soul would dare to set foot into that cursed ground until that moment. Deceitful and resourceful, we could only seize their land as they slipped through our bloodied fingers.”
They talked well into the night by this time, but the lesson continued as he gestured to thin faded lines that riddled the map. “As the attack towards Gaol progressed, we dispatched several adventurers into the depths of the Labyrinth of Cairn. Cairn is not officially a country but a place where gatherings of rebels and monstrosities called Nightmares reside. It is perpetually expanding, leading to various tunnels and caverns. While thousands of soldiers would operate above ground with little to no issue, sending them into tunnels would be a death wish. Luckily, much longer before my generation, adventurers had already mapped a great amount of it, making it no issue only to send them in place of soldiers. However, we may not ever hear the end of that expedition.”
Curling his hand into a fist, Deidru has a more furious glint in his eyes as he lays a finger onto a cluster of islands. “There is one other country that I have not mentioned until now; the one that is herding us like cattle. Arcanum was never a threat in the past as they boasted neutrality until it became sickening to hear. The country is an archipelago in the sky. Directly in the middle of the previous countries, staying afloat with large condensed Mana-Crystals. The race that dwells there—Seraphim—professed themselves as pacifists and had not lifted a finger as we razed other countries. That mistake of lacking vigilance cost us our race.”
Growing increasingly restless due to Deidru’s anger, Somnia remembers when she first arrived at the labor camp. She had never known her race, yet she'd been integrated into the base alongside the Luciians. Although she’d never known them personally, she understood the grief of the compassionate Luciian who had raised her. So, a tiny part of her yearned to have those responsible for the slaughter face judgment for their actions.
“The only way to approach Arcanum is by airship, and even that would be a dangerous endeavor. Gathering enough resources, not to mention troops-”
Bang!
Somnia and Deidru flinch at the unmistakable crack of gunpowder, breaking the monotonous ringing of iron against the stone. That distinctive sound had become familiar to Somnia; the Sanctus always swiftly punished their laborers. Those unfit to continue working are unceremoniously executed and replaced with fresh workers. Although they were never held this late into the night.
Somnia scrambles to stand up and watches Deidru toss aside the tent's entrance to assess the situation. However, it is in the late hours of the night, and Deidru gestures for Somnia to stay put as he walks out cautiously to investigate. Soon after, the sounds of yelling began, but she could not make sense of it. Somnia steps into the wintry, dimly lit residential quarters, curious to understand the commotion. She is immediately met with the barrel of a gun no sooner than she does. However, the person owning the weapon is a face she frequently saw in the mine, and he lowers his rifle upon having a closer look. “Somnia?! Come with me, we don’t have much time! Stay behind me!”
The miner quickly grabs Somnia’s hand as they barrel down the residential quarters. Rows of tents align perfectly, giving the two easy passage as other slaves look out confusedly. At first, all she could hear was shouting and steel striking. The occasional gun firing makes her jump involuntarily, but it urges her to run even faster.
“What’s happening?! Have you seen Deidru?!”
“I haven’t, but a group of people are trying to break out! They murdered a couple of knights stationed near the armory and started handing out weapons! We have to move faster before the knights regroup!”
A screeching sound of feedback from a microphone cries out above the chaos—a gruff voice yelling in an almost incomprehensible dialect.
“Any dirty Luciian outside of their tent will be shot on sight! ON SIGHT!!!”
Then, the camp's sirens started blaring, nearly deafening the child. The man pulls her along as she closes her eyes to deprive her senses, breaking her composure. Somnia wasn’t accustomed to gunshots, no matter how long she had been here since the only meaning of it was death. The sounds of shouting gave way to pleas for mercy, cries for help, and more gunfire. Each shot makes her heart jump, urging her to crawl into a corner. Not long after running, the man abruptly skids to a halt, causing Somnia to collide into him gently. Completely unaware of her surroundings, Somnia timidly opens her eyes. Not long ago, it was a poorly kept monotonous camp as colorless as the dreary sky above. Now, the tents dance with red roaring flames, debris launches into the air like confetti, and screams hurl into the endless night. It was a party fit for hell.
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Boom!
Somnia feels the hand she held falling limp, its grasp loosening and slipping away. The miner is dead, a headless corpse where he once stood, falling onto its knees with a sickening thump. Quickly letting go, she could feel the terror taking hold of her, refusing to allow her to think and even move. Somnia looks at her hands, now covered in blood, her eyes fixated on the dark-red gooey, slick substance dripping onto her forearms. Meters away from her lay the charred remains of that familiar face. During her time in the camp, she had seen many people succumbing to illness, starvation, and even execution, but nothing to this extent.
Bang!
The world seems to spin; however, Somnia soon realizes she’s been knocked off her feet and lands painfully on the ground. A sharp pain can be felt in her left arm. She tries to identify the increasingly hot pain using her right arm, only to be met with a dire realization. Her left arm was not there; instead, it lay a couple meters away. Once it dawns upon her, the pain heightens to nothing she’s ever felt, like laying against boiling concrete on a scorching afternoon. Her vision pulsates, her breath grows shallow, and it takes everything for her to stay awake. Amidst this, she does not let out a single cry or whimper, but on the inside, Somnia can only writhe in agony alone.
“Somnia?!”
Gasping in anguish, she looks around to locate the source of that familiar voice calling out her name. Looking up, Somnia only sees a beautiful woman with long snow-white hair staring down at her, her face bears a large smirk “You’re much stronger than you look. It’s a shame you’re a Luciian… Or are you?”
The woman stares longer before shaking her head and walking past her. Somnia rolls onto her stomach with significant effort, applying pressure to her left stump to lessen the blood loss as she throws her weight to her right side, and she sees Deidru stumbling toward her with a blade he must have picked up from a knight.
As he strides closer, he draws the blade with the faint sound of steel against sheath. Perplexed, Somnia turns her head towards the woman again and notices her now wielding a lance-like weapon with a large blade, a swordspear, walking to confront Deidru, “Harming children never sat well with me, and neither does fighting the elderly, but… It looks like neither of us can afford to lose this fight. Equip your artifact. Prepare yourself.”
Deidru scoffs as she readies her stance as her swordspear far outmatches any old sword. Somnia watches him close his eyes to focus; a shield forms on his left arm but dissipates as quickly as it appears. She laughs at his attempt to summon his artifact. “Is there a problem, old man? Lost your Obsession? Prepare to fight or die quietly; either is fine for me.”
Deidru rubs his left forearm but gives up on summoning it, looking at the pained Somnia, his voice resolute yet devoid of hope, “It isn’t a fight unless it is of equal standing.”
The only lighting supplied was the moon above and the dying fires. Somnia lay on her stomach next to her captor's feet, incapable of moving as anxiety and agony began to snare her body. Still, another emotion cropped up to stir throughout her body: the feeling of foreboding dread. Deidru radiates poise and confidence, but even that could not quash Somnia’s feelings. Upon taking his stance, it was only moments before the battle began. Deidru’s glare alone would make a dragon stumble.
“My name is Deidru Lucia Regis.”
The woman cocks her head, clearly taken aback by the unorthodox introduction. But, with a scoff and a smirk, seeing his weapon, she decides to play along. “A pleasure to meet you, Deidru… My name is Magnolia Serapher Clover,” she humors him with a brief, insincere curtsy before continuing, “Do you expect me to show you mercy just because you’re senile?” After a short bow, Deidru lunges forward with a thrust straight at her neck.
Somnia could only observe as the fight ensued, her frame trembling at the heavy blows Deidru dealt to Magnolia’s guard. His strikes made the ground rumble, swirling dust with his fast yet strong offensive. He presses the attack only a hand's reach away, allowing Magnolia no quarter to capitalize on the drawback of using a polearm, using rapid thrusts in an attempt to breach her defenses. “HYAAH!”
Deidru’s robust yelling and battle cries resonated inside Somnia as if urging her to fight, but her body was losing strength the longer the fight continued. Flashbacks to previous executions and the miner she realizes she was with instilled a deeply rooted fear of death. Her flame diminishes against the looming fear. Deidru's sword, made of ordinary steel, paled compared to his opponent's weapon. Likely, it is her own artifact. It was like a pebble scraping against a mountain.
Magnolia laughs mockingly at Deidru’s determination to survive, “ Hah! Is that all you have?! You realize that you’re about to die, don’t you!?” With a mighty shove against a thrust, Deidru’s sword recoils against the force. Magnolia smiles and rolls her shoulders, preparing a different stance, focusing on countering, slashing, and stabbing from afar, “My turn then.”
After seemingly letting Deidru attack earlier, Magnolia, with a slight smirk, decides to end this farce. With the length of a spear and the strength of a greatsword, Magnolia commences her assault, swinging the heavy blade in several directions and laughing maniacally all the while. Forcing Deidru onto the defensive, each blow he could deflect brought him to his knees, his heels digging further into the dirt. The momentum of the swordspear made Magnolia appear as a viper, writhing along with the motion of each swing. Even in the face of this, Deidru retained his determination. However, he could feel his body beginning to fold. His arms grew exponentially weaker, and he could hardly feel his knees. The force of the blows resounds throughout his entire body. Each attempt at parrying cracks and chips away his weapon, nearly knocking him off balance. Whatever advantage Deidru had in the beginning evaporates as the spearsword expertly kited him. Magnolia only slithers away from his attempts at attacking her, using the momentum to weave and stab him whenever he tries to approach. “All you’re doing is delaying the inevitable. Your death was destined the moment you picked up that sword.”
Another sound echoes into the night beside the crashing steel, the sounds of cheers. Luciians were bound and laid out like sardines. The riot had already concluded in complete failure. A futile attempt at survival with all odds against them. The knights now cheer on their commander as she beats down Deidru with a crooked smile.
“It was a ‘pleasure’ Deidru. I’d almost broken a sweat.” With a tremendous overhead swing as if to signal the end of her dance, Magnolia brings down the hulking blade an instant away from splitting the older man in half. Still sprawled on the ground, Somnia was only a few feet away from the fight, paralyzed by the foreboding dread. The pain was insignificant compared to what she was about to witness. Somnia attempts to cry out, but her voice catches in her throat, her fear triumphant against her again, only releasing short gasps. Only then can she see Deidru glancing at her, and he gives her a reassuring nod as if to say everything will be okay.
‘It’s going to be okay.’
The blade crashes down, shattering Deidru’s cracked sword. He used both hands to support the blade to guard, but he could do nothing as the edge came down. Shortly after, the Luciians lost their best soldier in a frivolous attempt to escape from Arcanum. Somnia lost her dear mentor to the woman with silver hair.
Magnolia extracts her crimson blade from the carcass, and with a powerful swiping motion, the blood splatters onto the ground, leaving a shining white glow once more. Taking her swordspear, Magnolia strides away, looking at Somnia as she passes by, “Imprison them. Give medical attention to those that require it.”
Her joyful, sadistic demeanor completely melts off her face and is replaced by apparent boredom. Somnia, wallowing in despair, could not shed a tear at her mentor’s passing; her body was not designed to show heavy emotion. Instead, all she can do is watch as a knight drags Deidru’s halves and tosses them onto a grotesque heap of Lucian flesh. The last sight before her consciousness fades…
➔➔➔
The following morning, a higher-up decided that the camp was excessively volatile; the workers had become inexcusably worthless if they weren’t compliant. The base was preparing to be closed, which would mean the execution of all Luciians residing there. The tents used for execution were much more accommodating than the residential tents, lined with lanterns and comfortable beds. In the corner sits Somnia’s group, awaiting their turn. She stares into space with persistent thoughts plaguing her all the while. Her left stump had a rudimentary bandage, as it is meaningless to treat the walking dead. Was there anything she could have done? Was there any point to the lessons given until last night, and was there any point in struggling at the end? They were introspections of someone who has given up, yet the distinct hope Deidru imparted to her made her realize there is so much to live for. She could have done nothing; there is always a lesson to be learned, and the end is meant to be a struggle, as Deidru demonstrated.
The end drew near for Somnia as the group adjacent to hers was summoned to the firing squad. Death is meant to be feared, but the struggle beforehand is the meaning of life. Somnia looks up determinedly, no longer enslaved to Arcanum and her fears. She has decided to die as her mentor did, with bravery, commitment, and protecting what she believes in. However, when she looks up, she’s met with an almost familiar glow. After watching the events that came to pass, I can only curse my past selves for appearing so late. I’ll have to try greeting Somnia with a gentle tone, so I don’t startle her. Not every day can one meet a Goddess that created your world.
“Somnia? Can you hear me?”
Somnia jolts at my voice, slightly startled, and looks around at her cellmates, curious to see if they can see or hear me. Alas, I am only visible to Direct Creations. Unique individuals created by the Gods to enact their wills into Radria. Consequently, for her, that would make Somnia my daughter, but I will allow her greater freedom than the other Gods. She stares back in my direction again with an audible gulp; she answers, “Yes, I can hear you.”
However, that attracts the cellmates' attention, and a few look at each other confusedly. It is better to experience the embarrassment now than later, as Somnia soon looks down in humiliation, noticing their gazes. I laugh at the innocent reaction and float to a seat on the bed adjacent to her. “It’s okay. All you have to do is think about what you want to say to me, and I’ll hear it.”
‘Um… Like this? Should've told me earlier…’ She mutters sheepishly.
I concentrate on materializing my human arm as I lay my hand on her messy hair, causing her to jump, but she relaxes as I stroke slowly. This timeline will be the last Somnia I can potentially save and rely on. Now, she’s all but a little girl, forced to live in this hellish environment. Nothing hurts me more than to make my child go through hell, not to mention the past three times I have attempted this, but it is for the future of her own and this world.
“Listen, Somnia. You must have already guessed what exactly I am, right?” I question her to ensure she understands the situation, as I can only tell her this once.
Somnia holds her chin as she ponders and guesses, ‘You’re a spirit guiding me to the afterlife? I thought those only show up after I die.’
I laugh again and decide to demonstrate that I’m no mere spirit. With a wave of my hand, everyone in the tent freezes. Not a single muscle moves or breath is taken. Somnia’s eyes widened at the impossible sight. However, I am severely weakened after creating this last timeline and wave my hand again, dispelling the freeze and my arm.
“I am the Goddess of Time, Aevumi, and you are my Direct Creation. Although you are much more, you are an anomaly—a Perfect Direct Creation. You can see and hear me, yes? I can also directly control your body and flow my magic through you.”
Already seeing the stars in Somnia’s eyes, it’s probably better to speed things along. ‘This has to be a dream… What’s happening?’ If I don’t hurry, she might pass out at this rate. I float in front of her again and decide now is the best time to reveal her one true goal till the end of her days.
“I’ve appeared before you several times, Somnia, but all in different timelines. This timeline, marking the fourth time, will also mark the near depletion of my godly power. Traveling back in time and creating a new timeline is probably similar to working daily for a year each time, but that's beside the point! There is but one reason I have sent you back so many times.”
Reminiscing each timeline as I speak to the fourth Somnia is heart-wrenching, but it’s for the greater good.
“You are the only one capable of saving Radria from this sick game of extinction. Only you have been able to come exceptionally far in each timeline but fail in one way or another. However, their failures are not in vain; you will inherit their will and experiences. Somnia, I want you. No, I need you to bring this world the salvation it rightfully deserves. Liberate it from the tyranny of the Gods and the demise of innocent lives. I know it sounds like a heavy responsibility, but-”
‘I’ll do it!’ Somnia looks at me, determined as if that dimmed flame reignited once more.
“Oh.”
Well, she’s much more enthusiastic than I anticipated. Perhaps the other Somnias have already started providing the fuel for her victory.
‘Staying here is just admitting I want to die. I can’t die. I won’t. Please, take me to where I need to be. It’s what my mentor would have wanted.’
After hearing that, I know she’s mentally prepared for future trials. “Okay, give me a moment…”
There will be laughs, tears, and death. However, the fear of the unfortunate should not hold you back from achieving greatness but a drive to perform at the best of your abilities to avoid those outcomes. Although she is just a child, I can’t place her at the beginning of the war. Perhaps this cycle, I will give her plenty of time to grow up and have a deserving childhood. As strong as she may be, forcing her into combat will only make her bloodthirsty or cold to emotions, experiences I have seen before. I’m not sure what time I should put Somnia in, just anytime well before the war. I fully materialize my human form: Long monochrome hair split down the middle, a somewhat tall stature, and a beautiful face. Somnia watches in awe as I float down and land on the cold earth with my arms outstretched. The tent once again pauses their conversations as they watch Somnia stand up.
With an embrace, I expend the last of my power to go further back than I had planned—a decade or so before the Great Genocide. A bright flash engulfs the tent, and Somnia is erased from the cold future and whisked to the past—the last chance for Somnia and Radria.