Humanity's Struggle

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Karla watched as Bently walked through the ranks, leaving her view. He said he was fine, but she knew better. Today’s skirmish had taken a toll on the man, but he was steadfast and stubborn, so she let him leave. Stopping at the camp, they began to packing everything away, as the City wasn’t far, so they would rest when they returned.

Although they were weary, their steps quickened at the thought of returning home. Their time in the Labyrinth was long, and the thought of true rest and returning home to their families did wonders for their spirits. As they marched, Karla began thinking of her own problems and the implications they carried.

The Hero's crown had been found.

But there was a more pressing matter that plagued her. It had been gnawing at her ever since she had held her father’s remains and noticed the crown missing from his brow. The sight had sent chills down her spine. Few people knew of the crown's power or its dreadful bloodlust but she knew the truth of the cursed treasure.

The crown could only be touched by those that were called.

If someone who was unworthy touched the crown, it would burn away their soul. It would only call on those it deemed worthy and you could only claim its Authority if you were capable of taming the beast within. Her father had told her the history of the crown, or at least the little that he knew, but it involved the beginning.

Some called it the Integration, or the Spell Plague, some even the Cataclysm.

But to them, it was the Dawn.

The Dawn of the Spell. When its ever-present weave began to envelope all the known world. Spell runes had interlaced with the fabric of reality, bringing about changes like never before.

When the runes appeared and the spell struck, the whole world shook and went through a massive transformation, growing several times in size. Beasts began to change and evolve as the planet's primal energies swept from within. Magical creatures began to appear, and even darker, more insidious things began to prowl in the shadows. As the energy reached a tipping point, it began to stabilize, but with that came the Gift.

The Gift had many names.

Some called it the System.

To them, it was the Gift. Order made visible by the Spell's power. Humanity never figured out where the Spell came from or how it came to be. It had simply swept the world in a storm of chaos. The power it contained was negligible, but the power it awakened was unimaginable.

It’s believed that the Spell did nothing but bring the unnoticed and make it noticed.

The Laws of Nature lay bare for all to witness.

Nature’s runes were everywhere and inside everything. By gaining Insights and attempting to understand the world, one could gain the ability to control these runes. If you could truly understand the nature of fire, then you could gain an understanding of its essence. By gaining this innate understanding of fire’s nature, you could claim its Insight or even claim its true name.

And claim fire’s Authority.

Very few would ever gain an Authority, most only getting so far as a single Insight. It took years of hard work and contemplation, requiring the need to build both your body and soul to contain such power. The higher the Insight, the higher the requirements.

With the spread of the Spell, the Gift began to bless all of humanity. The Spell's runes could be interpreted by anyone with knowledge of language. All language barriers had been broken, as the Gift was for everyone, and all would understand its meaning. No matter what language you learned, you could be understood by all.

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

And the term Common was born.

The Gift had made it so.

Through the Gift, you could see your status and the list of Insights and Attributes you have obtained. The markings of the Gift were named Runes and new Schools of Thought were formed, and Runic magic was born. Certain Insights and Titles carried Attributes and Skills. They would either grant passive or active abilities. Titles could be gained by performing great deeds or claiming certain Insights and Authority.

That was how the spell came to the world.

And champions were born.

In the early days of the Spell, when the world was still an infant, a shooting star had fallen from the sky. It sent ripples through the world, but it was no star. It was the insidious crown, born from the Heavens, or so the story says. If it’s even to be believed, as no one was alive to tell the truth of the matter and no records existed.

Humanity raced to be the first to claim the crown but found it to be no easy task. Armies were burned to ashes, as no one was worthy of the crown’s inheritance. Then a champion stepped forward. He was an honest man of great character and fame. He had survived the turmoil of the fall of humanity and rose to take the battlefield.

A beacon of hope.

The First Hero.

Her father was the fourth Hero in over five hundred years. In the beginning, humanity had gone through little physical change, but as the Spell spread, subtle changes began to be noticed. Life spans were increasing, and beings closer to Nature were being born. The Beast Folk of Cairn, the wretched Vultures of the Highland Mountains, and probably many others she didn’t know of. Humans didn’t live as long in the early days, and none were left that remembered those terrible times.

Her father had told her about the insidious nature of the crown. It had a will of its own, spurning you towards struggle and strife, attempting to forge you into the perfect warrior. A champion to master the Spell and conquer the world.

At all costs.

Thinking of her father, sometimes those costs were high.

The horrible crown had claimed another champion, and a new Hero would be named. The struggle would continue another cycle until the crown discards them, as it did to her father. She couldn’t help but feel rage in her gut, but she knew that the crown was necessary. Humanity needed hope in these desperate times, and a new champion would be a great boon for the city.

Thinking of her pack, which had been found with the pouch, she was reminded of the beast that had attempted to capture her.

And his bright holden eyes.

So deep and searching with a hint of childish curiosity.

As the city came into view, she watched as the faces of those around her brightened. They were eager to return, and longing was in their eyes. The mood soured shortly after when the sight of the refugees came into view.

She looked on bitterly.

As far as the eye could see, there were hovels and makeshift tents. Thousands upon thousands of humanity’s survivors had flocked to the stronghold, one of the last bastions of civilization. But there were issues with the great influx of people.

There wasn’t enough food or water.

A horrible stench assaulted their noses as living conditions were horrendous without access to fresh water. Those standing about were dirty and thin from hunger, fierceness burning in their eyes. Crime became rampant as the strong preyed on the weak, fighting for survival. The City had tried everything in their power to make things better, but there wasn’t enough without claiming more land and resources.

But the beast hordes were growing out of control, and their patrols were getting less and less effective. Soon, there wouldn’t even be a stronghold or a Humanity to protect. She steeled her heart, continuing forward with the others, noticing two kids running her way. They looked younger than they were due to their poor living conditions even their clothes sagged on their tiny frames. The girl in the lead was named Orla, and she gained on Karla, bouncing with spirited youth.

“Princess Karla,” she squealed with a glee.

“You know I’m not a Princess,” Karla scoffed. “Are you kids, ok? We were gone longer than I expected.”

“We’re fine, but Uncle Fin didn’t catch anything again,” said Ben, huffing as he caught up.

He was twelve years old and slightly older than Orla, but you couldn’t tell from his size. Karla could hear the fear in his voice but also a hint of hope and a small gleam in his eyes. She reached into her pack, pulling out some rations and a water pouch, and tossed them to the kids.

They yelled with joy, but Orla up with a sad look. “Thank you Princess Karla, but you don’t have to give us stuff. We just wanted to say hi and that we're glad you’re safe.”

“Times are tough, Orla. I’m proud of both of you," Karla reassured the girl, smiling warmly. "Things are going to get better here as soon as we gain more land. When I get done with the Council meeting, I’ll come see you guys. Alright?” She reached down and patted Orla’s head as the girl blushed sheepishly.

“Thanks again,” she said happily as they ran off into the slums, cupping Karla’s gifts like treasure.

The crowd that had formed parted ways as the children ran past, their eyes stabbing their backs with greed. It was dangerous to give things to the children, as scarcity caused humans to act like wolves, and they were too weak to defend themselves. Looking around with murder in her eyes, she saw all the bystanders look away, refusing to return her glare.

The warning had been given.

None were to touch the children.

With a sigh, she kept moving forward to the gates of the Stronghold. As they opened to receive them, she looked around forlornly.

She was always reminded of the harsh times when passing the slums.

Always reminded of humanity’s struggle.