The wind blew gently over the Golden Towers of Concordia. Nothing seemed capable of disturbing the city's mechanical symphony. Its symmetrical architecture gave it the impression of being one… indivisible.
Pedestrians moved forward, like puppets controlled by the strings of fate. The inhabitants of Concordia never hesitated, never stepped back—they simply advanced.
The doctrines of Concordia explained it this way:
"We are in paradise, and our world is perfect."
In Concorde, the political and spiritual capital of the Kingdom of Concordia, this truth was chanted by all. The Order of Sages had made it a slogan—one that children repeated in class, adults proclaimed at work, and the elderly whispered on their deathbeds.
Everyone, without exception, believed it.
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ACT 1 – BASTIEN CHRONOS
Dawn broke over the capital. Bastien awoke as usual, a few minutes before his alarm rang. He got up mechanically and immediately began his morning routine, imposed by the Order of Sages: 30 push-ups, 5 minutes of jump rope, 5 minutes of visualization, and 5 minutes of shadow fighting.
With time, Bastien had performed this routine without thinking. He then took a 3-minute shower, dressed in 2 minutes, and headed straight to the dining room, where he had 10 minutes to prepare his breakfast in the techno-cooker.
In Concordia, food consisted mainly of tasteless, odorless nutritional bars, carefully designed to provide the precise dietary intake needed for each individual—calculated according to their height and ideal weight. The Ministry of Health ensured monthly food distribution to all citizens.
Bastien had 5 minutes to eat, and then he had to leave immediately for his morning magic class. The 23-minute walk to school was always the same. He arrived precisely 7 minutes before class began.
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THE ACADEMY OF PURE FAITH
The Academy of Pure Faith was the training ground for Concordia’s mages and scientists. Its mystical golden architecture had impressed many visitors. It had given birth to Concordia’s greatest minds—Vermias Legos, the inventor of techno-magic, and Grand General Mage Galaxus Prestus, hero of the Great War.
During lessons, Bastien excelled. He listened in class, participated actively, and maintained decent grades in magic, alchemy, and technology. It was expected of him. Even before his birth, his future had already been decided.
As the son of the great Jacques Chronos, a member of the nation's Council of Sages, his destiny had been read by the Fate Readers. They had determined that he would become a Techno-Mage, a priest of the Order of Concorde, specialized in the study of Concordia’s most sacred technology: Techno-Magic.
Techno-Magic was the art of channeling magical energy into machines. Once infused, the machines developed unique magical properties depending on the type of magic and technology used.
For example, a bomb powered by water magic and a sword infused with the same element would yield vastly different results. Over time, techno-magic had reshaped society, allowing Concordia to develop its first jet-powered vehicles and factory machines, accelerating the Empire’s industrial transition.
"In what year was techno-magic first created?" the professor suddenly asked, interrupting Bastien’s thoughts.
The students, including Bastien, raised their hands mechanically, like a silent orchestra.
"Mr. Chronos, answer."
"Techno-magic was created during the First Magical Revolution, in Year -7 before the Great Crusade, specifically on the 32nd day of Aprochrifa."
"Correct answer," the professor acknowledged, immediately continuing his lesson on Concordia’s scientific supremacy.
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LUNCH AT THE TECHNO-MAGES’ CAFETERIA
At the end of class, Bastien went to lunch with his classmate Allen, at the Techno-Mage Cafeteria. The cafeteria was crowded but silent. Most techno-mages were either reading, praying to Lord Concorde, eating their nutrient bars, or lost in deep thought.
"Blessed be our Paradise, praise be to Lord Concorde," Allen declared as usual.
"Glory to Concorde, who protects us from the Storm."
Bastien simply nodded. Religious and philosophical discussions usually intrigued him, but not today.
"You’re not listening to me," Allen observed.
"We are in paradise, and our world is perfect," Bastien replied mechanically.
"We are in paradise, and our world is perfect," his friend repeated calmly—but there was irritation in his tone.
Allen sighed and changed the subject. "Have you heard from Benjamin?"
"Not since his expulsion," Bastien responded.
"He always enjoyed the pleasures of life a little too much... but some limits should never be crossed. We must, under all circumstances, honor our nation."
Bastien nodded again, lost in thought.
Benjamin, their childhood friend, had been expelled for violating the Strauss Training Clause. This clause, applied to all citizens between the ages of 10 and 70, required mandatory morning training. Benjamin had broken the law.
Now, he would be erased from society.
The idea terrified Bastien. No one knew what happened to those who were erased.
"It’s time for me to go. My second class is about to start," Bastien said, standing up.
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TRAINING AT THE POLICE HEADQUARTERS
He made his way to the Police Training Hall, greeting officers before entering the training section. A tall, dark-haired man with a beard and a scar over his left eye was already waiting for him.
This was Alex Aster, the head of Concordia’s Special Police—and a close family friend.
"23 seconds late," Aster stated coldly.
"What a disappointment, Mr. Chronos."
"I offer my deepest apologies, Master. Such a mistake will not happen again," Bastien said, lowering his back and closing his eyes, emphasizing the sincerity of his words.
"Apologies hold no value without action to correct them," Aster replied, his voice calm and firm.
He then sat down on a steel chair at the far end of the room.
"Our training may now begin."
Bastien hadn’t moved an inch from his position. According to Concordia’s customs, one must never rise after offering an apology—until their superior grants them permission.
But the moment Aster finished speaking, Bastien’s eyes snapped open, burning with a fiery determination.
In an instant, reinforcement magic coursed through his legs, enhancing his speed. With a single burst, he launched himself toward his master, aiming a punch at his right hip.
Aster didn’t move from his seated position. He simply raised his right arm, effortlessly blocking the blow. Then, without changing his stance, he struck forward with his left arm—so fast that Bastien was flung sideways before he could even process the pain.
Bastien twisted mid-air to catch himself before hitting the wall. He landed on his feet, steadied his stance, and whispered:
"Activate."
A previously invisible drone materialized at his side.
A common tool among Techno-Mages, the Catalyst Drone helped them focus their magic more effectively while neutralizing enemy magic before impact.
Bastien rarely used it against his master. But today was different.
By refusing to stand from his chair, Aster had sent him a clear message:
"If you want me to take you seriously, make me stand."
Bastien took a deep breath.
"Prepare yourself, Master Alex."
He conjured flames at his fingertips and launched them toward his master.
Aster countered effortlessly, activating his force field. As an Alteration Magic expert, Aster’s magic not only reinforced his body but also strengthened his magical defenses.
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"Your fire magic is still weak," Aster stated.
"I know."
Bastien’s voice was closer.
At that moment, one of the chair’s legs snapped.
Aster instantly leapt aside.
Bastien had used illusion magic—creating a decoy version of himself the moment he launched the fire.
Then, he had turned invisible and maneuvered silently behind Aster.
"Your illusion magic has improved," Aster admitted, a flicker of pride in his voice.
"I appreciate your acknowledgment—"
Aster didn’t let him finish.
With a swift uppercut, he struck Bastien’s chin.
Bastien collapsed, unable to rise.
"Training is over."
Aster’s tone was final.
"You’re reckless. Your illusions are strong, but they drain your stamina too fast. Continuing this fight is pointless."
Then, he paused.
Aster had always been a master of psychology. He could read people like an open book.
His sharp gaze locked onto Bastien.
"Something is bothering you, Chronos."
"It hardly matters, Master."
"You are my only student, and if your performance declines, I must understand why."
A few seconds of silence seeped into the room. Bastien wondered if he could speak to his master about his concerns or if it was wiser to remain silent.
"Master… tomorrow will mark exactly 18 years since I arrived on Earth…" He paused.
"Get to the point!" his master interrupted.
"…If we truly live in paradise, then why have I never known my parents?"
"…" His master did not answer.
"Why did they die? Weren't they selected for their genetic compatibility?"
His master hesitated briefly before answering coldly: "They died because they were weak."
A sensation Bastien had never felt before surfaced. He was torn between anger, confusion, and respect for his master. He hesitated but finally asked:
"How can you say that with such certainty?"
"Have I ever told you about my son?"
"You have a son, Master?" It was the first time Bastien had ever heard of him. As a member of the secret police, his master never spoke of himself.
"He died because he, too, was weak," his master continued immediately.
"He was diagnosed with muscular degeneration, which would have eventually left him paralyzed for life. The doctors gave me a choice: either they would report him to the Health Police, or I would."
"And… what did you do?" Bastien asked, visibly troubled.
"We live in paradise, and our world is perfect," his master said, his eyes empty.
"Paradise is only perfect if those who inhabit it are perfect as well. We are the guardians of paradise."
Bastien understood instantly and fell silent. A sharp pain in his chest made it nearly impossible to breathe. He had nothing more to say—he would never be understood.
The next morning, Bastien woke up, trained, prepared breakfast, and left for school. Unlike the day before, the tightness in his chest had vanished. He could breathe properly again.
That day's lesson was about the major events of the Great War—the history of the perfect world, recited over and over like a mechanical prayer.
"Concordia’s victory over Tempestas was inevitable. The Empire of Order was guided by the light of Concord, and this light put an end to centuries of darkness and suffering."
The teacher walked slowly in front of the attentive students, his calm, composed tone imbued with absolute certainty.
"Tempestas was a plague! Its kings were tyrants who tormented their own people, ruling through strength and fear. They were nothing more than wild beasts."
Bastien raised his hand.
The professor stopped and looked at him with a hint of irritation. He was not accustomed to being interrupted—his students usually answered questions, not asked them.
"Mr. Chronos?"
He hesitated for a second. His question did not seem dangerous, and yet, a small voice inside him whispered to think twice. He ignored it.
"If their kings were so terrible, why didn’t their people rebel?"
Silence fell over the room.
The other students turned their gaze toward him, and he immediately felt their disapproval.
The professor frowned.
"They did not have the strength. The Holy Spirit had to bring them the light," the professor replied weakly.
— "Or maybe they simply saw no reason to?" Bastien retorted immediately.
A murmur rippled through the room.
Bastien didn’t understand why he had dared to ask such a question. He had just expressed doubt… a logical reflection. That wasn’t normal. It was unnatural.
"The Lord of Light, Concorde, sent his troops to liberate these people," the professor continued, ignoring his remark. "At their head, the Six Immortal Sages faced and defeated the Six Prophets of the Storm."
Bastien couldn’t help but notice how perfect this story sounded. Why was he only realizing it now? It had always seemed logical to him before.
He hesitated before asking another question.
He could feel it—what he was about to say was dangerous.
"Why do the runic stones that power our techno-magic only come from Tempestas?"
The professor blinked, surprised.
This was information known only to the highest-ranking oligarchs and intellectuals of their world.
How did a boy this young know about it?
Bastien felt the tension rise.
He thought about letting it go—but he chose to push forward.
"And what if the war wasn’t about the people… but the stones?"
This time, the atmosphere shifted completely.
The murmurs among the students grew louder. Some began whispering among themselves. Others stared at Bastien as if he had just committed a crime.
The professor froze, eyes locked onto Bastien as if he had uttered the ultimate heresy.
His anger was visible.
Bastien felt it again—the same suffocating weight on his chest, the crushing pressure on his shoulders.
Why did these questions provoke such an extreme reaction?
The professor cleared his throat.
"I believe we’ve debated this subject enough, Bastien."
He turned away and resumed his lesson, as if nothing had happened.
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But after class, as the students packed up and left, the professor approached Bastien discreetly.
"Stay here."
Bastien obeyed.
Once the classroom was empty, the professor closed the door and slowly walked toward him.
His face no longer bore the patience of a teacher addressing his student.
It was hard. Cold. Unforgiving.
He leaned against the desk and stared directly into Bastien’s eyes.
"Bastien, you are the son of Jacques Chronos. That is the only reason I am bothering to warn you."
Bastien held his breath.
"If you continue to blaspheme like this, neither your rank nor your father will protect you from execution."
The threat was direct.
Cold.
Emotionless.
Bastien opened his mouth—then closed it.
He wanted to argue. To say that he was only asking logical questions.
But the professor’s gaze left no room for debate.
This time, Bastien remained silent.
He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and recited the phrase he had been conditioned to repeat since childhood.
"I offer my sincerest apologies, Master. Such a mistake will not happen again."
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THE CAFETERIA
At the cafeteria, Bastien sat next to Allen as usual.
Noticing his friend's troubled expression, Allen couldn't help but voice his concerns.
"Be careful, Bastien. You're treading on dangerous ground. I fear the professor might report you for conspiracy or heresy."
Bastien didn’t respond.
He was still in shock—terrified of what might happen if that were the case.
Most of those who were condemned simply disappeared.
All records of their existence were erased. Their names were never spoken again. Mentioning them was punishable by death.
That was how Concordia erased the "stains" that threatened its perfection.
"You know… you’re not the only one who thinks this way," Allen continued. "To be honest, I actually agree with you. This whole ‘holy war for justice’ story… it’s too perfect to be true."
"You do?" Bastien asked, skeptical. "Why have you never told me this before?"
"I had to make sure you thought like me first, my friend."
Bastien frowned. "So all those times you praised Concordia’s beauty and perfection… that wasn’t sincere?"
He didn't like how sudden this revelation was.
It was too good to be true.
Allen smirked slightly.
"Bastien, I think it’s time for us to take things to the next level. Don’t you agree?"
"What do you mean?"
Allen leaned in closer and lowered his voice so no one else could hear.
"I want to know the truth. About the war. About Lord Concorde. About techno-magic. And about Tempestas."
His usual solemn demeanor was gone.
Instead, his eyes burned with something else.
For the first time, Bastien saw passion in his gaze—and he knew, in that moment, that Allen was serious.
Like a contagious disease, this passion spread to Bastien.
It awakened an instinct within him—one he had long tried to suppress.
"I'm in," Bastien declared. "What do we do?"
"All the answers we seek are in the Academy’s archives. And it just so happens… I got my hands on a digital copy of the security plans and guard schedules."
Allen’s confidence was absolute.
"If we move fast, we’ll have 15 minutes to search the archives before anyone notices."
Bastien nodded.
"Where do we meet tonight?"
"Just outside the academy. We’ll position ourselves—"
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THE FORBIDDEN MEETING
Bastien returned home as usual.
He knew Allen’s plan was insanely dangerous—but his need for truth overpowered his sense of reason.
As he opened the gate to his home, Elena, his servant, greeted him.
"Good evening, Master. Your father is waiting for you in his office."
Elena, 30 years old, was a servant specialized in housekeeping and governance.
Servants in Concordia were typically genetically modified members of the working class.
Through techno-magic alterations, they were designed to be stronger, more efficient, and more obedient.
In return, they were stripped of independent thought, free will, or reasoning.
At the age of ten, they were assigned to a noble and bonded through a magical seal.
This bond allowed their master to drain their mana or issue commands they could never refuse.
If the noble died, the servant perished alongside them.
Bastien knew this truth.
But like everything else in Concordia, he had grown accustomed to it.
Still… something about it felt wrong.
Something he couldn’t name.
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A FATHER’S SECRET
The young man entered his family's immense estate.
Its centuries-old Osmanian architecture stood in contrast to the rest of Concorde.
The red brick walls and violet-tiled roof gave the mansion a haunting atmosphere.
His father’s office was on the upper floor.
A faint cigar smell drifted through the wooden door.
Bastien knocked, then entered.
His father greeted him with piercing eyes.
"I was expecting you, Bastien."
"Yes, Father. I am at your service."
"In two days, you will turn 18. There is something you must know."
Bastien tensed.
"What is it?"
"It concerns you… and your parents."
His father paused.
"I can’t tell you now. I must leave on an urgent mission. But when I return the evening after tomorrow, we will discuss it."
Until then, do not ask questions.
Be patient.
Jacques grabbed his suitcase, already packed.
In seconds, he crossed the room, opened the door, and vanished into the night—his guards following closely behind.
Bastien stood alone in the silent office, an unexplainable weight pressing against his chest.
This secret would change everything.
But for now, he had another mission.
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22:00
With a final glance at his dimly lit home, Bastien silently stepped out into the night.
Destination: The Academy’s west wing.
Tonight, everything would change.