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Muista, a bustling coastal community within what was once the United States of America, is one of few metropolitan areas left on planet Earth. As such, the city maintains its populace with creature comforts of what some would consider similar to their homes before the call of globalism united the world under a single flag.

Colossal towers line the sidewalks, seemingly retreating further and further away from the human population as they reach ever further for the heavens. Residents can gawk at the pavement, littered with intricate fountains and primitive, automatic door technology that they

hold so close to their hearts. They can then travel North to admire the gaudy, capacious mansions

and reminisce on times when they themselves could brag of their riches with flashy, residential

assets. Now reserved for the elite, these homes illicit a bittersweet pang in the hearts of the older

citizens, and they typically travel throughout Muista to the various parks scattered about in all

directions. That is unless they eventually reach the Southern border, an obvious polarity to the

“average” city boasting an outwardly active middle class.

Tattered shacks can be seen for miles,seemingly suspended by taut clotheslines sporting frayed rags. The few businesses that can

survive by necessity are accompanied by an overwhelming amount of the homeless population

on their storefronts, begging for scraps and change from the patrons. Gangs run freely throughout

the streets, leading many a poor waif to a short and tragic life of crime and drug abuse, all under

the apathetic eye of South Muista’s law “enforcement.” This holds such a stark contrast to the

police force in more affluent neighborhoods, for they are motivated to act when their pockets are lined.

Hence, a deep conflict continues to breed, waxing and waning through the years within the metroplex: Since “all citizens” is evidently not an option when faced with such diverse

economic classes, which citizens really matter in the eyes of the imperial municipality?

The rich, although few in number, would argue that they are the most important citizens.

After  all without their wealth, the middle class would not have large corporations and medium-sized  businesses employing them.

However, The middle class attests that THEY are the backbone of Muista, for they are the educated population that sprinkles the vast city with quaint,family-owned businesses that attract tourists and give the metroplex its charm; and the ones that don’t own commercial property stimulate the economy by purchasing from said businesses.

And lastly the poor argue that they are vital for the sake of their sheer power in number. They constitute majority of Muista’s populace, and that should surely count for something. So long as they can one day unite, their voting power and physical strength from years of hard, manuall labora not to be underestimated. 

Strength from all classes of people have been demonstrated in civil warfare for the past sixty years. And now, in 2122, the underprivileged people of South Muista have still yet to see their day; and they will most likely not see that day for many years to come

However, their success nearly came to fruition during the start of the many wars, albeit at the expense of the city’s imminent collapse. The first war began with their accusations against the elite, claiming that the wealth of Muista was hoarding food by inflating the prices beyond any reasonable amount. The city almost fell as fast as it had been founded at the beginning of the second Dark Ages, which had only ended in recent years. Not ten years later, the middle class  waged war against the poor out of frustration, feeling the stagnation of little to no technological  advancement while still paying outrageous taxes to support needy citizens in the South.

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Most recently, only seven years ago, the rich instigated their war by threatening to abandon Muista and

taking their prosperity elsewhere. Infuriated with their tax money still being used to slowly rebuild the South from the first war decades ago, they only delayed all further progress by burning the Southern region from the inside out.

Throughout these three main wars, smaller conflicts inevitably continued; generally in the

same order, and always with the same outcome: No winners, no losers, only destruction. Then,

the anomalies arrived: The Others.

The Others had no loyalty to any race, economic class, religion, or background. They were simply average human beings with extraordinary abilities, completely gifted by random

occurrence. Entire sections of the city were laid to waste by one, only to be rebuilt from their

ashes by a more benevolent (or capable) Other at little to no cost. Alchemists of sorts, a majority

of the Others were more than proficient in their crafts, and thus menaces to the mediocre masses.

And so, warfare was plentiful as people feared the Others, attempting to eradicate them from existence. Naturally, the peculiar Others remained victorious and did absolutely nothing with their sweeping conquest. Similar

to idiot savants, the more power they focused in their unconventional abilities, the less information they retained elsewhere in their minds. The Others existed, and continue to exist, more as keepers of order, decimating threats to their world, that which encompassed every corner of Muista.

Unfortunately for the Others, this role in the metroplex’s society was not enough to outweigh the rogue Others that were less than adept. The few that deliberately destroyed the

large community were troublesome enough to elicit a response from the government, no matter

how futile the efforts were.

Eventually, when war and violence were fully recognized as fruitless,

segregation began. The Others were banished to the West of Muista, pushing the middle class tothe East while the elite remained in the North, and the poor in the South. Feeling threatened, The

Others reinforced the worldly walls set in place by the imperialist municipality, further isolating

themselves as intended by the aristocracy. They then embraced this isolation, and forged the wall

with an unbreakable, translucent metal, leaving the additional walls that separated the three

remaining classes as mere stone. The entire city, from a bird’s eye view, appeared as a grand and

perplex labyrinth resembling a flower. This peculiar arrangement granted the city of Muista the

epithet “The Golden Flower of the Tiausm Kingdom,” with the center existing as the only

congregation point between all four classes. Ornamented by gates, the walls stood as a reminder

that the Others were the straw that broke the camel’s back in the city of Muista.

Despite the administration’s tentatively functional plan, the true power of the metropolis

did not reside within the impenetrable walls of the west; that power resided in a small white

house with tiny windows nestled in a little block of Eastern Muista.

In that home sat three little girls by the names of Nora, Melody, and Amph. Outwardly,

they were mischievous, sweet, and adorable, praised by all they encountered in the middle class

neighborhood they had lived in since birth. But this trio was not as it appeared, for they

commanded the fate, destiny, and demise of not only the universe, but each individual within its

confines. Later to be deemed “The Three Fates,” the girls wielded the power within their

sisterhood to bring Gods to their knees. The imperialists of the metroplex were in the hands of

three of their smallest citizens, without a single clue to indicate this vital weakness.

Comparatively, the triad’s older brother Sen was an insignificant worm quite literally

threaded on the girls’ line. A black cord tangled around his heart, controlling his desires. A

silver, embedded in the flesh of his right wrist, existing as a perpetual, physical reminder of his

servitude to fate. Scars remain brandished on his left hand to show how fate had already

intervened in his impending doom. Lastly, a single patch of deep red skin exposed on his neck

told the tale of when death had tried to claim young Sen as his own.