Part one:
On top of a mountain range lay the city of Razihelnor. Surrounded by forests from beneath, and plateaus from above, a breathtaking landscape stretched as far as the eyes could reach.
The terrain was very rocky, and hardly anything grew besides weeds. Yet, this city was way richer than one would imagine.
Walking down the wide streets with constant changes in height, one was surrounded by myriads of stalls selling all kinds of foods.
The autumn had just arrived, meaning everyone was busy preparing their supplies for the especially harsh winter, but no one was worried. The availability of water, food, and wood was so great that they sold for cheaper prices than in most other cities.
This was Razihelnor, the capital of the Temper province. It was created shortly before people started counting years on the calendar, and since the start of the currently ongoing 2nd year, Temper's was the second strongest faction known to man.
Nonetheless, its value wasn't achieved through democracy, but by dictatorship.
Like every other faction, Temper also had its military, controlled by a couple of elite warriors called paladins whose power and capabilities transcended what regular humans would believe to be possible.
They were rich, devoted, and directly responsible for Temper citizens and the economy, ever since they claimed the land as their own.
Within Razihelnor was a certain area with restricted access named the Garden of the Elite.
Just like the city itself, this area also had its own walls, guarded by the regular military, which seemed funny considering how mighty each paladin was.
The boy smiled. The night had already set in the moment he arrived at the city, and there was no reason to defer his responsibilities until tomorrow.
With a little wandering and asking around, he found the main entrance to the Garden of the Elite. The place within which only the strongest Temper paladins could reside.
"Hey! I told you children to stop playing around here!" a guard scared off a group of kids that spied on him and his companion.
However, now someone else was approaching them.
"Hey…" the other guard called his companion. They both gazed at the approaching young man, especially his snow-white hair, unsure of his motives.
Any other adult knew this area was highly restricted for regular citizens.
"You! Stop right there", they drew their swords, but the young man pre-empted them, stretching out his hand holding a letter.
"I was summoned here by the third officer Simra", he said proudly.
Hearing this, the guard took a couple of seconds to process the information before he slowly lowered his weapon, taking the letter and reading it to himself swiftly. The other guard approached as well, joining him and confirming credibility.
"Indeed. This is Sir Simra's handwriting", he commented, "Zafer, huh? That's a weird name".
The boy smiled, "It means "The Victor"!", while casually passing them and entering the Garden.
The area beyond the gate seemed nothing like the rest of the Razihelnor city. It was filled with neatly trimmed grass and bushes, in between which was a pathway that divided itself and led into many other balconies and buildings.
The river that flowed through the entire city ended in this region, cascading off a cliff to form a majestic waterfall. Yet, its full beauty could only be truly appreciated from outside the city.
Geographic encyclopedia: Paragraph 2nd:
„…hence the people were forced to settle down in the basin created by the Pashtrik mountain range. It was so big that 70% of it was unmapped. The events of mantle and crust that led to its creation remain a mystery…
Paragraph 12th:
The exact number of people who lived within the Pashtrik basin is unknown, but as of writing this, they were all a part of one of the 4 provinces: Nubis, Numen, ⬛⬛⬛⬛, and a neutral territory owned by the country itself. Addendum: and Temper.
After several minutes of talking, chairs creaked against the wooden floor, and two men stood up to shake their hands.
"Thank you again Simra! Are you going to show me around now and introduce me to the others?", Zafer seemed excited.
Simra threw papers on the side of his desk. He looked over Zafer's shoulder and noticed a huge shadowy figure through the window, waiting in front of the building.
"I'm busy now. You can talk to Skil. He is also a fellow paladin".
A boy, no older than Zafer, slowly turned just enough to glance at him—pretending he hadn't been watching the entire time.
"Skil! Do you have some time to spend with our candidate? Thank you", Simra said before the former could even answer.
Not like he could decline anyway. Simra was the 3rd officer of the Temper faction and supposedly the strongest one as well.
Skil was present during their whole discussion, sorting papers and books on the shelf in the corner, which was his unpaid duty as the lowest-ranked paladin within the province.
„White hair, red eyes, a striped black-red sweatshirt… A scarf?", Skil raised his truncated eyebrow.
„Was he wearing that scarf this whole time, or did he just put it on?"
"Sure", he got up, introducing himself to Zafer, whose attention was focused on the window where no one was to be seen now.
The difference in their height was distinct, but nothing that Zafer wasn't used to already. He knew not to prejudge anyone based on their looks, either positively or negatively.
„We can go to a nearby pub, it's still far from midnight".
With Skil being one of the exceptions, it was safe to say that Zafer had already heard of about 90% of the Temper's elite squad. Still, none of them arouse respect in his eyes like Simra did, because even though he was only a 3rd officer, he was far stronger than anyone else.
"You probably haven't heard of me since I joined Temper quite recently", Skil continued with the introduction as they walked through the Garden of the Elite, „and given our age, there is no reason for formality between us".
Zafer nodded in agreement.
Being in the presence of a paladin was not something that a regular citizen could hope for, but Zafer seemed unimpressed. At this moment, Temper had a total of 15 paladins and thousands of military soldiers.
The main difference between the two armies was very straightforward.
Paladins were permitted to equip themselves with weapons and armor forged from Miyalin, the toughest and most valuable material known to mankind.
So precious was this resource that each paladin had to purchase their own gear—no province was willing to spend such an exorbitant sum to provide a set for every paladin, especially when each was deemed capable of acquiring it themselves.
"Before we go to a pub, do you think you can maybe show me around the Garden of the Elite?", Zafer's eyes shone with excitement.
Skil bit his lips, "I'm afraid not. Even I don't have the allowance to wander around here if I'm not summoned".
Zafer frowned, "But you are a member of the Temper province, right? A paladin!"
"Yes, that's the thing. I am just a regular recruit. The Garden of the Elite is open only to those of peak capabilities. Mostly officers".
A huge smile stretched on Zafer's face, "so don't you want to see as well? And you can even use me as an excuse or something! Come on, have you already seen everything here?"
A reflexive smile of excitement stretched across Skil's face, "Well… I have never been anywhere near the 5th officer place…".
He slowly stepped aside with one foot, suddenly colliding with something none of them noticed. It was a man, not only taller but also many times more muscular than both Zafer and Skil.
One could immediately notice that, despite his body being covered with Miyalin armor. It had a dimly white color, with 3 or 4 colorful strings gently wavering inside it.
Zafer's eyes shone as he stared in awe, suppressing the urge to touch it. That was a real Miyalin armor! And this man wore it so casually!
"Oh! Priest Zer Ox! My apologies", heat came out from Skils body in waves. He never noticed him. Was he spying on them the entire time or just appear out of thin air?
"I was just explaining how things work in Temper to our new candidate!"
"Really? Like what?", the Priest widened his eyes in surprise as if he was legitimately curious.
"Well, like, how only top-notch paladins were allowed to-"
Priest's husky voice interrupted him, "Wait, a new candidate you said?", he stared at Zafer, who was a whole head smaller than him, "I was never informed about that".
Skil calmed down with the topic change, "Indeed, a new candidate".
Zer Ox pointed at him, "is he a scriptman as well?"
Skil shook his head, "I'm afraid not. He is one of Sir Simra's… chosen ones".
The Priest frowned not changing his face from the previous question, "Simra's? Alright I guess…" he made a big pause, "you look kind of weak though, but…", he lifted both of his hands, "…if it's Simra of all people, I won't meddle".
"Anyways, I saw you two heading out for drinks and wanted to tell you not to stay up late tonight, and you Skil", he turned around once more, "stay sober".
Part two:
"Are you sure you can handle more?", Zafer watched Skil leave for another round of beers, but the former just swung his hand and left.
The pub was full of people. Many would pass through the door, only to realize there were no free tables and leave. Some parties were even sharing a single table as a pad for the mugs or a space to play cards or other games.
Zafer was looking at them, thinking how he used to drink and play cards in pubs as well, but he wasn't one of them anymore. From today on, he wasn't a regular citizen, but a candidate for a new paladin of the Temper province.
In view, there was only one table that was being used by a single person. It was a brunette woman, wearing the same kind of armor that the Priest was wearing, but it was specially designed and forged for her sex.
It was so tight on her body, that one would think it was an undersized shirt, but that was to be expected, given how thin Miyalin's armors usually were. The material was tougher than iron and slightly lighter, allowing agility to become the main variable in combat.
The sword on her hip would rub against the floor each time she took a sip out of her mug.
She slowly lifted her head, looking at Zafer.
"Hey! You are out here taking the whole table for yourself, huh?", three adult men suddenly surrounded him, which made him break eye contact with the pretty woman.
"No, I'm drinking with a friend!", he pointed towards the direction Skil went, but the man smacked his hand.
"Yeah, you can go drink somewhere else!"
Zafer's heart twitched. The lady in Miyalin's armor was still staring at him from across. He could see it via his peripheral vision and sense it via his skin.
"Hey! What the hell is going on here?", Skil aggressively put the mugs down on the table.
Zafer stood up, "No it's okay. We can share the table!".
"Hell, no way I'm drinking with you!" the adult shouted, looking at Zafer's white hair.
Skil leaned forward to enter his sight, "then get out!"
The man slowly turned towards him, pressing his index finger against Skil's chest, "Be careful how you speak to me, boy".
"No, you be careful how you speak to me fucker", Skil took a four-pointed star badge out of his pocket pushing it in front of the man's face.
"Hey, he is a fucking paladin!", one of the other 2 adults commented in awe.
The troublemaker contemplated a bit but continued, "Fuck if I care!", he hit Skil's hand that was holding the badge turning to his friend, "He's probably just one of those-" somebody suddenly grabbed him by the forearm.
It was Zafer. The crack was deep and sharp, like splitting wood. The man staggered back with a guttural groan. No one from the crowd noticed—too loud, too drunk, too lost in the chaos to care.
"I think he cracked my hand!", the man let out a cry, but his friends dragged him outside.
"Prejudging old pieces of shit. I feel so sorry for you!", Skil sat down, "how often do people assume you are exiled?"
"Well, I don't know, but these types of interaction aren't rare, especially among older generations".
Skil smiled, "But don't those same old people also have white hair? Like the color of it means anything. Not to mention how many people get born with it like you did".
"You know people like that?"
Skil made a brief break, "Yeah. I heard the 5th officer was also born with white hair".
Zafer nodded, noticing that the woman with Miyalin armour wasn't looking at him anymore.
"Tell me, is that woman one of Temper's paladins?"
Skil looked around, immediately spotting her.
"No. That's Arcanie, an ex-officer of the now-gone Atlantic Republic faction", he looked at Zafer, "You don't know much about politics and the big players?"
Zafer shook his head, "never had any interest. Only recently started investigating stuff, but mostly Temper".
Though the common folk never stopped talking—always quick to judge the paladins' every move—few actually knew what any of them looked like. Most paladins preferred to stay unseen, whether out of choice or because they were too consumed by their own duties to bother with appearances.
"Yeah, she is quite a criminal. I think she even has a bounty on her head", he shook his head.
Zafer frowned, "shouldn't we catch or report her to the other Temperans? She is on our territory"
Skil smiled, "Don't be so naïve. Simra and others know about everyone the moment they step foot in the city, but refuse to act unless the person breaks our laws. The national criminals are a job for the National Security, not the Temper".
Suddenly, someone kicked the door of the pub open, his voice louder than a thousand soldiers, screaming for everyone's attention.
"This area is under attack! Evacuate immediately!"
The male wore Miyalin armor but left before Skil could turn around to recognize him. It was one of the paladins of the Temper faction, nonetheless.
„What was that?", Zafer was still seated.
„I don't know", Skil nervously looked through the window, "Simra is there!", he said, quickly moving the chair and pushing through the crowd to reach outside.
On the other hand, Zafer wasn't that lucky. Given his height, he was overpowered by a stampede of men; however, in the middle of that, he saw a shiny figure slip out of his field of view through an open window.
"Arcanie?"
He swiftly pushed backward, escaping the crowd and jumping through the window himself. Razihelnor's streets were still unfamiliar, but her path was unmistakable—retracing the exact route he and Skil had taken hours before. The Garden of the Elite!
It didn't take him a lot of pondering to decide to go after her. As of today, he was a candidate for a new member of the Temper province after all, and Arcanie was a criminal. Who vouched she didn't have something sinister on her mind at a time like this?
Her silhouette darted across the rooftops, slipping out of Zafer's sight. A wave of people surged past him in the opposite direction, making the chase even harder. But as he closed in on the Garden of the Elite, the chaos melted away, leaving an eerie, unexpected calm.
At the front gate, he spotted the 2 guards who interrogated him lying on the cobblestone.
Dead.
Normally, even without them around, he had no permission to enter the Garden, but in this type of scenario, regulations could be neglected, right? Her intentions were clearly evil.
Nevertheless, he didn't even have to venture that deep into the forbidden area before he suddenly got kicked from behind—his body rolling on the dirt.
Of course, it was her—the very woman he'd been chasing. What unsettled him most was how she had noticed him, even with such a head start. She wasn't just another paladin like Skil—she was something far more dangerous.
Zafer quickly stood up, staring down at her. He had no weapon on him, but if he could only get close to her, he could crush her with his bare hands. That was one of his specialties, and there was no way he could ever lose.
Nevertheless, all the confidence vanished the moment she took out a dagger and accurately threw it at his head. A whole second before her heart twitched, realizing the grueling mistake she had just made.
Death
For Zafer, there was no time to dodge. Before he could even move his fingers, the blade had already penetrated his eye and stuck deep into his skull, automatically activating his second specialty.
His oldest memory of a similar event couldn't help but resurface in his mind. It was just like this, but way scarier. The time when innocent people got hurt.
He had no clue what was going on and could barely hold his eyes open from the blood pouring out of them. Around him was a crater, caused by an explosion. Smoke from the fire and ruined buildings hid the smell of human corpses.
The buzzing in his ears slowly faded, making way for the cries of the broken. They weren't the oldest victims of his nature—just the oldest ones he could remember.
He would have forgotten them as well, had the old man with purple eyes not appeared, offering to teach him how to control his chaotic innate ability.
It was the most crucial point in his life, for he got to learn that his curse was actually a gift. He spent weeks training, listening to the old man's stories of other such individuals and the astonishing achievements they accomplished no regular human could ever dream of.
It was the first time he felt like he belonged somewhere; like he was supposed to be one of them.
That was the reason why, even after learning how to control his second anomaly, he never stopped training but pushed harder to integrate himself into the community he was born to be a part of.
That was the reason why he ultimately decided to join the second-strongest faction, Temper.
As the memory slipped away and reality set in, Zafer slowly opened his eyes—no scratch on his face, save for the blood streaming from his eyes. He sat in the middle of a huge crater, with nearby bushes and trees completely stripped of their leaves.
Had he not reflexively held back, Arcanie's dismembered corpse would be all around the place, but it wasn't something he could allow to happen.
He couldn't do such things to another human, especially one less gifted than he.