“Ethos authorizes writer Sorin Gran to distribute this story to the people of Tera. The prologue may be written with a bit of creative liberty.”

Have you heard of Mada? They call it the World of Clam—never mind. Moving on, Mada is a stormy planet with an atmosphere that turns anyone inside into ashes. Don’t get me wrong, there are people who live here. There exists a race of ashen-white people with equally ashen hair known as the Mausida. They created three underground nations ruled by kings who wield a mystical power called the Verse. How do I know about all this? It’s because I live here.

I am from the nation of Lucia, the Land of Dreams. We call them nations, but they are the size of an average city. Don’t judge us, we’re an endangered species; there are less than a thousand of us left. Oh wait, you want to learn more about the Verse? You wasted your time; I know next to nothing about that magical Waka-Waka shit. I keep my eyes grounded in reality. It served me well, and its how my parents taught me to survive. But my world view was challenged when I took part in an event that changed my life forever.

The Inheritance competition, a series of one vs one brawls to decide the next Inheritor of Dreams. The competition occurs a few years before the king retires, and it’s how they decide their successor. The successor will then inherit the power of the Verse and will be given the title of the Inheritor of Dreams. The king chose Lucia’s largest theatre stage to host the competition. There isn’t an age limit for who can enter. Therefore, anyone can become king—including me, a literal eight-year-old who smashed the living ketchup out of all the opponents I faced against. Honestly, I’m disappointed.

“It’s a knockout! Thomas Talon secured victory in the Inheritance competition.”

On my feet was a six-foot man lying unconscious after the crushing choke hold I held against his throat. He was a bit difficult to deal with. Not because he was tough, but because he was damn unbearable. His mouth spewed bullshit nonstop during our battle. Seriously, shut your Orahole! Under no circumstances would I, a boy trained in combat for eight years, lose to an unambitious glutton who took part in this competition to snatch up female booty and brag to his poser friends.

In front of me were cascades of elevated platforms built with limestone surrounding the circumference of the ring. The platforms seated the 400+ people attending the competition as an audience member. There are people who came here from other nations. Our little competition seems to have some international appeal. In the corner of my eye, I spotted a non-native drunk gossipping with a beaten-up grown man. His bruises swelled up into sizable welts that covered his face. Did I do that to him?

"What a shameful display, losing to a brat like him," said the drunken weasel with a punchable face. Guys, I hope you don’t mind me starting a civil war by walloping the living quack out of this Orahole—Just kidding.

"You drunkard, that kid's a monster. He's undoubtedly the heir of the monstrous Talon family," the man retorted. I don't agree with them calling me a monster. I merely followed my father's teachings in CQC. You guys should stop indulging yourselves in pointless fantasies and pursue something practical for once! The services our king generously provides the unemployed are reassuring, but our people end up becoming unmotivated leeches.

The king and his guards sat atop the proscenium behind me. Once the cheering subsided, the king vacated his seat and approached me. He dressed himself like a wanderer with his beige gown and visibly worn sandals. I'll give him props for his well-trimmed beard, however.

That said, he’s unmistakably a king. His incredible aura showed his might. I cannot see it, but its pressure weighed like a truck upon my shoulders. My knees gave in and fell to the ground. It took a massive amount of concentration to stop me from prostrating myself even further. Even lifting my head put a massive strain on my neck. Even so, I kept my head up in awe of his sheer might.

"You have an impressive mental fortitude," the king greeted with a deep, baritone voice. Subsequently, he concealed the oppressive aura suffocating me. I gagged and coughed out the excess gases trapped in my throat. I could finally breathe again.

“I am Edward Garrison, the 5th king of Lucia,” he said, knowing that there isn’t a single soul in Lucia who doesn’t know their king. “What is your name?”

“I am T-Thomas Talon.” I said in a strange, deep voice inappropriate of my age. Yes, this is my regular voice—please shut up. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir—I meant your highness!”

My words caught his interest. “Ah, yes. I can see the similarities,” he replied. “I am good friends with your parents.” His firm, warm hands patted my head. “Anyway, I would like to congratulate your victory,” he continued. “I have decided that once I retire, you will become both the Inheritor of Dreams and my heir.”

“I appreciate the gesture but—”

“No buts, you have proved yourself more than worthy,” he interrupted with a wry smile. “Knowing that you are from the reputable Talon family is more than assuring regardless of your age.”

Honestly, I competed because my father wanted me to enter this competition to compare my strength against my fellow peers. I did not expect to win this competition, let alone become the next heir to the Verse. Although, this may have been part of my dad’s plan the entire time. I’ve grown accustomed to his constant scheming.

“Prepare for the Succession Ritual!” King Edward addressed his guards. They mobilized and cleaned up the spilt blood in the arena. King Edward clasped both his hands and an incredible authority poured out from him.

[Verse of Ethos]

A table around shoulder-height cast from polished, violet stones manifested from thin-air between me and the King. I would learn to identify this table as the Soulstone Altar later in my life. It’s too late for me to overturn the King’s decision. I was fated to become his successor on this day.

We stood on the opposite sides of the altar. We faced each other and the speaker on my left addressed the audience.

“Everyone, please stand up for the Succession Ritual!”

Most of the audience stood in unison and extended their hands towards me as a gesture of blessing.

Then King Edward addressed the audience and began the ritual.

“I, Edward Garrison, son of Philip and Joana Garrison, offer my blessings to Thomas Talon. May we bless this promising young man with the power of the Verse!”

The crowd roared in applause, though I’m sure a few of them coveted my position.

King Edward tapped me on the shoulder to keep me from getting distracted, “face me and stay calm,” he said softly. “The next part might be a bit… stimulating.” His large hands wrapped around my scalp and massaged it gently, “Set your head on the table and close your eyes.”

I placed my chin on the cold, smooth surface of the altar and closed my eyes as instructed. As soon as I did, my eyes were weld shut. The nerves on my face went numb. The king tightened his grip on my scalp and recited something familiar. The prayer of Inheritance. Once recited, the Inheritor of Dreams is said to inherit the powers of the Verse.

“Deities of the Verse. We thank you for your blessings and protection. Today, we offer the young man Thomas Talon to inherit the powers you have gifted us in order to make our nation into what it is today. I ask you to watch over him and offer him wisdom as he approaches the path to kinghood.”

An immense surge of energy from the king’s fingertips channeled into my head and overloaded my senses. My ears rang deaf, and my head burned like a raging inferno. The pain overwhelmed me and I screamed. But my voice did not come out.

The pain accumulated more and more until suddenly… black.

All of my senses went numb, and I found myself in a state of contemplation. What kind of power is the Verse? The way King Edward manifested that table defied all common sense. Thinking back to everything that I know about the Verse, I recovered two key points of information.

One, the leaders of all three nations in Mada have access to the Verse. Whether their powers have any differences is currently unknown. More likely, they didn’t want that information to become public knowledge.

Two, the Verse will make demands of any kind to its subject. The punishment for failing a demand is not disclosed.

I felt more afraid towards the latter. What demands will I be subjected to? I heard one time, King Edward was demanded to walk on the streets of Lucia with no clothes. With that thought in mind, I would rather die.

After what felt like an eternity, my senses came back in gradual increments. I opened my eyes, but my hair obscured my sight. My hair, no longer braided into a fishtail, appeared disheveled and covered my face. I parted my hair and moved it towards the back of my head, which allowed me to see beyond my hair.

Where am I? My eyes had difficulty processing this foreign scenery. Above the horizon was a darkness with possibly trillions of small light specks. Beneath me, I stood on a flat, reflective surface that reflected the sparkly sky above.

“Thomas Talon!”

The overwhelming presence of the voice shook me to my core. I readied myself on high alert in an instant. I can tell that if this person wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead. I put the lingering thoughts about where I was aside because the more important question was…

Who said that?