Chapter 5-Unwritten Truths

Morning light crept slowly into the room, slipping through the thin curtains in golden slants. It fell across the edge of Leo's desk first, lighting the mess of old papers and half-open books stacked in precarious towers. The air smelled faintly of dust and parchment — a scent that had somehow begun to feel familiar. outside, the clatter of a cartwheel over cobblestones broke the quiet, followed by the shriek call of a hawker already peddling bread and boiled eggs.

Days had passed since his arrival in this world, but the feeling of foreignness hadn't entirely faded. Every morning brought the same inexplicable truth: he was no longer where he once was. This world, with its layered history and guarded secrets, was now to be explored.

His memories helped him adapt faster than most would in his place, but memories were fragments. What he really needed was knowledge —knowledge that was buried deep, scattered in records few cared to read.

He leaned over the desk, brushing dust from a thick, leather-bound volume. The cover bore a crest he didn't recognize, and it had faded to the point where you might think someone had deliberately erased it on purpose. He had been through at least a dozen of these tomes in the past week. Every single one of it followed the same pattern. each recounted the past in three neat "categories," and nothing more. 

It was like the empire had changed history into a shape it approved of — and removed whatever didn't fit.

The pages crackled beneath his fingers. 

The Era of Omnipotence.

The Era of Profanity.

The Era of Apotheosis.

Names, dates, and lists of events — but no further discussion, no personal perspectives. No mention of the ruins that had started his curiosity in the first place.

Leo rubbed the bridge of his nose. The more he searched, the more it felt like the empire didn't want people knowing about the other realms — or the truths hidden in those vine-choked ruins. Perhaps that was why so few scholars even mentioned them. And perhaps that was why Jack had told him he wanted to join the military: not for glory, but for the chance to gain access to the places and records common people were never allowed to see.

He closed the book and dust wandered into the air like smoke. Outside the window, sunlight caught the rooftops of the city. out there, truth existed — but here in the archives, it was buried under contemplative silence.

***

"Again," Mira's voice broke through the cool morning air, sharp but not unkind.

They stood in a yard behind her small house, the ground hard and dry. Jack was panting, sweat running down his temple, while Ralph gritted his teeth in concentration. Mira moved between them like a hawk, her eyes darting from one to another at each shift in their positions

"Your mind first, then your hand," she said. "Control the storm inside before you swing. If your balance is off here—" she tapped her own temple "—then the werias¹ will master you instead of the other way around."

The werias¹ were strange item unlike anything Leo had ever seen back in his old world. it desing uniqe to its wilder. In the military, every recruit was required to wield one, but not all werias¹ were the same. Each reacted differently to its wielder, forcing them to "choose their path," as Mira called it.

But beyond those hints, she did not explain. "You'll understand when the time comes," she always said.

At last, after a tough hour, they rested under the shade of a tree. Leo felt the ache in his muscles, but there was a sense of satisfaction in it. Training here was not just about fighting; it was about learning to steady one's thoughts, to keep calm when the world tried to push you into chaos.

The city beyond her neighborhood was a study in contrasts.

They passed through the noble district first — broad streets lined with flowering trees, even in the cold month of February. Stone mansions rose behind wrought-iron fences, and their balconies were draped with banners bearing family crests. There were carriages with gold ornamentation moving slowly along, the soft clop of their horses' hooves muffled by the clean paving stones. Here lived the great factory owners, the highest-ranking officers of the kingdom's military, and those whose wealth stretched so far they could buy silence. Servants were running back and forth on the pavement, carrying packages done up in expensive-looking paper.

Only a few streets away, the middle-class district bustled with life. Government officials rushed to their offices, arms full of rolled documents. The hiss of steam and the metallic clang of hammers drifted from the factories at the district's edge, where middle-class men labored in shifts to produce the machinery and goods that fueled the kingdom. Taverns were modest and well-maintained in this part of the kingdom, serving middle-class employees their lunch of stew and dark bread. Children in their Sunday attire went to school with their lunch of roasted chestnuts from the food stalls along the streets.

And then — the smell hit before they even entered the Outcast District.

Narrow lanes wound their way through the town buildings, their stone walls stained dark with damp. The air smelled of rotting vegetables, stale ale, and a faint hint of sewage. Women leaned in doorways painted in colors meant to be inviting, but their faces were tired and their eyes hollow. Children played barefoot among crates and barrels, some chasing a rag-stuffed ball, others carrying baskets much too heavy for them. Here, life was not about living well, but about making it to the next day.

Leo's chest tensed. This world might be in its revolutionary period, with new technology being developed every month, but progress has not touched everyone. The kingdom built its steel and wealth on the backs of those it barely acknowledged.

That night, Leo sat at his desk with the single lamp casting a warm circle of light on the wooden top. He opened his diary, the worn leather cover soft from use.

13 February, Year 1279.

His pen scratched softly across the page. He wrote about the day's training, about the faces in the Forsaken Quarter, about the scent of noble gardens that seemed like they belonged to another world entirely. He wrote about the silence in the books he'd read, about the three eras that felt like chains placed on history itself.

Upon completing his entry, he put the diary in a secret drawer in the desk. Some thoughts were not for others to see.

"Leo! You ready?" Mira's voice called up the stairs the next morning. "We have to go now. Jack and Ralph are waiting in town!"

He grabbed his satcheland made sure the hidden compartment was secure once more. Then he headed down. Outside, the air was biting, the sort of air that suggested the day ahead was going to be a long one.

They spotted Jack and Ralph near the market square, where stalls were just opening. The four of them walked together to the carriage stand, where a sturdy, dark-brown horse stood hitched to a covered wagon. The driver, an elderly man with a scarf covering his face, tipped his hat and waited for them to climb in.

The road to the capital wound through a rural landscape, frost still clinging to the grass. The wheels clattered over stones, and their rhythmic thud was accompanied by the horse's muffled snorts. Fields stretched on either side, dotted with skeletal trees. In the distance, the faint outline was visible, the skyline of the capital— towers and walls catching the pale winter sun.

Mirawas was the first to break the silence. "Do you all remember what I told you about the exam?"

Jack nodded in response. "Three parts, right?"

"Yes. The first is written — not just facts, but how you respond to pressure. Critical thinking, planning under strain. They'll look for who keeps a clear head."

"The second?" Ralph asked.

"A physical examination. It might be a duel between candidates or a test of marksmanship. Sometimes it's endurance. They change it each year, so no one can train only for one thing."

Leo leaned forward. "And the third?"

Mira's eyes darkened a little.

"The third one is the worst. They drain your mental energy—on purpose. Then they push something into your mind. They call it Negative Flow.

"It's like letting shadow slip into your thoughts. They want to see what happens when your spirit is backed into a corner. If you break… then they know you won't survive what comes next."

The carriage jolted over a bump, and the conversation fell quiet. Outside, the skyline grew larger, the towers like watchful sentinels over the city. The capital waited — along with whatever truths the empire kept hidden within its walls. 

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Glossary (1)

Werias¹:

A unique class of weapons used by the empire's military. Crafted from a dark, humming alloy, each weapon's bonds to its wielder and requires mastery over both body and mind. Warriors must "choose their path" to unlock their weapons' true potential.