A man sat upon a throne, gazing over a grand hall fit for an emperor. His golden eyes, stern and serious, swept across the chamber with detached calm — the look of a god, aloof and disinterested in the needs of mortals. It was as though the very world beneath him no longer held his concern.
His gaze soon settled on a kneeling figure — an enigmatic man with long black hair falling to his shoulders and eyes as dark as the void itself. He wore a perfectly tailored butler's suit, posture impeccable, head bowed in respect. Yet if one looked closely, a spark of mischief shimmered in those cold eyes.
"Raise your head and speak plainly, Diablo," came a deep, commanding voice from the throne. "I have no patience for your antics today."
The man addressed — Diablo — lifted his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips."Your Excellency, ever so direct. You really should lighten up, you know. You'll never find a wife acting like this."
The words had barely left his mouth before an overwhelming pressure crashed down upon him — a crushing, godlike force that pinned him to the marble floor. The entire hall trembled. Cracks raced up the pillars, and dust rained from the vaulted ceiling as though the heavens themselves had spoken judgment. Diablo's body sank lower, his face pressed to the cold floor, every inch of him trembling under the weight.
"I warned you," said the voice again, calm but deadly. "Speak out of turn once more, and I will have a tongueless butler."
The pressure vanished as quickly as it came. Diablo gasped, then gracefully straightened his uniform and resumed his kneeling position, as composed as ever.
Damn, never gets old, he thought with a suppressed chuckle.
Clearing his throat, he said smoothly, "My sincerest apologies, Your Excellency. I shall refrain from such… colourful remarks in the future."
The man on the throne didn't answer immediately. His golden eyes stayed fixed on Diablo, and for a brief moment, one might have noticed the faintest twitch in his brow. Even he knew this was far from the last time Diablo would test his patience. Still, the butler was far too useful to discard.
He sighed. "Diablo. Speak."
Diablo's grin returned, this time tinged with excitement."Your Excellency, news from the west — the petty king of that backwater realm, Telfordia, has discovered a Grand Dungeon. He's keeping it secret for now, likely trying to figure out how to exploit it. A clever move, perhaps… but futile. He can't hide anything from us."
The man on the throne began to tap his fingers lightly against the armrest.Tap. Tap. Tap.Each sound echoed through the hall like a heartbeat. Diablo's grin widened as he watched, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
'Is he going to do what I think?' he thought, excitement bubbling within. It's been too long since we've toppled a kingdom… I'm dying for some blood.
"Diablo," the golden-eyed man said suddenly, his tone cutting through the silence. "Remove thoughts of annihilating that kingdom from your mind."
Diablo froze, his grin faltering into mock disappointment."But Your Excellency—"
"Enough." The word left no room for argument. "I have another plan — one that will allow us to exploit both the dungeon and the kingdom."
Chastened, Diablo bowed his head respectfully. "As you wish, my lord."
The man on the throne stood, his towering form rising to a height of nearly seven feet. Each step he took down the golden dais was slow, deliberate, and powerful. The light from the grand chandeliers gleamed across the engravings carved into the throne behind him — depictions of battles, victories, and divine miracles. They told the story of a man who had risen beyond legend.
As he reached the base of the stairs, Diablo couldn't help but glance up at him, awe flickering briefly in his eyes.If I must kneel to anyone in this world, he thought, I'm not too displeased it's him. He's more monster than I am.
The man turned toward the massive glass windows lining the hall. Beyond them stretched a breathtaking sight — a circular, walled megacity, radiant beneath the afternoon sun. From this vantage, the palace overlooked it all: the living monument to his vision and will.
The city teemed with life — over nine million souls, far surpassing even the great capitals of the world. Its titanic walls reached skyward like mountains, gleaming under the light and casting long, protective shadows over the streets below. Within those walls lay order, safety, and prosperity — a paradise carved out of chaos.
The city was divided into four great quadrants.The Noble Quarter shimmered with manicured gardens and mansions of marble and glass, homes of the old families and high-ranking mages.The Commoners' Quarter was simpler, yet clean and well-kept — a rare comfort in a world dominated by ancient bloodlines.The Merchant Quarter bustled with commerce and invention, where trade and magi-tech thrived side by side.And finally, the Military Quarter, lined with long barracks, training fields, and mana cultivation chambers — the iron heart that protected them all.
At the center, where all four districts converged, stood the Grand Commercial District — a glittering hub of life and trade. There, humans mingled freely with demons, elves, dwarves, and beastkin. Some smiled, some hurried about their business, others spoke with determination or laughter. It was a strange and beautiful sight — a harmony that existed nowhere else in the world.
It was as if the city's towering walls had not only shielded it from the dangers outside, but from the very cruelty of the world itself.
And at its heart, by the great window overlooking his creation, stood the man himself — tall, with long golden hair cascading down his back, pale flawless skin, and a lean, sculpted frame that seemed almost divine. The sunlight bathed him in a halo, as though the heavens themselves bowed to his radiance.
He was no god.He was something greater — or so his people believed.
Kyros Lightborn.The One Blessed by the Light