1 | prologue

The story of Oriana Borealis begins with the Great War. For when the fire bombs raided the roof of her castle, she was just a child who only knew how to goo-goo ga-ga her way through life.

Protestors surrounded the once peaceful walls of the castle, rioting for selfish means. As flames rained down, the cold of the night scorched with evil intentions. Commonfolk abuzz with weapons and uneducated opinions raided the castle walls.

Traitors rode the wave of rebellion and the castle was sieged. The King held hands with his Queen, one last time, and cried a betrayed cry as poison raced through their veins. They denied a shameful death and passed on their own terms, hand in hand.

Wrapped in the secure arms of responsible adults, her mother's lady-in-waiting and her brother's knight, Oriana Borealis was transported through the dungeons, hidden away from the preying eyes of those who wanted the bloodline dead.

Sides were switched, the throne was overtaken and a cheer of triumph echoed the welcome of Aurum(s) and the rise of Nobelai.

The Great War divided the masses as they believed what the Oracle had commanded:

"God, in fashioning those of you who are fitted to hold rule, mingled Gold in their blood, for which reason they are the most precious and called them Aurum — but in the Nobels, the helpers of the fittest, he poured Silver and called them Argenti, and Brass in the brave Warriors who are called Aeris, and Iron in the Workers known as Durus. Doing so, he birthed the magical empire of Nobelai for us."

Following the Oracle, Empress Lirien Madgira Enfield ordered an empirewide Crysomancy to take place, for determining the blood of Nobelai's inhabitants. To segregate the society and rule it with an iron fist.

Royal Knights forced families apart, relocating members into different households in accordance to their blood. Creating new families as they preferred.

The Aurums were readily taken away with smiles and killed off in privacy for the Empress did not require anymore competition.

The Argentis were adopted by wealthier Nobels who lost their children to passionate murders, diseases or neglect.

The Aeris were shoved into immediate work — for it was in their blood and they lived in times that always required more to kill — set up to put down revolts or relocating innocents.

The Durus were settled into huts, on the outskirts of nations, ostracised from the 'better ones' and left to shoulder all the work. Amongst many a worn-out Durus, there was a farming lass known as Genny who lived an honest life out of labour whilst feeding her only son.

A son who was abandoned by his father, partly out of his lust for a younger woman, partly due to the fact that he was an Aeris.

Her son was a five-year-old, whose veins pumped silver blood, unlike the Iron of his mother or the Brass of his father.

Upon the field of carrots, in front of his hut, his little wrists were bound and he was dragged away to be adopted by the childless Duke of Evermire. His mother thrashed her arms in protest, cried till she bled the paleness within, and screamed in a world where no would listen.

She begged to the God, for if he was mighty enough to send out his word as the Oracle, he would surely disagree this seperation. A little boy, to be forever uprooted from his family just because the colour of his blood did not match his mother's—?!

As if emotions and relations did not exist beyond blood!

"If this be destiny, I spit on it!!" Genny screamed on her doorstep as the sky raged on above, pouring generously to cover her misery and distribute it to all being beaten over by the raindrops.

"SILENCE PEASANT WOMAN! YOUR SON SHALL SEE BETTER DAYS IN THE PRESENCE OF OUR GRACE!" A Knight shouted, pulling out his sword and pressing it against her dark neck. His eyes pooled with darkness, a window to his soul.

Genny felt the vehement loyalty he possessed when the sharp swordpoint dug deeper into her skin. It stung enough to make her toes curl and breath hitch. Her shallow breath misted the blade, momentarily.

Genny had spent all her life accepting her fate, thinking she deserved all the woes hurled in her way. She had been pliant and ever accepting of her mortality, for her life had never belonged to her anyway.

So, for the first and last time, she fearlessly voiced herself until her last breath.

"And what of me? Am I not to be with one of my own? Just because some God or some damned Empress said—

She could never complete her words for the sword was swung at her. It slid through her throat, and off went her head, rolling into the carrot fields, away from her body, bleeding paleness into the fields.

"On spite against Nobelai. On blasphemy!" The Knight roared, "Good rolled her head off; it was too up in the clouds, eh?" he hunched his shoulders and chuckled with his mates. His fellows shared the mirth of her miserable death.

Another down in the name of loyalty and religion.

As her body fell to the ground, the Knight rose his sword to the skies. "IN THE NAME OF NOBELAI!!" He shouted a cry, followed with 'Hoo-Haa's of praise and confidence. All Knights raised their swords to the sky, clanking metal against metal, overpowering the sound of rain.

Winning against nature.

In the make-belief happy world of the whimsical Empress, all was well for the next twenty-one years.

Seperated families found attachment with those whom they were paired with. Illiteracy ran rampant, history of the massacres were forgotten (erased) and risen was a new generation that praised the nobel hierarchical structure and their generous Empress who let all folks fullfill their destiny.