THE KING AND THE UNWANTED BLOOD
A hundred years ago, a man named King Alexander did what everyone thought was impossible. He wasn't a god or a genetic freak. He was just a regular human with enough willpower to force four distinct species to lay down their weapons and unite under one banner. To make sure his kingdom survived him, Alexander took four wives, one from each species, and had four sons on the exact same night.
Solis was born with standard human traits and incredible physical grit. Glyph was born completely hairless, his skin marked with living symbols that channeled his internal energy. Ocular carried a vertical third eye on his forehead that gave him unmatched spatial perception. And Argent, the youngest, was born with lightning speed and stark, pure silver hair.
For twenty years, the four brothers grew up in the same palace and trained in the same courtyards. People genuinely believed the peace would last forever.
Then Alexander died, and the world reset its calendar to Year 0 AAD—After Alexander’s Death.
Before their father’s body was even in the ground, the brothers turned on each other. Solis claimed the throne by right of birth. Glyph argued that leadership belonged to the strongest fighter. Ocular insisted that only his supreme intellect could guide the realm. Argent swore his people would never bow to a foreign brother.
Overnight, the royal brotherhood shattered. The four princes led their mothers' people back to their ancestral homelands, drew thick red borders across the map, and named four independent nations after themselves: the Solis Union, the Glyphtic Empire, the Ocular Reach, and the Argent Republic.
The decades after the four sons passed were slow and quiet, filled with the steady growth of armies rather than grand legends. The new kings—their sons and grandsons—fortified the borders with high stone watchtowers and appointed younger brothers as officers over standing garrisons. Cold standoffs became the norm. Skirmishes flickered along disputed rivers, small enough to keep from triggering a full-scale war, but sharp enough to ensure no nation ever lowered its guard.
Life outside the royal halls, however, moved to a much simpler rhythm.
Far from the capital, in a quiet, nameless village near the western hills of the Solis territory, the days were measured in harvests and hard work. People there knew very little of court politics or military strategy; they simply lived, worked the land, and watched the seasons change.
It was in one of those small wooden homes, on a completely ordinary evening, that a child was born. His parents were simple working people with no noble blood and no military rank. They looked down at his small face, wrapped him in a rough cloth blanket, and named him Kai.
