Light palace

In the ancient kingdom of abnan there once lived a vicious king Reon who ruled with an iron fist. He killed and murdered his subjects especially those opposed to his rule at any given time. It was a time of suffering and turmoil. He was the ultra powerful final in the abnan.. During his reign most people died compared to any king of abnan in history. The soldiers became more and more unruly.some even raided villages for quick jewelries,food,and rape women. Some started raiding during day time

Abnan was a vast kingdom with a very large territory, the power hierarchy was from the chiefs then to clan l

The palace stood on the highest hill of Abnan, glimmering with gold and ivory—a monument to power. They called it the Light Palace, not because it brought hope, but because its walls were bathed in torchlight night and day. It was the seat of King Reon, a man whose rule began with vision and ended in violence.

In the beginning, Reon had united the scattered clans under a banner of strength. But the weight of the crown turned his heart to stone. Taxes crushed the poor. Dissenters vanished without a trace. Families whispered their grief into the night, afraid to speak too loud.

Yet in the deep forests beyond the northern ridge, where moonlight barely kissed the earth, a different light was stirring—one not born of fire, but of purpose. Teon, cousin to the king, long presumed a loyal servant of the crown, had turned traitor—not for power, but for justice.

Teon as the head of kings guard wasn't pleased with what he saw. And with time recruited young men into the brotherhood of light whose sole purpose was to regain the light

He called them the Brotherhood of Light, and their mission was simple: to bring darkness to the palace that called itself Light.

But the Light Palace was not a place of marble and guards. It was not the tyrant’s throne.

It was a dream—a future where Abnan would know justice, peace, and truth. And it began with fire

The marketplace of Zarin, Abnan’s largest city, was unusually quiet. Guards in black armor patrolled every alley, their spears glinting in the sun. At the center of it all stood a wooden stage. A boy of no more than sixteen knelt on it, trembling.

He had stolen bread.

King Reon watched from his balcony high above, dressed in silver robes, a cruel smile etched on his face.

"Let the people see what mercy looks like," he said, raising a hand.

The boy was spared the sword—but not the whip. Twenty lashes later, he was dragged away, blood trailing behind him like a broken promise.

“Fear,” Reon muttered, sipping wine. “That’s how you keep a kingdom loyal.”

Beside him, General Vareon scarred warrior with eyes like cold stone, nodded. “And yet the rebels grow bolder.”

Reon’s eyes narrowed. “The Brotherhood?”

“Aye, Your Grace. Struck a caravan last night. Freed twelve prisoners. Killed two of our men.”

Reon stood. “Find them. Burn their homes. Bury their families alive if you must. Let them know—no light shines brighter than mine.”

Far below the towers of power, fear had long ago rooted itself in the soul of Abnan. Not just fear of Reon, but of the Diseonite legacy.

Reon came from the clan of the Diseonites, the ancient bloodline that ruled Abnan for over a century. Their rise was not built on diplomacy or wealth, but on a single mystery: the Light—also called the Pathway.

No one alive had seen it. Most believed it was only a myth. But every clan remembered the stories.

The Light was said to be an absolute weapon, something not forged by man, but inherited from the stars—or taken from the gods. It could, as the legends claimed, change fate and time itself. With it, the Diseonites had bent history. Entire cities had surrendered before a single soldier crossed their borders. Whole clans—the Jeonites, the Kareth, the Vo’dran, and the merchant clans of the East—had dropped their banners in submission, not to Reon himself, but to the unknown terror that cloaked his family’s rule.

For generations, the Pathway had not been seen. But no one dared to test whether it still existed.

Even Teon’s own clan, the Jeonites—once known for their wisdom and independent spirit—had fallen in line after a single envoy from the Diseonite court spoke of the weapon. Not in anger. Not in warning. Just in reminder.

So, Abnan lived in fear of the unknown. It was not Reon’s cruelty that kept the kingdom silent. It was the question that haunted every mind:

What if the Light is real?

In an abandoned temple hidden beyond the northern wilds, Teon stared at a carved map of Abnan spread out on stone

“Reon grows crueler by the day,” he said.

Sera, tall and calm, leaned over the edge of the table. “The people are ready. But the fear remains. They still speak of the weapon. The Light.”

Teon didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tensed. He had grown up in its shadow too—fed the stories like bitter medicine. Even as a child of noble blood, he had never seen it. Never been told the truth. Not even when he had stood beside Reon as a brother.

“The Light is either myth,” he finally said, “or it is the last chain around Abnan’s throat.”

Sera’s eyes burned. “Then we break it.”

Teon nodded.