Prologue:
The perfect kingdom of Khorra had many cracks: the people were starving, poverty thriving, and most importantly, the respect for the Prophet of the core gods was slowly waning. But nobody noticed these flaws. They were to busy fighting for their survival.
Sweat trickled down my spine, making my tunic utterly uncomfortable. I felt the strength seep slowly from my muscles, making my legs heavier with each and every step. The smell of rotting plants and food scraps made it hard to breathe. I could already see part of the holy Zolic area, but it was probably still a temple away. I hadn’t quite grasped the principles of measurology yet, when they took me out of school and forced the world to become a place of pain and sorrow. The Core Prophet had spared my life; they said. I should be thankful; they said. But I was nothing of that. I was left feeling broken, the ruins of my house in Outercore District and the graves of my parents making me hollow, roofless and unwanted. Then the Blue Eyed had told me that they had begged the Prophet for mercy and that I could do the same and become one of them. But how, in the name of Orivesh, was I supposed to join people who murdered my family? I declined. And then I was alone. My mind returned back to reality, and I stumbled over a bad smelling basket of fruits. Soon I was at the Zolic area. Screams sounded to my left and I flinched. Two priests, truly reinforcers of the Core propaganda, blue eyes blazing with fury, were hitting a young man with the hilts of their Magmaris, an elite weapon able to shoot boiling hot magma at impossibly high speeds. I looked quickly away, my body shaking slightly. I suddenly felt hollow. He had a family, a life. Someone from behind shoved me forward:”Takiri! Canet yei ioung falk moive queecker?” The mans Zaccorish accent was strong and i could barely decode what his sudden outburst had meant. Can’t you young folk move quicker. That’s what he had said. I quickened my pace, getting closer to the priests which had hit the man. I was sorry for the Zaccorish one. The laws had changed recently and now it was obligatory for each and every citizen in Khorrain, Khorra’s capital, to be fluent in Kavor. Kavor was generally a hard language with its lolling l’s and growling r’s. My mother had seen to me being fluent in it at a very young age. Suddenly a Blue Eyed pushed me harshly onto the ground, my weak knee groaning. “No respect spared for me, I see. All used up for the gods?” he mocked. The hilt of his Magmaris crashed down on me before I could react and pain raced through me. “Accept my apologies, Oh great Priest of the eternal kingdom Khorra!” I groaned, black spots dancing in my vision. Ouch. So much for daydreaming.
Soon I plunged my hands deep into the warm, moist holy earth, my lungs filling with its healing odor. The pain in muscles instantly ceased, and I brang it up, cupping my hands and lifting an amount of earth in them with care. I placed it into my offering bag and began heading down the mount. Instantly I felt the priests eyes dig into me. Turning on my heel, I saw him stand there calmly, his eyes no bigger than slits, he pointed his Magmaris at my heart, mouthing ‘slope’ and then demonstrated a quite sinful gesture. I held myself back from giving him an even unholier one and started off towards the slope. The sliding slope was an attraction many wished to visit. It gave you the possibility to peak your adrenaline levels, which most youth desperately wanted to try. I hated it. The slide would bring back the happiness I had felt as a child, and I didn’t need a reminder that if my parents would still, in the name of Zacharr, be alive, I would be sitting on a mat and learning the principles of measurology! Sighing with regret, I slipped my slope mat under myself and started sliding. The wind whipping my hair around and howling in my ears while my adrenaline rose only made melancholy worse. I turned my thoughts to the nearing city. I could see Crust and Outer Core district from here. And of course, the palace, which was visible from everywhere, without exception.
. . .
I stood in what seemed an endless line to the offering Checker. Just two more peop- “Next!” the man behind the Checking desk called. I was too deep in my thoughts to react. Someone growled and shoved me forward. I spilled the holy earth. It flowed from my grasp, and I just stood there, frozen. It had cost me a whole rotting day to get this. My mouth already opened up to protest, but then I glimpsed the Checkers eyes drifting menacingly to the man behind me. “Handere Ertu con comadere.” It was an order. My jaw dropped. Give the earth to your victim. The man shook his head. The Checker rose. I was still frozen. Oh gods… The Checkers eyes flashed golden for a moment and the man crumpled to the floor. Oh GODS. “Name?” The Checker went on as if nothing had happened, and no man lay unconscious at his feet. He eyed me: “My core gifts should not worry you, peasant.” My whole body shook, and I barely managed a: “Yes sir. Maren Norcaer at your service.” I was proud of how little my voice shook. “Very well. Until next week, then.”
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