The Day the Sky Burned


    The sky was not meant to burn.


    But on that day, it did.


    A storm of fire and destruction fell upon Uxnall, the proudest city of the Asemeri League. Its white towers, carved from the sacred stone of Mount Azakar, stood for three hundred years as a testament to survival, to the great exodus from the fallen Xothek Galaxy. The banners of the five chieftains waved in the high winds, proclaiming unity, proclaiming peace.


    Then came the light.


    The Azurevat Missile split the heavens, its trajectory a harbinger of death. For an instant, the world held its breath—then the blast came. A thousand suns erupted at once, a blinding inferno engulfing the city in a firestorm that shattered stone and turned steel into vapor. The very mountain crumbled, its foundations shaking as entire districts collapsed into the abyss.


    From the plains beyond, the people of Astashica watched as Uxnall fell. Those who had once sworn to defend it stood frozen, helpless before the absolute power of annihilation.


    And far above, Cosmus, the banished chieftain, stood on the bridge of the Defiance Vanguard, watching. His crimson eyes burned like embers beneath his war-helm, his lips curled in cold satisfaction.


    "Let them weep," he murmured, his voice like iron grinding against stone. "They will bow soon enough."


    The war had begun.


    <hr>


    Verdantis Nexus – The First Stand


    Far from the ruins of Uxnall, in the rolling green valleys of Verdantis Nexus, the sky still smoldered.


    A young man stood outside a simple ranch, his hands clenched into fists. Tlandar, son of a Temsek rancher and an Asemeri mother, had never known war. He had only heard stories from the elders—of the great exodus from Xothek, of the battles that shaped New Asemeri, of the banished chieftain Cosmus who now sought to claim the planet for himself.


    But war had come to him.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    At the edge of the valley, dark shapes moved—Ixtielan Marauders, warriors loyal to Cosmus, riding skimmers across the grasslands like carrion birds. They had come before, stealing livestock, burning outlying homes. But never in such numbers.


    And never with such purpose.


    Tlandar’s father, Zaruk, an aging rancher with calloused hands and tired eyes, tightened his grip on an old plasma staff. “Go inside,” he ordered, but Tlandar did not move.


    “They’ll destroy everything,” Tlandar said, his voice hardening. “We run today, and they’ll come again tomorrow.”


    A distant war horn split the silence. The marauders charged.


    Tlandar grabbed the nearest weapon he could find—an iron staff used for guiding herd beasts. He had no training, no armor, no reason to believe he could win.


    But he did not run.


    <hr>


    A Battle Without Glory


    The marauders struck like a sandstorm, kicking up dust as they descended upon the ranch. Their leader, a scarred brute in black armor, grinned behind a metal mask. “Burn the fields,” he barked. “Take what you can. Kill the rest.”


    They never expected resistance.


    Tlandar moved without thinking. The first marauder lunged—Tlandar sidestepped, swinging the staff into his ribs with a sickening crack. The man crumpled. Another came, blade flashing—Tlandar ducked, driving the end of his staff into the attacker’s knee, sending him sprawling.


    Then there was no time to count.


    The world became a blur of motion. Dust and blood. Sweat and fire. The smell of scorched earth. Tlandar struck, dodged, rolled—fighting not with skill, but with desperation.


    Then it was over.


    The remaining marauders fled, dragging their wounded behind them. The leader, clutching a broken arm, sneered at Tlandar. “You should’ve died today, farm boy.” Then he turned and vanished into the dust.


    Tlandar stood panting, his body aching, his hands bloodied from a battle he should not have won.


    But he had.


    And in that moment, he understood—war had come for him, whether he wanted it or not.


    <hr>


    The Road to New Asemeri


    That night, under the dim glow of Astashica’s twin moons, the decision was made.


    Verdantis Nexus was no longer safe.


    Zaruk placed a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. “We leave at dawn.”


    Tlandar looked to the horizon, where the city of New Asemeri shimmered in the distance—a place of power, of warriors, of destiny.


    Something waited for him there.


    Something greater than survival.


    A calling.