《Xiaxo》
Prologue
The princely state of Xiaxo rests like a hidden jewel in the southern reaches of the vast Kirat Empire. Once a collection of indigenous lands, its terrain is as diverse as its history: undulating hills stretch endlessly toward the Xiaxoan horizon, lush and veined with cascading streams. To the east, fertile plains give way to windswept grasslands, and to the south, the mighty Luxo Ocean churns, carrying whispers of distant shores. For centuries, Xiaxo¡¯s rugged landscapes and vibrant cultures remained untouched by the outside world, preserved by their isolation. Yet in this era of magic-fueled industrialization, the state finds itself caught at a crossroads where the threads of tradition and modernity are tightly intertwined¡ªsometimes in harmony, often in conflict.
Xiaxo¡¯s past is etched in blood and resilience. A mere century ago, its people waged a desperate twenty-year war against the Kirat Empire, a sprawling dominion notorious for its iron-fisted rule. The Empire¡¯s magical artillery¡ªgleaming weapons capable of obliterating entire hillsides¡ªand their airborne war machines, known as Aeras, turned the tide of battle again and again. The war was a lopsided affair: Xiaxo¡¯s tribes, bound by a love for their land and an unmatched knowledge of its terrain, resorted to guerrilla tactics. In the dense forests and treacherous hills, they launched ambushes and vanishing strikes, their unity forged by shared suffering. Each tribe brought something unique to the fight: the shadow-dwellers of the eastern plains, who moved like whispers through the night; the coastal mariners, who turned their ships into nimble raiding vessels; the hill-dwellers, masters of tracking and setting traps.
But even the most cunning strategy couldn¡¯t hold back the Empire¡¯s relentless advance. The people of Xiaxo endured atrocities that stained the annals of history: entire villages razed, families torn apart, mass graves concealed in the earth¡¯s embrace. Men and women disappeared without a trace, their fates whispered in rumors of secret prisons and forced labor camps. To this day, the stories of those years are told in hushed voices, their pain undiminished by the passage of time. The scars left by those atrocities ensured that Xiaxo¡¯s people would never truly see themselves as part of the Kirat Empire, even after their defeat.
When the war finally ended, the Treaty of Nerma formalized Xiaxo¡¯s annexation into the Empire. The terms were steep and humiliating: self-governance was partially allowed with tributes and taxes being forced upon to the people of the land, and the practice of Xiaxo¡¯s indigenous magics was outlawed, though the people still secretly practiced it. Yet, the end of the war marked not only a loss but also the beginning of a transformation. Over the next hundred years, Xiaxo became a hub of trade, innovation, and learning. Its strategic location¡ªa crossroads between the Empire¡¯s eastern colonies and its central heartlands¡ªturned it into a bustling center of commerce. Magic academies sprouted in its cities, drawing students and scholars from across the Empire. Factories powered by both steam and spellcraft churned out goods that flowed into Imperial coffers. Xiaxo¡¯s capital, Tlangthar, came to be known as the ¡°fifth capital¡± of the Kirat Empire, a testament to its newfound prominence.Stolen story; please report.
Yet, beneath the surface, Xiaxo¡¯s identity remained a battleground. Before the advent of teleportation portals and the Empire¡¯s road networks, the region¡¯s isolation had been its greatest protector. The steep, craggy hills and winding dirt paths made travel arduous and time-consuming; rivers were the lifeblood of commerce and communication, their meandering courses connecting scattered communities. This natural seclusion had allowed Xiaxo¡¯s traditions to flourish, untainted by external influences. But now, those traditions were under siege.
The Dysno, the Empire¡¯s state-sanctioned religious order, played a central role in this cultural erosion. As part of its ¡°civilizing mission,¡± the Dysno imposed its doctrines on Xiaxo¡¯s people, declaring their tribal magics heretical and their ancient practices barbaric. Temples dedicated to Xiaxo¡¯s old gods were torn down, replaced by gleaming spires where priests preached the virtues of ¡°modern magic and science.¡± The Dysno¡¯s schools became mandatory for Xiaxo¡¯s children, their curriculums designed to erase ancestral knowledge and instill loyalty to the Empire. Over time, the rhythms of daily life changed. Ritual dances performed under starlit skies grew rare; the songs of elders, once sung to teach and preserve, began to fade into silence.
Yet, not all were content to watch their heritage disappear. In hidden valleys and forgotten corners, small enclaves resisted the tide of assimilation. Elders passed down forbidden spells in secret, their voices hoarse with urgency. Rebel scribes copied ancient texts by moonlight, smuggling them out of the Dysno¡¯s reach. Xiaxo¡¯s people had endured conquest and oppression before; they would endure this, too. But the question loomed: how much of their identity could survive?
This story unfolds at a pivotal moment in Xiaxo¡¯s history, a tipping point where the forces of empire and tradition collide with unprecedented intensity. Ancient secrets, long buried beneath the hills, begin to stir, their power awakened by the hum of modern inventions. The crumbling ruins of Xiaxo¡¯s past hold answers that could shape its future¡ªanswers sought by both those who wish to preserve its legacy and those who aim to exploit it.
It is a time of colonization and resistance, of invention and rediscovery. The Kirat Empire¡¯s reach grows ever stronger, its gaze fixed on Xiaxo¡¯s untapped potential. But the people of Xiaxo, though battered, are not broken. Their story is one of survival, defiance, and an unyielding connection to their land. In the shadow of empire, as airships cast long silhouettes over verdant hills and factories churn out smoke that blots the sky, the people of Xiaxo stand at a crossroads. Will they find a way to reclaim their destiny, or will their identity be swallowed by the relentless march of progress?
As the first notes of this tale are struck, one thing is certain: the winds of change are blowing across Xiaxo. They carry with them the scent of the ocean, the whispers of forgotten gods, and the promise of a future yet unwritten.
Chapter 1
Twilight bathed the city of Tlangthar in hues of orange and purple as the earth groaned and shook violently. For over a minute, the tremor seized the land in its relentless grip, rattling the bamboo-and-concrete skyscrapers that adorned the hills. When the shaking finally subsided, a long, ominous sigh reverberated across the city, as though the earth itself mourned. The sounds of panic soon rose to replace the eerie silence.
People spilled out of their modest homes, clustering in the flat expanse at the top of the hill. This central space, flanked by the residences of the chief, his advisors, and key experts, mirrored the design of all Xiaxoan towns and cities. The homes of ordinary citizens dotted the slopes below, growing smaller and humbler as they descended. Tlangthar was a city of 2 million souls, an interconnected tapestry of hills and high-rises, where even the chief¡¯s house eschewed grandeur in favor of practicality.
The gathering crowd surged with questions, their voices blending into a frantic murmur. At the center of this unease stood Zakop, the chief of Tlangthar, a supposedly middle aged man with black hair, moustache and a beard, his features commonplace, the only thing that made him stand out was his scar across the face of what seemed have gotten in battle. When he finally emerged from his reinforced bamboo porch, flanked by his family, the noise died instantly. His presence commanded respect, a testament to the trust his people had in his leadership.
Zakop was joined by his advisors: Chinzah, a formidable warrior and skilled hunter, and Pupi, an enigmatic elder whose mastery of divination and magical runes was unmatched. Their arrival underscored the gravity of the situation.
Zakop raised his hands, his voice steady and deliberate. ¡°My people, do not be alarmed. We are aware of the quake and are taking all necessary measures. Our elders, who are not present, have already departed to investigate the epicenter, accompanied by magical engineers. Rest assured, we will uncover the cause of this disturbance.¡± He paused, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. ¡°The day is still young. Please return to your homes and resume your duties. Be careful, and may the Dysno watch over you.¡±
With a bow, Zakop clasped his hands in a ceremonial gesture. Slowly, the crowd began to disperse, their fear tempered but not entirely quelled. Respect for their chief kept them from questioning him further, though unease lingered in their hearts.
As the last of the people left the square, Chinzah and Pupi approached Zakop on the porch.
¡°My lord,¡± Chinzah began, his tone grave, ¡°this event is unprecedented. Nothing of this magnitude has occurred in recorded history.¡±
¡°The runes are behaving oddly,¡± Pupi added, his wrinkled hands clasping his staff. ¡°They¡¯re neither jammed nor hacked, but long-range communications with the Empire have been severed. We¡¯re isolated for now.¡±
Zakop nodded thoughtfully. ¡°The information branches will be crucial. Summon all our resources to assess the situation.¡±
Taking a deep breath, Zakop moved his hands in a clockwise motion, weaving a spell. His eyes glowed faintly blue as mana coursed through him. After a minute of concentration, he lowered his hands, his expression troubled.
¡°What did you learn, my lord?¡± Chinzah pressed, his brows furrowed.
¡°Tlangthar has suffered no major damage,¡± Zakop replied, his voice heavy with thought. ¡°The neighboring town of Pamchai reports the same, as does our port city, Leilung. However, long-range tele-runes remain unresponsive. We have no word from the Empire. We must send an aerial mage squad to the capital to gather intelligence.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Before they could discuss further, a figure clad in white priestly robes landed on the porch. The bishop¡¯s sudden arrival drew respectful bows from the three leaders.
¡°Chief Zakop,¡± the bishop intoned, his voice resonant yet cold. ¡°The Church has instructed me to deliver this message: things are changing, perhaps for the worse. Take necessary precautions. May the Dysno watch over you.¡±
Without waiting for a response, the bishop turned and departed, his robes billowing behind him.
¡°He came, spoke, and left in an instant,¡± Zakop muttered, lighting a cigarette from his tobacco pouch. ¡°These priests do enjoy their air of mystery.¡±
Chinzah and Pupi exchanged knowing glances but said nothing. Zakop gestured for them to follow him inside. ¡°Come, let¡¯s have tea. We¡¯ve just prepared Mana-tufted Serow jerky.¡±
Inside Zakop¡¯s modest yet sturdy home, the scent of smoked meat mingled with the earthy aroma of tea. The three leaders discussed strategies and contingencies late into the evening, their voices low but urgent. After half an hour, Chinzah and Pupi departed, leaving Zakop to his thoughts.
In the kitchen, Zakop¡¯s son, Larin, stood washing dishes. The young man¡¯s long, pitch-black hair was tied back, revealing bronze skin and sharp black eyes that mirrored his father¡¯s. His movements were unhurried, his mind seemingly elsewhere.
¡°Father,¡± Larin called without turning, ¡°why did the earth shake like that? Have we angered Sinlung?¡±
Zakop leaned against the doorframe, his cigarette smoldering. ¡°I do not know, my son. I communed with Sinlung before coming inside, but the answers were vague. The land shared only the barest hints of information.¡± He exhaled a stream of smoke. ¡°It is worrying, but remember what I told you: do not speak of Sinlung and Khiuniu when the bishops are present. The people¡¯s hearts may still hold faith in them, but the Dysno tolerates no rivals.¡±
Larin nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile as he began to hum a familiar folk song:
The world, the world
Man needs Khiuniu
Man needs Sinlung
Man cannot survive alone.
Zakop¡¯s gaze softened. The song, passed down through generations, was a quiet rebellion against the dominance of the Dysno. It reminded him of the resilience of their people¡ªa strength they would need in the days to come.
Later that night, Zakop stood alone on his porch, gazing at the starry sky. The city below him was quiet, the earlier panic replaced by uneasy slumber. He could feel the weight of his responsibilities pressing on his shoulders, heavier than ever before. The quake had shaken more than just the land; it had disrupted the delicate balance of their world.
He thought of the bishop¡¯s cryptic warning, the malfunctioning runes, and the silence from the Empire. Each piece of the puzzle hinted at a larger, more dangerous picture.
A faint rustle behind him broke his reverie. Turning, he saw Larin standing in the doorway, his expression curious.
¡°You should be asleep,¡± Zakop said, his tone lighter than before.
¡°So should you,¡± Larin countered with a small grin. ¡°What happens now?¡±
Zakop considered his son¡¯s question. ¡°Now, we prepare. The world is shifting, and we must be ready to face whatever comes.¡±
Larin nodded, his youthful determination shining through. ¡°I want to help.¡±
Zakop¡¯s lips twitched into a rare smile. ¡°In time, you will. For now, rest. Your time will come sooner than you think.¡±
As Larin retreated into the house, Zakop remained on the porch, his thoughts churning like a restless sea. He could sense that the quake was merely the beginning of something far greater, something that would test the resilience of not just Tlangthar, but the entire Empire.
Above him, the stars seemed to shimmer with foreboding, their light both a comfort and a warning. The night held its secrets tightly, and Zakop knew that unveiling them would come at a price. But for the sake of his people, he was prepared to pay it. And so, he communed with Sinlung again, the spell [Sinlung] had countless uses, but it was mainly used to commune and divine, the spell construct fizzled in the air as Zakop stood there motionless. After an hour of being in a trance, he woke up and whispered ,¡±What does it all mean ?¡± while looking at the two moons of Sinlung.
Chapter 2
The next day, at twilight, the quake struck again. This time, the panic was subdued. People stayed inside their homes, bracing for the tremor that shook the entire state awake. Engineers, their bodies enhanced with magical techniques, worked tirelessly to stabilize the cities, their foresight ensuring minimal disruption.
As the sun rose over Tlangthar, life resumed with a sense of determination. It was the month of First Green, a time of renewal after the restful, celebratory months of Frost. The city bustled with activity as its people returned to their daily routines, invigorated by the season¡¯s energy.
Down by the rivers at the base of the hills, women fetched water in massive, reinforced bamboo sections, each as large as a tree trunk. Meanwhile, the men prepared breakfast, infusing their meals with care and reverence. The air filled with the rich aroma of Xiaxoan rice, boiled and fried lentils, smoked sambhar broth, green and red chili paste, and steamed lettuces. Every dish was prepared using intricate spells and rituals that not only enhanced the flavors but also honored the spirits of the land. These practices were ingrained in every Xiaxo child from the time they could walk, fostering a deep respect for nature and their community.
In the Zakop household, the chief sat with his wife, Moimui, and their son, Larin, at the breakfast table.
Larin: "Father, Mother, why do we need to perform all these spells for our food? Isn¡¯t it enough to just cook it?"
Moimui: (smiling) "Larin, our food is a gift from the land. The spells aren¡¯t just about cooking¡ªthey honor that gift. Every ingredient has a spirit, a story, and preparing it with care shows our gratitude."
Zakop: (nodding) "It¡¯s about balance, my son. The land gives to us, and we must give back. These rituals ensure we take no more than we need. It¡¯s a lesson you¡¯ll understand better as you grow."
Larin: (thoughtful) "But doesn¡¯t the land just grow things on its own? Why do we need to do anything at all? Isn¡¯t it just nature¡¯s way?"
Moimui: "Nature¡¯s way, Sinlung and Khiuniu includes us, Larin. We¡¯re part of the cycle. By participating, we ensure it continues smoothly. It¡¯s not just survival¡ªit¡¯s harmony."
Zakop: (with a gentle smile) "And when you master these rituals, you¡¯ll find they¡¯re more than just work. They¡¯re a connection to something larger than ourselves."
Larin nodded, savoring the Mana-tufted serow broth as he considered their words, tasting the care and reverence infused into the meal.
Throughout Xiaxo, every city featured large barracks, strategically located and larger than most buildings. These communal hubs were where young adults and elders gathered to organize activities like fishing, hunting, construction projects, and even raids. Elders and experts delivered lectures and debated political, philosophical, and magical theories, fostering learning and collaboration. The barracks were also central to the Magic Academies¡¯ credit system, where participants earned points for completing missions. These points could be traded for books, artifacts, charms, and other valuable items, blending tradition with tangible rewards.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Later that day, Larin wandered to the barracks, intrigued by the bustle of activity. There, he found Pupi, the wise elder and master of magical arts.
Larin: "Pupi, may I ask you something?"
Pupi: (chuckling) "You may, though I can¡¯t promise I¡¯ll answer everything, young one."
Larin: "Why do we need these credit points? Shouldn¡¯t people help the community because it¡¯s the right thing to do?"
Pupi: (raising an eyebrow) "Ah, an idealist! The points are not just rewards, Larin. They motivate and organize efforts. Humans are complex. Even the noblest causes sometimes need a little encouragement."
Larin: "But doesn¡¯t that make it less pure? Like people are only helping for what they can get?"
Pupi: (smiling) "Purity of intention is important, yes. But practicality matters too. The points system ensures every task, no matter how small, gets the attention it deserves. It¡¯s not about greed; it¡¯s about recognizing effort and fostering collaboration."
Larin: "But didn¡¯t we live without this system before? Wasn¡¯t it simpler then?"
Pupi: (with a wistful look) "Before the Great War, things were different. Your father was only 200 years old then, and your grandfather gave his life in that war. Back then, we didn¡¯t have these systems¡ªbut the war changed everything. We had to adapt."
Larin: (hesitant) "Still, isn¡¯t there a danger in valuing effort with points? What if people start doing things just for the points and not because they care?"
Pupi: (leaning forward) "A wise question. That¡¯s why we teach balance. The points are tools, not the purpose. It¡¯s up to each person to remember that the true reward lies in strengthening the community. Tools can be misused, yes, but they can also build wonders."
Larin¡¯s eyes brightened. "So, the points are just a way to ensure things get done, but it¡¯s still up to us to do them for the right reasons?"
Pupi: (nodding) "Exactly. You¡¯re beginning to see the bigger picture, Larin. That¡¯s the first step to wisdom."
As they spoke, a commotion erupted nearby. A young man, Thanpau, was sprawled on the floor, shoved there by Shylo, a burly man with a defiant expression.
Shylo: "Thanpau, you don¡¯t belong here! A motherless child like you should know your place. You¡¯re not even pure!"
Thanpau, though physically unshaken, looked deflated under the weight of the insults. He remained silent, meeting Shylo¡¯s gaze with quiet resolve.
Pupi: (in a commanding tone) "Shylo, this is the barracks. Conduct yourself with dignity."
Shylo grumbled but stormed out with his entourage, leaving a tense silence in his wake.
Thanpau bowed toward Pupi. "Thank you, elder. I¡¯ll do better next time."
Pupi: (nodding) "No thanks needed. Stand tall, Thanpau. Your worth is not defined by others¡¯ words."
Larin rushed to Thanpau, helping him up.
Thanpau: (softly) "You shouldn¡¯t associate with me, young lord. You¡¯ll only bring trouble upon yourself."
Larin: (firmly) "We¡¯re all equal under the gaze of Sinlung and Khiuniu."
As Larin turned to follow Pupi, he asked, "Pupi, why do things like this happen? Why didn¡¯t you punish Shylo for what he did?"
Pupi clenched his teeth. "This has always been our struggle, Larin. Some cling to old prejudices, valuing bloodlines over character. It¡¯s not the way of Sinlung or Khiuniu, but such beliefs linger. Change takes time¡ªand strength."