In the narrow alley behind Langit Market, night slowly descends as a group of people gathers in profound silence. They stand amidst weathered walls entwined with moss, listening to the sounds of mice breaking the stillness. Though they are neither soldiers, nobles, nor wizards, they share one thing in common: a sense of loss. In the midst of doubt and sorrow, Elena, a middle-aged woman with neatly rolled hair and a faded red shawl, takes her place among them.
With a thin piece of cloth in her hand bearing obscure words, Elena stands tall. She does not need to shout; the loud voices that have echoed for years have never provided the answers they seek. In that moment of tension, Elena exudes a powerful charisma, beginning her speech with a steady whisper that fills the quiet space with messages more stirring than the chimes of the Prayer House.
"Our masters are dead. But you do not weep for their loss. You weep out of confusion about who will rule next. I have not come to provide the answer. I have come to ask—why must there always be a master? Why must we continue to live in this suffocating shadow of power?"
Elena then gazed into the eyes of her listeners, her thoughts and feelings merging in a silence filled with intensity. She continued, imploring and fiery, "We do not need to wait for answers from those in power! We are the oppressed voice, yet we can rise! What we need is rebellion—not only against them but also against the despair that binds us!"
Her words resonated deeply within them. As she spoke, Elena passionately recounted the death of her child, taken by a war that was not of his choosing, and her husband's demise due to an oath he never wanted. In their hearts, a million feelings intertwined, forging a strong bond of solidarity among them.
Her words resonated deeply within them. As she continued, Elena recounted with burning spirit the death of her child, taken by a war that was not of his choosing, and her husband's death due to an oath he completely rejected. In comparison to the injustices she witnessed, this city—like a doll without substance—remained standing, preserved amidst every piece that had been lost.
"My child died due to a war that was not his. My husband died because of an oath that was not his. Yet this city… stands resilient. Like a doll without substance."
In the tense silence, Elena lifted her fabric, allowing the red thread along its edge to flutter in the cold wind enveloping the alley. Around her, some people began to weep, while others clasped their hands tightly, as if afraid they might explode with the emotions they were holding back. Amidst them, a sense of connection and solidarity began to grow, becoming increasingly clear within the cries of Elena's heart.
The speech delivered in a soft voice became a symbol of hope, a call for change. She ignited the spirit of rebellion among them, fanning the embers within the wounded souls. Their bond to one another was solidified by the promised red thread. Each whisper from Elena awakened an awareness of the social relations torn apart by power, making them feel the tremors and uniting their will to fight.
"I don't ask you to follow. I just want you to know—silence is the language of the master. But we... we can weave a new language. From wounds. From sorrow. Start with a single red thread. Keep it on your arm. If I disappear tonight, you'll know where to go." Elena's voice trembled yet was filled with determination, conveying the meaning of resistance. It was clear that their souls were affected by injustice, and now was the time to rise.
Elena was aware of the risks. This moment was not just about her; it was about everyone caught in the web of uncertainty in their times. She pushed away the darkness with a surge of fiery spirit, as if igniting the embers that were buried in the hearts of everyone present. In the dim alley behind Pasar Langit, she had sparked a flicker of hope for a better future, full of potential for change.
In the quiet and secretive back alley of Pasar Langit, Elena stood before a group of people, trembling with tension. The atmosphere was charged, their hearts raced as they listened to her words, "I'm not asking you to follow me. I just want you to know—silence is the language of the master." Elena's voice, though soft, resonated through the darkness, reaching her audience with an unexpected firmness. They could feel the pulse of struggle in every second of the words spoken.
But behind her words lay a sharp sense of hope, "But we… we can weave a new language. From wounds. From sorrow." With a single gesture, Elena raised her hand, inviting them to unite in the shared pain they had endured. This small action became a symbol of resistance, and the moment was so intimate that each person felt the depth of her words' meaning, their bodies bound together in a single purpose. They gazed at each other, as if sharing a burden that had been long suppressed.
"Start with one red thread. Keep it on your arm. If I go missing tonight, you will know where to walk." Her last words hit them heavily, as if carrying an unspoken burden of hope. The red thread they took from a hidden pocket was not merely an accessory, but a symbol of bravery and solidarity that shone in the darkness of this city.
As Elena pinned a piece of cloth to the wall of the alley, marking the beginning of a new journey, silence wrapped around them like a blanket protecting the secrets in their hearts. Then, the spirit she ignited seemed to take on a life of its own, and they began tying the red thread around their arms, filled with blazing determination. No words were spoken, but in the silence that enveloped that night, they felt reborn, bound by a connection stronger than mere words.
As she vanished into the darker corridor, one by one, the people pulled the red thread from their small pouches. This movement was not just a ritual but a declaration that held hope amidst uncertainty. In the silence, the night seemed to pulse with a new energy born from the depths of their hearts, creating a wave of courage and hope that had never existed before.
"Arkanum Veritas!" Elena shouted.
Everyone joined in the chant, "Arkanum Veritas!"
Faction: Arkanum Veritas
Their name means "Secret Truth." However, their purpose extends beyond merely toppling the thrones of the nobility—they are determined to erase all memories of them.
This faction was established three nights after the great upheaval, several years following the event that changed the course of history known as the Heaven Wars. They gathered in the cellar of an old library, a place once sealed by Lord Ludwig under the guise of preserving the "stability of the kingdom." Ironically, within those cold and damp walls lay a treasure trove of knowledge: original history books about the Earth nations' wars and treaties with Gaia, long buried and forgotten.
Purpose of Arkanum Veritas:
Spreading the forbidden truth that has long been buried by the palace, bringing to light erased stories and exposing unimaginable secrets.
Organizing measured destructive actions: from subtle sabotage that destabilizes the system, kidnappings that shock vigilance, to interceptions that unveil the lies behind the veil of power.
Creating striking new symbols capable of replacing the royal emblem, which has become a symbol of oppression, offering new hope for the marginalized.
Infiltrating the administrative structure, undermining the foundations of power from within with careful and stealthy plans.
Faction Structure:
Elena:"The First Flame"
She does not openly claim leadership, yet all the ideology and inspiration of this faction stem from her passionate words. With a courage that resonates, she continues to deliver her speeches in bustling markets, surrounded by an aura of excitement and doubt. Now, however, every utterance is tightly guarded by shadow forces ready to protect her, following her every risky step.
Orvin:"The Rewriter"
Currently, he leads the propaganda division with unwavering dedication. He produces thousands of secret pamphlets that are passed from hand to hand, igniting the spirit of struggle with new, vibrant symbols. His brilliance has even birthed the shadow alphabet, an obscure language for internal communication that goes undetected by the enemy's eyes.
Kael Juno:
"Two-Way Needle", With keen intelligence, he discreetly offers intelligence from within the Earth nation's headquarters, a decisive chess move. However, cracks begin to appear as some members start to suspect him of being a double agent, undermining trust and unity within the faction. Strangely, all evidence of this traitor mysteriously vanishes, leaving them confused and deepening the tension among them.
Rinn:
"The Unmarked Hand"He is the figure who erases traces, a killer who never utters a word. His identity is a mystery shrouded in darkness, and despite many attempts to guess, no one is able to penetrate the veil of secrecy surrounding him. He is believed to be the executor of "high-value targets," a hand that can extinguish life with cold precision, leaving no trace behind.
Meanwhile,
In the dim corner of the corridor, hidden behind a pile of weathered wooden crates and damp onion sacks affected by the drizzle, Kael Juno did not blink. He was an unseen eye, a vigilant observer. By day, he posed as a friendly spice merchant, but in the darkness of night, he transformed into a cunning information trafficker.
He watched the woman—Elena Voss—speak with a fervor that seemed to awaken ancient spirits. Her words shot forth sharply, not merely attacking physically, but striking at the invisible net that the Earth nation had long guarded: a system that made humanity forget the essence of freedom they once possessed.
Kael bit his tongue, feeling the tension rising within him. Was this a spark… or the beginning of a storm waiting to erupt?
In his last communication, his report to the Council of Earth stated: "The Gaia nation is in a fragile phase, its people have yet to find a leader capable of orchestrating a rebellion without external control."
But now? A single thread of red silk danced in the arm of a small child. This was far more threatening to geopolitical stability than ten immensely powerful archmages.
"We are mistaken. They do not need a leader. They only need a new language."
Kael committed that phrase to his sharp memory, yet his fingers also brushed against the small dagger hidden in his wrist sheath. If the situation called for it, he had to be ready to sever the origin of that thread. Before he himself became ensnared in a dangerous game, turning into a flag easily targeted.