"There are no kings in Midgard! Only monsters with crowns."
That's what they say in the gutters of Grimsbone, in the mountain taverns of frost-bitten Draugr's end, and in the slave pits of pirate bay.
They call it the Terror Square...the unholy balance that holds Midgard together like a four-legged beast, each leg stained with blood, each pointing a different direction but tethered by gold and fear.
At the eastern seas rules Sarsgaard the Thief, Pirate lord of the Black Gulf Pirates bay. Ruthless, sharp-tongued, and far older than he looks, his ships fly no banner but death a skull with a red serpent crawling from its mouth, and his coffers swell with stolen gold, magic and slaves. His fortress floats an airborne reef of wrecked ships bound together by chain and curse. Placed on him by Davy Jones, he is cursed to never sail the waters which causes his ships to float over all waters.
In the north, beneath frozen peaks and burned out forts, rides Milito the Iron Vow, Captain of Mercenaries. He is a general without a nation, his army for hire to the highest bidder but his loyalty? belongs to the sword in his hand. They say he never removes his armor and he is the invincible swordsman "A sword god". That beneath the steel is nothing but a hollow man kept alive by war alone.
To the west, where shadows drown the streets and names are more dangerous than blades, whispers follow the steps of Estaves, Mistress of the Silent Blade. She commands the Assassins guild, her face unknown even to her own. Contracts are sealed with blood and silence, and those who fail to pay her toll vanish without trace....even from memory.
And to the south, where coin is god and lies are law, reigns Kahili the Merchant Lord. Draped in velvet and poison, Kahili does not wield swords or spells—but nations. His empire is built on trade, but under every deal is a leash, and behind every smile, a noose.
Together, they keep Midgard locked in chaos but balanced, barely.
They are not allies.
They are not enemies.
They are the Champions of Midgard.
Rain stood before the captain's table, the sea map beneath his feet curling at the edges from years of heat and salt. The room smelled of smoke, leather, and old blood. A single lantern swung overhead, casting shifting shadows on the carved wood walls of the cabin. Sarsgaard leaned back in his chair one leg up, fingers wrapped around the hilt of a blade that hadn't left his side in decades. His eyes, sharp and amber like a hawk's, pierced through Rain like he already knew what the boy was made of.
"The ambition in your eyes," he said, voice low, "is an allure for others. It draws fools like moths to flame."
He leaned forward, slow and deliberate, his face inches from Rain's now.
"But no leader with a right mind would keep a viper like you. Tell me…"
The blade slid an inch from its sheath.
"…why I shouldn't cut you down right here."
Rain didn't speak.....
His throat burned with fear, he had no words only the fire of survival in his gut, the echo of trials in his blood. But before the silence turned fatal the cabin door creaked open.....Lira walked in like she owned the ship. Boots silent, hands behind her back, head held high. She didn't flinch when her father's eyes snapped to her.
Sarsgaard's lip curled. "I didn't summon you."
"You didn't need to," she replied coolly.
She stepped beside Rain, barely giving him a glance, and turned to her father with a slight, amused smirk.
"You shouldn't kill him," she said "Sell him."
Sarsgaard blinked once "To who?"
"To one of the other four," she said, "Imagine it...how would Milito leash him? Or Estaves? Kahili would try to drown him in gold. And if he survives..."
She looked at Rain finally, a curious, measuring gaze.....
"…we'll know what kind of storm we're dealing with."
Sarsgaard rose slowly, the blade still in hand.
"I could do that," he said, "But upsetting the balance of Midgard over a slave boy is not just reckless, it's suicidal. The peace is thin, Lira. A cough in the wrong direction could start a war."
Lira smiled...
"Then let's see if he's the kind of cough that becomes a storm."
Sarsgaard's shoulders began to tremble, then suddenly he laughed...hard. A guttural, storm-breaking sound that echoed through the captain's quarters.
"You really didn't flinch, did you?" he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "I wanted to see if you're actually a child. You elves..." He shook his head. "Can be a bit confusing ya know."
Rain exhaled, though he hadn't meant to. Sarsgaard waved a hand toward one of his crew standing at the door. "Take him below deck and get him cleaned up. No more rags, I want him looking like someone who might sell in Midgard."
Rain glanced at Lira once before turning to leave, but she didn't look back.
The wind shifted....
Hours later.....the ship descended from the clouds, its sails folding inward like the wings of a great black crow. Below, Midgard's capital city 'Einsberg' bloomed like a living jewel...stone towers rising like mountains, streets glowing with firelight and color, smoke curling from a thousand chimneys. Bridges arched over canals, bells rang from distant towers, voices shouted, sang, and laughed in a dozen tongues.
Rain stood at the edge of the deck, now wrapped in a clean tunic and fitted boots. He had never seen anything like this, so vast, so alive, so human. The ship docked on one of the high-tier platforms reserved for air vessels. As the gangplank lowered, the pirate crew tightened their coats, adjusted their blades, and moved with swagger toward the stairs that spiraled into the heart of the city. Sarsgaard led them, draped in his captain's coat like a king without a throne.
They were headed to the City Hall ofMidgard....a place of diplomacy and deception, where gold spoke louder than steel, and where the Terror Square met under truce to negotiate, trade, and lie through polished teeth. Tonight, Sarsgaard was set to meet with Kahili, the Merchant Lord himself, over the spoils of their recent conquest. Treasure isn't just wealth in Midgard.
It was leverage! Power! A spark that could shift the balance. Rain followed silently, his eyes wide, his ears catching whispers in every corner of this breathing, bustling city. And somewhere, in the middle of it all...his destiny waited. Rain had never seen so many people in one place not even the pirate ships had that many. The streets were alive with motion....vendors shouting their wares, performers dancing with fire and steel, children darting through alleyways with painted faces. It was beautiful. Chaotic. Loud.
But what shook him most was the cheering.....
Crowds parted to make way for the pirate crew, clapping and calling out names like heroes had arrived. Sarsgaard waved with casual grace, flashing gold teeth and salutes. A woman even tossed flowers. Where were the screams? The fear?
Back in the village where Rain had grown up a memory buried in dust and lash marks, pirates were whispered about like demons. Sky devils! they were called. Monsters in black sails who stole children and burned homes. But here… they were greeted like champions.
And yet, not everyone clapped....
Rain noticed the looks....the tight mouths, the cold eyes that followed him. Not the crew, him! Eyes that tracked his ears, his skin, the quiet way he moved...judging, weighing. The nightmare he dreads was looming in the corner of cheers thrown to the group, but only he was aware of this...maybe too aware...
He didn't flinch!
They reached the Grand Hall of Midgard, a towering palace carved from pale stone and veined with glass. Rain's eyes lifted to the dome above, where colored light filtered in from stained windows, painting the floor in sigils of old gods and lost kings. At the heart of the chamber stood a throne of dark-wood, but it was strangely empty.
'There used to be a king here', Rain thought, though no one spoke of it. Power had shifted....not to rulers, but to merchants and killers. Around the vast circular table, the pirates took their seats, swaggering, still laughing from the road. And across from them, with rings on every finger and silks like smoke, sat Kahili.
The Merchant Lord greeted Sarsgaard with open arms and a broad smile. "Ah, my favorite storm in boots."
"And you," Sarsgaard chuckled, "my favorite snake in gold."
They embraced, two sharks pretending to be old friends. Then, all at once, the room sharpened. Wine was poured. Scrolls unrolled. Guards closed the great doors behind them. The council had begun....
Kahili folded his hands, "So. You come bearing treasure. Silver. Gold. Artifacts from a Muspel stronghold, no?"
Sarsgaard leaned back, "I didn't come to sell trinkets."
"Oh?" the merchant gasped leaning in...
"I want to build ships." Sarsgaard announced.
The table fell quiet and he added "Under your banner."
Kahili raised a brow, amused. "A pirate flying merchant colors? My dear Sarsgaard… that would cost more than gold."
"I've got more than gold," the pirate said, tapping the table once.
"This is a political move," Kahili said softly.
"This is survival," Sarsgaard replied. "You want to keep Midgard breathing? Let me do what I do best under your blessing."
Rain sat silently in the shadows behind his captain, watching....listening. He didn't understand everything but he understood this...
'The world ran on power, and power came in many colors.'
Kahili swirled his wine, watching the deep red cling to the glass like blood.
"You want ships, Sarsgaard?" he said, voice soft as silk. "You want legitimacy under my name? That only means one thing to me."
He leaned forward, "You're planning a war."
The room tensed! Several of the merchant's guards took half a step closer. A few of the seated advisors exchanged quick, quiet glances. Sarsgaard let out a short breathy half laugh, half scoff.
"That's a terrible joke, Kahili," he said, eyes flicking toward the guards. "Do I look like a man stupid enough to start a war in Midgard? in light of everything going on between Alfheim and Muspelheim"
The merchant lord only raised a brow, Sarsgaard's smirk faded. He reached into the folds of his coat and the room tensed up more but he only drew out a scroll bound in black wax marked with a sigil that no one at the table failed to recognize. He dropped it on the table and It hit with a thud far louder than its weight. The wax bore the insignia of Muspelheim's crown.
Silence fell.....
"I didn't go to Muspelheim for gold," Sarsgaard said, "The vaults were a bonus."
He pushed the scroll forward, "I went for this."
Kahili didn't move to touch it but his eyes narrowed, calculating....
"Those are invasion plans," Sarsgaard said. "Signed by the king of Muspelheim 'Surtr' himself. Your peaceful little Midgard? It's already on fire, you just haven't smelled the smoke yet."
"In six months, Muspel forces will strike every trade hub in Midgard. Their aim isn't conquest, it's plunder. Quick and bloody."
He glanced around the table, gaze sharp and deliberate.
"You know what that means, Kahili. My ships, your coin, your roads, Midgard....all exposed! Burned! Stripped!"
"And you!" Kahili murmured, "want to build ships to prepare?"
Sarsgaard nodded, "To mobilize what's left of the greatest empire Helios ever knew, a defense before the humans remember what it's like to be overrun."
He leaned in now, voice low and calm.
"I don't want war, I want Midgard to survive it."
Kahili was quiet for a long moment, his fingers tented beneath his chin.
Then he said, "This information… do the other captains know?"
Sarsgaard smirked. "Not yet....figured I'd let you decide how important your seat at the table really is."
Kahili looked at the scroll, then at the pirate. And for the first time that evening, he didn't smile. Rain sat in still silence, tucked behind the pirates side of the council table. His eyes darted between Kahili and Sarsgaard, struggling to keep up with the depth of what had just unfolded. He had thought the pirates were the most powerful men in the world. But now he was seeing the invisible machinery of power that words hold...words sharper than swords. A single scroll bearing news that could doom a continent, a deal that would shape the skies for decades.
His heartbeat quickened....
Then, he felt it.
A presence..
A pressure that wasn't there before.
Not loud, not flashy. But like a blade slowly being unsheathed in a quiet room. The doors to the Grand Hall opened with no announcement, and in walked Milito....Alone....No guards...No entourage. Just a man dressed in dusky leathers, his armor more cloth than plate, his movements smooth as oil on water. A single sword rested at his hip, wrapped in cloth...not hidden, but contained. Every eye in the room turned, even Kahili's fingers paused mid-tap.
Rain didn't know who he was, but instinct made him stiffen. His body knew...Like how birds know when to fly from a fire. The man's gaze swept the room like a silent scythe, and then he walked forward and took a seat at the table without a word. Sarsgaard leaned back, his smile returning but with a trace of respect now.
"Milito," he said, "Didn't expect to see you crawl out from your fortress of steel."
The mercenary didn't smile but simply placed a small leather scroll on the table, far less ornate than Sarsgaard's and unrolled it.
"Reports from the Harbor city of Grall, my territory" he said, voice like dry thunder. "Movements! Coastal raids, supply caravans missing. Scouts spotted shadows at sea vessels not flying any flag."
He looked up at Kahili...
"They're testing the shores."
Then at Sarsgaard.
"Your scroll is real."
The room was silent.
Kahili leaned back, his eyes dancing with thoughts too fast to follow. "So it begins."
Milito crossed his arms, utterly still. "The Mercenary Guild will fortify the harbor. I'll need access to your southern forges." He nodded at Kahili. "And six more supply routes reopened."
"Done," Kahili said instantly.
Rain blinked..."So fast!"
These were men who moved armies with words, and he was just beginning to understand....he was in their world now. A whisper broke the room's tension like a blade snapping in a duel.
"For someone fearful of war, you're brave to bring an elf-ling here."
Heads turned sharply....There, perched on the inside of the stained-glass window frame like a shadow that decided to speak, was Estaves.
The Assassin Lord...
She lounged sideways, one leg dangling, the other tucked beneath, her cloak barely fluttering though the high wind whistled through the open glass. No one had seen her enter, not the guards, not even Milito. But she was there, eyes like cold silver...watching Rain.
"You know the elves are a proud race," Estaves continued, voice smooth as poison. "Are you trying to make an enemy of them by keeping one as a slave?"
Silence fell like a hammer, Rain's stomach dropped...he had heard that word used to address him but he didn't know what it actually means but every time its mentioned good things don't happen to him. He felt every gaze land on him like knives. Even Milito's quiet stare had shifted, Kahili looked mildly intrigued while Sarsgaard didn't flinch. He let the tension sit just long enough before he stood with a sigh, as if this were all terribly inconvenient.
"This half-elf?" he said, pointing at Rain with a lazy hand. "Yeah, he'd be killed the second he stepped into Alfheim. I wont get into specifics but..."
He turned to Estaves and grinned.
"I didn't steal him, some tavern owner him sold to me in some backwater dirt hole on my own turf. No name, no clan, no ties."
He looked at Rain now, just briefly. "A ghost, really."
Then back to the others.....
"You think I'm stupid enough to chain up a noble's brat? Please....we have bigger concerns"
A few chuckles fluttered uneasily through the room, Estaves smirked but said nothing. She vanished back through the window as quickly as she had appeared, leaving behind the echo of his words like a curse left on the air. The room settled, barely. But Rain still felt the heat of it all, the way they had looked at him, like a problem, a threat. Or worse… a liability. And deep inside him, something stirred.
Not fear.
Resolve!
The three captains exchanged nods, tense but firm.
"We'll hold the line," Milito said.
"I'll inform my agents," Estaves added, though no one was sure when she'd come back inside but she wasn't it was merely an echo.
And with that, the pact was struck. Midgard wouldn't go quietly. Sarsgaard turned without ceremony, snapping his fingers at his crew. The pirates filtered out of the council chamber, rowdy again the moment the marble doors shut behind them—talking of taverns and tales to trade for drinks.
But the captain didn't follow them...
Instead, he hooked a finger at Rain.
"Slave boy! come with me."
Rain blinked, then jogged to catch up. They veered off the main street, cutting through a shadowed alley that opened up into a polished courtyard at its center stood the Mage's Tower, its base carved from moonstone and rising high into the clouds, spiraling with crystal veins and floating lanterns.
Rain's mouth fell open.
He'd never seen anything like it.
Sarsgaard didn't slow down.
"Can't believe I never thought to test your half-blood for Uud," he muttered as they approached the gates. "Stupid of me, really."
Rain looked up at him. "Uud? I thought only elves and trained mages"
"Exactly," Sarsgaard said with a sharp grin. "Which makes you interesting half boy"
The guards at the gate didn't question them, they just stepped aside. One of them gave Rain a curious glance but said nothing. Inside, the tower pulsed with quiet light and subtle enchantments. Staircases moved on their own, books whispered as they floated between shelves, and orbs of light followed their path like gentle eyes.
Rain's senses buzzed.
He felt… drawn upward, as if the tower itself recognized something in him. They climbed level after level past apprentice chambers, the alchemical floor with its bubbling flasks and vine-covered walls, a hallway full of dreamcatchers that shimmered as they passed until finally, they reached the topmost level.
The Grand Magus's Office....
A circular room lined with glowing tomes and floating quills. A massive astrolabe hovered near the ceiling, casting rotating shadows across the floor. The windows looked out across all of Midgard's capital, and the sky beyond shimmered with the onset of dusk.
Behind a desk of living wood sat a figure wrapped in violet robes, their hair streaked with silver and eyes glowing faintly gold.
The Grand Magus looked up.
And stared at Rain, "You've brought me a mystery," the magus said.
Sarsgaard grinned, "More like a ticking hourglass, let's see what's inside before it explodes."
The Grand Magus stood up....He moved with the weight of centuries but not slow, but deliberate, as if every gesture carried consequence.
"Enoch Ispove," Sarsgaard said, bowing his head ever so slightly to him. "Grand Magus of Midgard, and… the last of the royal line."
Enoch smirked. "Still clinging to that old crown, I see." His glowing eyes were fixed on Rain now, narrowing slightly, not in judgment… but in fascination.
"Step forward," Enoch said gently.
Rain did and the Grand Magus extended a hand, and a faint shimmer of gold passed between his fingers. He touched Rain's chest, just over the heart and then he staggered back.
"By the Nine…" Enoch whispered.
The lights in the tower flickered.
Sarsgaard's smirk vanished. "What is it?"
Enoch's gaze never left Rain. "His body is elven… yes! Entirely! Even his blood sings with forest tones. But his spirit…"
He circled Rain slowly, as if watching a ripple in time itself.
"His spirit is elven and… something else, something ancient, older than the roots of Alfheim."
Rain blinked, "What does that mean?"
Enoch looked at him with a strange reverence now. "You are not a half-elf," he said softly. "You are more than elf, something was reborn through you, something vast and sleeping."
He raised a hand again and this time summoned a glyph in the air, spiraling with arcane and divine geometry. Rain's presence caused the glyph to shift and glow with divine resonance.
"His Uud aptitude is astounding," Enoch said. "But that's not the remarkable part."
He lowered his hand.....
"The boy bears talent for the Divine Arts, the language of Gods."
Even Sarsgaard was silent.
Rain looked between them, heart thundering in his chest "I don't… understand."
Enoch stepped closer, laying a hand gently on the boy's shoulder.
"You will," he said, "In time, you are a song the world has forgotten how to sing, but your melody has returned."
He turned to Sarsgaard.....
"This boy is not a weapon, he is a miracle and if you keep treating him like a slave, he will burn the world for it."
Sarsgaard raised a brow but said nothing.
Rain looked down at his hands, for the first time… they didn't look so small.