Chapter Text
In a time long ago, or perhaps long in the future, families with special abilities were the rulers of the land. Each family had different attributes and abilities that made them different from the common humans.
The clan Balmera had skin as hard as rock.
The clan Fortis had strength far beyond what should be natural for a human.
The clan Olkari were hyper-intelligent and could sometimes see glimpses of the future.
The clan Nymphae were masters of water, able to control it with a touch.
The clan Percuro were healers, able to heal just about any injury.
The clan Ambulo could teleport themselves and in some legends could control fire. However, it was never known if this was true.
The clan Callidus were clever and sly and some could alter their appearance at will.
The clan Galra could control minerals, jewels, and other earthen elements.
And the last and most powerful, clan Altea, could control an energy called quintessence, the very fabric of the universe itself.
These families ruled over the common humans, or the Plebeius, in the respective areas they were native to. But as clans began to explore lands beyond their own and encounter the others, a question was raised - which of the nine clans should rule their world?
In the beginning, the clans Balmera, Fortis, Olkari, Percuro, and Nymphae agreed to let clan Altea become the supreme monarchs above all the rest of the royal clans and common humans. They were the most powerful and the most level-headed, and therefore most suited to lead the rest. The Galra, however, disagreed. They believed they were the wisest and that they should rule. Callidus and Ambulo took their side, and so the Imperium War began.
The Imperium War lasted 19 years. All of the clans suffered heavy losses, and the Ambulo clan was utterly wiped out. But even though the Alteans and their allies were victorious, they did not want to punish their fellow clans severely. And so the Treaty of Spiritus was written and signed to keep the clans from warring ever again.
In the treaty, these terms were established, among other points to prevent a war like it from happening ever again.
Firstly, clan Altea is the ruling clan above all the rest.
Secondly, if clan Altea was to be wiped out, clan Galra would take control of the throne.
Thirdly, arranged marriages were to be created to unite the clans through their children.
Fourthly, the arranged marriages to the heir of clan Altea's throne would be decided by a contest of strength to make the next generation as powerful as possible.
The clans each ruled over their respective lands in peace, with Altean kings and queens ruling above all the rest, for a long time. In time, they began to forget why the rules of the treaty were created in the first place.
This point in time is where our story begins.
Over 500 years after the Imperium War, Queen Liliana (formerly of clan Olkari, married into clan Altea) had a dream.
She saw an infant boy, with no Royal Clan markings, cradled in her arms. His clothes were ripped rags and he looked sickly, perhaps close to death. He cried out softly, and she held him tighter, a mother's instinct. But his cries grew louder and louder, and no matter how hard she tried she could not calm him. She sensed he was growing still and held him close to her chest. His cries stopped and he was no longer breathing. The infant was dead.
The Queen woke up in cold sweat, pulling the blankets against her chest as she sat up. The sky was still dark out the window (though it was nearing dawn) and her husband was still fast asleep. She had a sense that there was something she needed to do, something she needed to find. She knew that it had to do with her dream and that it was very important, somehow, but she still did not quite understand what she was doing. Still, she dressed and left the room quietly. She had learned from her Olkari family to always trust instincts, especially when it came to premonitions.
Disguised in a servant's uniform with a hood covering her face, she left the castle and its grounds unnoticed by the servants and headed into the bustling city around it.
She passed the shops and homes she knew, heading further into the areas where the slums and factories lay.
Her husband Alfor like to ignore that places like this existed. He liked to pretend that all was well and good, that no one was ever hungry or needy in his kingdom. But Liliana knew well that this was not the case. The dirty streets covered in garbage, dull and broken windows and hollow faces of the homeless and the hungry had always haunted her, but this time they were almost like street signs, pointing the way to her destination.
She turned down an alley that opened up into a small courtyard when she saw it, a group of men arguing in a circle. She approached slowly as one of them barked, "Just bury them both! The baby's as good as dead, no one can afford another child around here."
The others murmured assent, and from within their circle Liliana herd the soft cry of a baby. There was no doubt in her mind that this was the infant from her dream.
"Wait," she commanded. The men looked in her direction with surprise and suspicion as she continued. "I'll care for the baby."
One man snorted, "Who the hell are you anyway?"
Liliana ripped the hood off her face, exposing her face and more importantly, the glowing green markings that identified her as being born an Olkari and the gold circlet that she wore as queen. The men gasped at the sight of a royal, and several knelled and bowed their heads.
"I am Queen Liliana, and I will care for this baby. I assure you that I have the means to do so."
The man who had spoke before knelt at her feet reverently and said, "I am truly sorry, my queen. Please don't punish me," he added more quietly.
"Why would I do that? Stand," she said, somewhat bemused. "I will not punish you as long as you keep quiet my appearance here. Understood?"
The men nodded, some too frightened to speak.
"Now," she said, stepping forward, "What is this infant's name?" But when the men parted and she saw for the first time what they were talking about when they said both. There was a dead body of a young child, maybe four years old laying on the ground next to a squirming bundle of rags that was beginning to grow still.
She rushed towards the infant and picked him up. There was no doubt that this was her dream-child. He had the same tan skin, honey brown hair, and light blue eyes. She held him close to her chest.
After a moment, one of the men said, "His name is Lance. I was familiar with his mother's family a bit."
"He's sick, he needs help," she said in a hushed tone. Speaking up more, she said, "If there are no objections from any friends or family members, I am taking Lance. He will be raised in comfort as a royal. Unless he has some living relatives..."
"He has none. His mother was the last in his family alive. Then she died, and, well..."
"I understand. I bid you farewell, a remember, I'd like it if you kept this to yourself."
She turned to leave, before turning back and saying, "And bury that boy. I presume that's his brother. I wouldn't want him to be left to rot on the streets."
And with that, she walked away, baby cradled in her arms.