In your world, monsters do not roam the forests, slaughtering all in sight. They don't disrupt nature or break the cycle of life. They neither eat nor reproduce—for they possess neither mouth nor genitalia.
But in this world... such beings do exist.
They are called FIRSTBORNS—God's first creation.
Not divine, not natural. Something in-between.
An abomination.
The strongest beings to ever walk this world.
Or so we thought...
---
The creak of a wooden door.
"Welcome back," said a woman gently.
"How was today?"
"The sea frowned at me," replied the man, his tone tired.
"My work bucket's still full."
"You know I'm pregnant. I need to eat," she said with a hint of worry.
"You don't need to remind me twice," he replied.
"I'll head to the market. Let me find something you'll like."
---
As I returned home, I saw a group of women rushing toward my house. My wife's scream pierced the air, raw and desperate. I dropped everything I had bought and sprinted to the door.
These were no ordinary women—they were midwives.
And then I heard it.
The cry of a newborn child.
Tears welled in my eyes, joy filling my heart. A son.
I held the baby in my arms, still coated in blood and life, trembling with emotion.
But my joy was short-lived.
From the sky above, a bolt of lightning tore through the clouds and struck the baby. The force flung me across the room. The child's face—instantly deformed.
The searing pain of the divine strike spread through my own body. Flesh burned. Bones cracked.
Within moments, I took my final breath.
My last vision?
A crying child...
marked by lightning...
cradled in the arms of a weeping mother.
---
At the age of eight, I was strong—smarter than most boys, always helping my mother in whatever way I could.
But still, something weighed heavy on me.
I saw it in her eyes. The sorrow. The pain.
She never said it aloud, but I knew—she blamed me.
Blamed me for the loss of her husband… my father.
And with every passing day, I blamed myself more.
Blamed my own birth.
"ASMON!" my mother shouted.
"Yes, Ma," I replied quickly.
"Go to the stream and fetch some water."
We lived in Tumedia, a small fishing village in Kinisha. Poor, but enduring. Struggling, but surviving.
I hated passing the stream.
The puddles on the path would always show my reflection—
Neither beauty nor elegance graced my face.
My features were twisted, misshapen.
My lips—split and incomplete.
My left eye, a foggy blur.
The village children
They called me non-godblood.
Still, I held onto a dream.
A hope.
To become a priest.
To live a life of servitude and penance—
as atonement for the sin of being born.
---
When I came of age, I applied to take the priesthood entrance exam for the Holy College of Kinisha. It was the first step on the sacred path. The first step to redemption.
When the results were posted, my name sat at the very top.
My local parish, in an act of rare kindness, sponsored me.
---
"Such beauty…"
That's what I whispered when I first stepped through the grand gates of the Holy College. I had never seen a building so magnificent.
Marble columns scraped the sky. Bells chimed like heavenly choirs. Everything shimmered like it had been kissed by the Divine.
But I was a fish out of water.
Surrounded by sons of nobles, kings, and wealthy merchants, I felt small. Unwanted.
Kinisha was considered the Holy Capital of the Continent, and here, excellence was expected.
Still, I pressed forward.
My first lecture was… wonderful.
The lecturer spoke with divine clarity. And beside me sat a girl—kind, polite. She didn't look at me with disgust like the others.
Her eyes held no hate. Only… gentleness.
We learned about Virellium, a gemstone discovered beneath a Godtree in Ostina. One of the royal engineers had unearthed it during an expedition. The stone was unlike anything the realm had seen—capable of amplifying mana, enhancing magical potential far beyond natural limits.
The Church opposed its excavation.
They feared its use in war, its corruption of sacred order.
But I…
My thoughts were different.
I saw in Virellium a tool of judgment.
A means to cleanse the world.
To purge the non-godblood—the devil's children—from our lands.
With Virellium, we could become more than men.
We could become God's blade.
--
I searched my pockets, digging deep, my fingers brushing against parchment scraps and crumbs from hurried meals. Then—click—I found it. My dorm key.
I turned it in the lock and pushed the door open.
For a moment, I thought I had died.
This wasn't Earth. It couldn't be.
The room—my room—was a sanctum of luxury. Gold trimmings on the walls. Silken drapes flowing with the breeze. The floor, smooth as marble, sang with every step I took—melodies of grace echoing in a place I never dreamed to belong.
It felt like a room made for gods.
And yet, no matter how beautiful the place… one thing always brought me crashing back down to earth.
A mirror.
Tall as a grown man. Broad and unmissable. Its surface always waited for me—silent and cruel.
There it was.
My face.
Twisted. Incomplete. Broken.
Every time I looked into that mirror, I was reminded of what I was.
A curse given shape.
A deformity dressed in priest's robes.
---
But not all was pain.
There was one light, one face, that made everything bearable.
Lisa.
The girl from my first lecture—the one who smiled without judgment. She was studying to become a nun, and a fine one she would make. Her kindness could soothe any wound, even one carved into the soul.
---
Three years passed.
At the age of twenty, I graduated from the Holy College and was ordained by the parish priest of Tumedia.
For the first time in my life, my mother truly smiled.
She wrapped her arms around me, and her tears soaked my robes.
She had forgiven me.
And in that moment, I forgave myself.
I was reborn.
---
I began my duties with zeal.
Performing baptisms. Leading prayers. Tending to the sacred World Trees. Distributing food to the needy.
Every task, every ritual—I embraced them with joy. The ponds no longer feared me, and the mirrors no longer haunted me. I was no longer the cursed child.
I was a man of God.
Every evening, I'd visit my mother. I'd bring her meals, check her health, and sit by her side. She was the only family I had, and I would do everything to keep her safe… and happy.
---
Then one evening… something changed.
Unlike Ostina, which had raised great walls to divide godbloods and non-godbloods, Kinisha had no such barrier. Here, the division was unwritten—social, mental, spiritual.
Everyone knew their place.
Godbloods never stepped into non-godblood villages.
And non-godbloods stayed far from ours.
But that night… I saw something that made my blood boil.
A non-godblood girl, laughing and whispering with a godblood boy. There was closeness between them—intimacy. A love affair, no doubt.
A sin. A blasphemy. A defilement of divine order.
I reached for my dagger, the words of scripture burning in my mind.
I leapt forward, aiming to strike the girl down.
But the boy—a godblood, no less—struck me across the head with a brick.
Pain exploded in my skull. The world blurred.
They fled.
I staggered, dazed. My thoughts spun in circles. Betrayal… anger… shame…
But something else caught my eye.
A streak in the sky.
At first, I thought it a shooting star.
But as my vision cleared, I saw the truth—arrows. Dozens. Hundreds. Flaming tips raining down from the heavens.
My village was on fire.
Ostinian troops marched through the smoke, swords drawn, banners raised. Knights. Men-at-arms. Their boots crushed the fields and set homes ablaze.
Ostina… has invaded Kinisha.
I ran. Heart racing. Blood pounding.
I rushed home—to my mother.
I slammed the door open—
A stream of blood poured through the threshold.
My breath caught.
"No… no, please—"
But it wasn't her.
A fallen Ostinian soldier lay there, blood pooling beneath him.
To the side, trembling and pale, stood my mother.
Clutching a kitchen knife, tears in her eyes.
I rushed to her and held her close.
"It's okay, Ma. It's okay."
"Everything will be alright."