Family system

The soft gray light of morning shone through the cracked wooden shutters of a small room on the city's edge. Lira stirred awake, her frail form cocooned in a blanket. Her heart, as always, skipped a beat when she heard the faint sounds of the city waking up—the clatter of distant carts and the muted calls of merchants setting up their stalls.

Lira sighed and sat up, her fingers brushing her auburn hair away from her face. The mirror hanging crookedly on the wall reflected her tired eyes and hollow cheeks. Life in the capital under the Arbiters' rule had taken its toll, but she couldn't afford to let despair consume her.

She slipped on her cloak, tugged her boots over her calloused feet, and grabbed the woven satchel she carried everywhere. Inside, she had her daily essentials: a small coin purse, a few scraps of cloth for wrapping food, and a worn-out journal where she kept sketches and notes—small reminders of better days.

Lira stepped into the street, careful to stay in the shadows of the buildings. She avoided the main roads as much as possible, where the enforcers and mana constructs patrolled. Her first stop of the day was the baker's shop in the outer market. The smell of freshly baked bread greeted her as she neared, and despite everything, her stomach grumbled in anticipation.

Inside, the baker, an older man with flour-dusted hands and a kind face, greeted her with a nod. "Morning, Lira. What'll it be today?"

She glanced at the small display of bread, her eyes lingering on a crusty loaf. "That one, please. And..." Her gaze shifted to a tray of desserts tucked in the corner—honeyed biscuits, her favorite. She hesitated before adding, "Two of the biscuits as well."

The baker wrapped the items in brown paper and handed them to her. "Three coppers," he said. Lira handed over the coins, her heart sinking as she saw her coin purse grow lighter. But the warmth of the bread in her hands and the thought of savoring the biscuits later made it worth it.

"Stay safe out there," the baker said as she left, his tone heavy with worry.

Lira nodded but didn't reply. Words like that were a luxury she couldn't afford to dwell on.

Her next stop was the market square. Though it was bustling with activity, it was also a dangerous place. She kept her head down and moved quickly through the stalls, buying a few vegetables—a carrot, a small cabbage, and a handful of withered herbs. She avoided eye contact with the merchants and other shoppers, and her senses were constantly alert to the presence of enforcers.

On her way back, she passed by a fountain in the center of the square. The Arbiter's sigil loomed above it, a grotesque reminder of their dominion of this place. Lira paused for a moment, her fingers clutching her satchel tightly. Around her, others hurried past, their faces hollow with exhaustion and fear. No one lingered near the fountain.

Once home, Lira bolted the door and placed her purchases on the small wooden table in the corner. She prepared a simple meal with bread and vegetables, savoring every bite despite the bland taste. After eating, she unwrapped one of the honeyed biscuits; its sweetness was a rare treat for herself, bringing a faint smile to her lips.

The afternoon was spent repairing her cloak and sketching in her journal. Her drawings were a mix of memories from her childhood—trees, flowers, and open skies—and scenes from the city as it was now, heavy with oppression. Sketching helped her focus, a way to escape the harsh reality outside.

As the sun set, Lira lit a small lantern and sat by the window, watching the streets below. The patrols grew more frequent at night, their glowing eyes scanning for anyone who dared to defy the Arbiter's rules. She stayed quiet, her heart racing every time they passed.

When the streets finally fell silent, Lira unwrapped the second honeyed biscuit and ate it slowly, savoring the taste as she leaned against the wall. The sweetness lingered on her tongue, a fleeting comfort in the darkness of her world.

Before bed, Lira opened her journal and wrote a few lines beneath her sketches.

Another day survived. Another day closer to change.

Her pen hovered for a moment before she added:

Tomorrow may be different.

She closed the journal, placed it beneath her pillow, and curled under the patchwork blanket. The faint hum of a passing mana construct outside reminded her that safety was an illusion, but she held onto the small comforts she could find.

Lira closed her eyes and whispered to herself, "Stay strong." It was the only promise she could make.

The next day

The soft gray light of dawn filtered through the shutters of Lira's small room, but a thunderous explosion shattered her peaceful sleep. The ground beneath her trembled, jolting her awake. Her heart pounded in her chest as she sat up, disoriented and clutching her blanket tightly.

"What was that?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant sounds of chaos outside.

Another muffled boom echoed through the air, followed by the faint sound of shouting. Lira's instincts kicked in. She scrambled out of bed, grabbing her cloak and slipping on her boots. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her satchel and tucked it close to her chest. She made her way cautiously to the window, her every movement silent.

Peering through the cracked wooden shutters, Lira's eyes widened in shock at the scene unfolding before her. Smoke rose from a nearby street, rising into the pale morning sky. People ran through the narrow alleys, their faces painted with fear.

Her gaze shifted to the fountain in the square, which she had passed just yesterday. The Arbiter's sigil that loomed above it was gone, replaced by a tattered banner bearing the rebellion's symbol—a defiant phoenix, its wings stretched wide as if ready to rise from the ashes.

The sight made her breath catch. It wasn't just the fountain. Everywhere she looked, rebellion banners fluttered in the wind—on rooftops, along market stalls, and even wrapped around the stone columns of the square. Red and black, the colors of the rebellion, painted the city. It is a bold challenge to the Arbiter's rule.

A series of rapid cracks split the air, drawing Lira's attention to a group of rebels clashing with enforcers in the street below. The enforcers' glowing constructs moved with cold efficiency, their crystalline bodies radiating an eerie light, but the rebels fought with passion and ferocity. They wielded makeshift weapons—batons, spears, and sharpened farming tools. Despite their crude armaments, the rebels pressed forward, outnumbering the enforcers and taking advantage of their disarray.

Another explosion rocked the city, this time much closer, and Lira instinctively ducked behind the wall. Dust and debris fell from the ceiling, and the force of the blast rang in her ears. She took a steadying breath and dared peek through the shutters again.

The rebellion had taken the city by storm, and the people joined. Merchants were pulling down Arbiter banners and tearing them to shreds, tossing the pieces onto the ground like discarded trash. Children scampered through the alleys, throwing stones at fleeing enforcers. Everywhere she looked, the city's angry residents were rising up.

Lira's attention snapped to a nearby rooftop, where a figure stood holding a torch. The person thrust the torch high into the air, and the crowd below roared in response. The figure then ignited a bundle of flags that bore the Arbiter's sigil, tossing the flaming bundle onto the cobblestone street. The flames devoured the banners quickly, their embers floating into the smoky sky like sparks of defiance.
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A voice echoed through the chaos, carried by some amplification device. It was strong and unmistakably a leader of the rebellion.

"Today, we take back our city! No longer will we live in fear under the weight of their oppression! The Arbiters' time is over!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices blending into a thunderous roar reverberating through the streets. Lira's chest tightened as she clutched the edge of the windowsill. Her heart pounded—not from fear, but from something she hadn't felt in years.

Hope.

But it wasn't hope for herself. It was for the people—those who had suffered under the Arbiter's oppression for far too long. Her lips pressed into a thin line as a flood of memories surged through her, each one sharper than the last.

Lira had once walked these same streets, not as a shadow darting through alleys, but as a princess, her head held high. The capital city had been her home, the heart of a thriving kingdom that her family had ruled with love and fairness. The stone fountain she now feared to linger near had once been a symbol of abundance, adorned with her family's crest: a golden dove holding an olive branch, a sign of peace and prosperity.

She had been a child then, no older than ten when her life turned to ashes. The necromancer god had come without warning, his armies of the dead spilling across their borders like a dark tide. The kingdom's knights, brave as they were, had been no match for the endless hordes of skeletal soldiers. Lira could still remember the night the castle fell—the screams, the clash of steel, and the bone-chilling laughter of the necromancer as his forces stormed their home.