Brax tried looking around, but the world had become a distorted blur of unfamiliar colors and shapes. He attempted to stand, but his consciousness began to slip away as soon as he did, and he fell back to his knees. He wanted to fight, but his body failed him in that instance. As his eyes began to close, his life, on the brink of death, played out before him. He began to remember where he came from and who he truly was.
Braxton Durant was a boy born to nothing.
Of six sons and three daughters, he became the youngest in a family of spud farmers persisting on the outskirts of Zenith. Zenith City, despite its name meaning "the peak," was anything but a pinnacle. It sat between the western and northern borders, and thus was the victim of political turmoil, becoming a wretched capital of crime within the Westland Republic. Bandits and thieves ran the day, and when night fell, the murder rates became higher than the cumulative numbers of all other Westland cities combined.
No one was safe, but no one had the money or gall to travel out. People went about their lives one day at a time, and when they saw a corpse on the side of the road, they didn't. To them, it was no different than seeing a dead animal or a fungus growing in their house. It was to be left alone. Someone or something else would take it away, eventually.
Though Brax's family of eleven lived in such a lawless, depraved area, they were decently content. The fruitless work was harsh during the day, but at night, the brothers and sisters would gather around a fire and sing about their dreams.
Those times were some of the only good memories Brax kept from his childhood.
"I wanna explore the world!" one said.
"Same here!" another shouted.
"Then let us pray to Tyche, the goddess of fortune!" a third yelled.
They sang and danced around those crackling flames every night while their parents slept. It was the single joy ever afforded to those children, and the only pleasure that filled the void in their stomachs where food would not.
"When are we goin' on this adventure?" Johanne, the middle daughter, asked, twiddling her thumbs.
"Why, when Brax is all grown up," Aziel, the eldest son, said. "He is the youngest, after all."
Aziel, the dreamer with a persistent glint in his eyes, was the forefront of the children's aspirations. In the desolate world they lived and suffered through, he was their hope.
His plan was that they would save up enough gold and silver to retire their parents, and then embark on an incredible adventure when Brax turned eighteen. Until that day, they would train tirelessly to learn magic arts and become strong enough to conquer anything in their way. Aziel had left for a time at one point in his life, and when he returned, he had learned how to read, write, and use magic. He would bestow this knowledge upon his siblings in hopes that they would one day become strong. His goal was to create an exploration team that was unstoppable and would uncover the greatest treasures all around the world.
Brax always admired Aziel. Not only because he was strong-willed, but also because he could still have child-like dreams as an adult. Aziel was twenty-five, an age most other peasants and slaves had become dull by, and yet he still talked of grandiose adventures and endless treasure. It wasn't just nonsense, either, because he always had a plan. He was a strategist who had saved the farm countless times from tax collectors and bandits, and always found a way to feed everyone, even if it wasn't much. He was someone born to lead since the day they were born. A man who could talk the talk, lead by example, and inspire those around him in such a desolate circumstance. If Aziel were born anywhere else, he would have become a king.
"Okay, we know when we're goin', but do we even know where we're headin'?" Jack, one of the brothers, asked.
"To the Moonless Terra, of course!" Aziel said. The rest gasped in shock, giggling at the craziness of the thought. "I know, it'll be dangerous, but together we will grow strong enough to explore it and find all the treasure within!"
"Treasures?" Johanne asked. "How do ya know there's treasure there?"
"I don't," Aziel said. "But not knowing is the heart of adventure. When I think of seeing something no one else has seen before or finding something untouched, it makes me tremble with excitement. I ask, why waste away here when we can have everything? Why stay stagnant in this vast world of wonder? Brothers, sisters, together we will escape this place and find what so many before us have died longing for!"
"Here, here!" they all chanted.
They put their faith in Aziel, for he was a man who could accomplish anything. Perhaps he was a bit naive, but his cunning would be more than enough to adapt to anything.
The moon was running fast across the sky, racing towards the next day, so the siblings dumped mud on the fire and started walking to the cramped room, which they all shared. Before Brax could join them, Aziel tapped his shoulder.
"Hey, I have something to show you."
Aziel led Brax in the dark of night towards the big dead tree that sat at the center of their farm. Aziel pointed to a minuscule, unassuming hole in the tree and prompted Brax to look through it. As his eyes peered through the slot, he noticed something reflecting the falling moon's shine. It was coins. Heaps of them. Bronze, silver, and even gold! So much that it filled the tree's base in its entirety. Young Brax had never seen so much gold at once, and it was something he'd never forget.
"Wow!" Brax said. "You made all this money by yourself?"
"The methods are not something I'm proud of, but I don't mind carrying that guilt," Aziel said with a grin. "It'll all be worth it in the end."
"There's so much here!" Brax said. "We ain't gotta wait to retire our parents! We could move 'em into a city far away and set out for the Moonless Terra right now!"
"We probably could!" Aziel laughed. "But we won't."
"Why?" Brax asked.
"Because you're not strong enough yet," Aziel replied. "You're the weakest of the bunch by far."
"So what. I can learn on the way!" Brax said. "You'll just have to protect me 'til then."
"Ha. That's called being a burden. Which is why we're waiting until you're eighteen, an age I'm sure you'll be able to stand on your own feet by. That gives you ten years to get strong."
"If we're still going to wait, then why are you showing me this?"
"Because it's hard to accomplish something when your goal isn't clear. That's why most people fall in line, and why we can succeed. We have an exact time frame and a goal. Of course, the variable, my dear brother, is you. Show me how strong you can get in this next decade, and heck, maybe we'll leave when you're sixteen."
"I'll make sure to work extra hard then!" Brax said, punching his palm.
"Ha! I like it," Aziel said, gazing at the moonlit galaxy. "Don't tell anyone else about this, not even our own blood. Keep it our little secret."
Aziel winked at him and smirked mischievously. They then went to join their siblings in slumber and rest up for the next day. Not that Brax could sleep. He was much too excited. They didn't have to worry about their parents or the farm anymore; the only thing Brax had to do was to grow strong. Strong enough to protect what he held dear.
After thinking about how he could get stronger for weeks, Brax decided that he would create his own style of fighting. Or at least, what a young child might muddle together and call their own. He read plenty of books on magic, and Aziel had taught him a lot, but Brax wasn't a talented protege, and it would show with his silly notion of something that was better on paper but worse in practice. He knew this well, but he still resolved that the magic he'd create would be the ultimate combination of defense and offense– one which would surely be useful to his siblings on their adventure.
He called it "Blackjack Rock," named after a card game his father taught him. The way he imagined it, he would use Earth magic as a defensive shield while he used a deck of spell cards to gamble in a fight. The cards ranged from extraordinarily powerful to pathetically weak, and it would take strategy to draw the right one for the circumstance. He always loved his luck-based card games, after all.
He founded his card tricks on gambler's magic, a subset of spells that were widely known, reasonably simple to learn, but notoriously impractical. It could take hours to draw the spell you'd need, and in the context of a battle, it would usually result in the user's death.
The spells were random, and the effects were so widely varied in what they did that this type of magic was never used. The only feasible appliance in history was during sieges, and even then, there were other types of magic that were more effective. Due to the randomness of this unpredictable sorcery, it was essentially useless, and all the more reason that Brax wanted to claim it as his own.
He just needed a way to use it if his brothers and sisters weren't there to defend him.
Earth magic was the king of defense, but also quite draining to use. No one in their right mind would use magic that sapped their energy so quickly in tandem with other spells. So why did Brax have such confidence in the most impractical magic combined with the most taxing? Because, like his last name, he could endure. Mayhaps he wasn't the most gifted or talented, and he was pretty weak otherwise, but he made up for it with pure tenacity. Plus, the rush of random dumb luck mixed with ice-cold strategy always got his blood pumping. With the guidance of old books thrown out in the dumps of Zenith, Aziel's teachings, and his own determination, Brax knew he had everything he needed to succeed.
He would succeed, no matter what.
Years passed after that day. Where talent should lie, there was nothing. Not even an ounce. Brax didn't mind, however, as he replaced this empty space with his own forged strength. Night after night, and during each break, he trained, enduring the persistent pain he felt. One would have run out of stamina after the most arduous physical labor combined with the most draining magic, but Brax could somehow manage. Eventually, his determination paid off as he grew finely into his skin and impressed Aziel with a magic only he was willing to use.
"You've gotten so strong!" Aziel said. "Who would have thought you could find a use for that terrible magic?"
"Just as long as I don't put too much energy into the cards, the effects ain't that strong," Brax said. "That makes it less dangerous for me, and I can support everyone else better if we ever need to fight! Of course, if push ever comes to shove, I'll just put everything I've got into those cards and risk everything on a gamble."
"Hm, I'm not sure how I feel about my little brother risking his life like that," Aziel said.
"I'll only do that in the worst-case scenario!" Brax said. "Like if the world's about to end!"
"Well, that would be okay, I guess," Aziel said.
"Anyway, aren't we already risking our lives on a gamble by going to the Moonless Terra?" Brax asked.
"You've got me there, Brax," Aziel said. "How you've grown… It'll only be a few more years now. Just a little longer."
One summer day, when the fish harvest was plentiful, Aziel said they should celebrate Brax's progress with a feast. He sent his siblings into the town square with some silver coins, though he wouldn't say where he got them. He would do the entire work for the day and let everyone else have a break. It was easy for someone as strong as him, after all. He claimed he had a super special magic only he could use, and it gave him the strength to do anything.
Brax and the others laughed as they walked through a bustling fishing harbor by a grand river that smelled of moss and went from stand to stand, gazing at cloudy eyes and colorful scales. After perusing for what seemed like an hour, the brothers and sisters bought the biggest catch they could find in all the small town: a blade-toothed silver killer the size of three men that hunted in large rivers and was known widely as the gorefish. They knew that a carnivorous fish would surely be incredulously lean, and thus, packed with the best flavor.
It took all eight of the siblings to haul the fish down the dusty trail back home. Despite its heft, none of them let up, for they didn't want to tarnish the skin by getting it dirty. As they happily marched on, they talked about all the dishes they would make, like crusty fish pies, crispy fried skin salads, fin stew, broth-boiled cutlets, charred skewers, and sides of spuds that were mashed, fried, and broiled. Brax could smell the savory aromas before they even started cooking.
When they got back, the fish plopped to the ground into the muddy dirt, tarnishing the meat.
They gazed with dread-stricken faces at Aziel, who was lying on the ground with his throat crudely slit, and a puddle of sun-warmed blood bathing his ragged leather garments. Even though the fire in the sky was quite hot that day, the body was cold. Their brother and hero was gone. Murdered without a trace.
Later that night, when the siblings and parents were mourning, Brax snuck off to check the tree. As he suspected, every single bit of gold was gone. And though it only dawned on him at that moment, he never thought about where someone so poor could have gotten so much money. It may have been pure speculation, but Brax was certain that his brother had gotten involved with the western underworld. There was no way he could find them and take his revenge, nor did he want to, but he could at least keep his secret and let Aziel live in everyone else's minds as a pure-hearted boy who would never do anything wrong. One who dreamt of faraway lands with twinkling pupils and a pulsating heart. That part was still most likely genuine, but that's the only legacy that had to be on the surface. The idea of a lovely dreamer who bit off more than he could chew would be Brax's secret, and his burden to bear alone.
After they buried Aziel, Brax tried to keep his dreams alive and strived to go to the Moonless Terra with his brothers and sisters, but slowly, one by one, they each fell into line. Without a rallying point and a plan, they did exactly what Aziel said would happen, and they gave up. Angered at his family for abandoning their dreams so easily, he left without saying a word. He became a traveling merchant so he could see the land, and would eventually land a beautiful wife named Christa. He settled down outside of Wunderdum, the capital city of Westland, with hopes of one day making it into its inner walls with his young daughter. Now, having endured over a decade of mundane persistence, he was in his late thirties and a victim of his brother's worst fears: a man who gave up on his dreams and fell into line.
Still, to the very day, Brax could hear Aziel's words ringing in his mind. Something he often ignored, but could never forget. His soul was there forevermore, haunting him and pushing his body forward, while Brax tried, in vain, to hold it back.