MMORPG : Ancient WORLD
Author: Aibek
Chapter 631: Death of Hope
A vast city sprawled across a flat grassland, its structure divided into three rings, housing well over a hundred thousand homes.
Each section carried its own characteristics; some districts were filled with tall, sleek towers of metal and glass, others with low stone buildings, and still others where the dwellings were shaped from living trees, grown and guided into natural forms of shelter.
At the center stood the palace, rising high enough to brush the cloudless sky. It was as grand as it was formidable, a fortress of white marble built for both beauty and defense.
Its spires burned with white flames that shimmered like living stars, casting pale light across the upper terraces.
It was a beautiful city, and even though the sun had not yet risen, the city was alive with activity. Beneath the blanket of the starry sky, the streets glowed with crystal lamps, magic lights, and movement.
If any ordinary traveler were to lay eyes upon it, they would struggle to recall a finer sight, not only for its splendor and scale, but for the strange spectacle unfolding within it.
For this city, home to more than a million souls, was not alive with the calm rhythm of daily life. It was in motion, a mass migration that spread through every ring and every street.
The wide marble roads were choked with people of every race. Humans were the most numerous, but there was no shortage of others, elves, beast folk, dwarves, and countless more.
Entire families moved as one, clutching what few belongings they could carry, their steps quick and uncertain, driven by a quiet desperation.
The air was thick with the sound of it, hurried footsteps, the rustle of carts and fabric, the crack of hooves on stone.
Adults kept their eyes forward, their faces tight with dread. Children cried openly, their small voices rising and falling in waves. It was a city still beautiful, still alive, but filled now with the sound of fear and dread.
Droves of people, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, moved steadily toward the distant north, some veering northeast, others northwest.
The shallow murmur of their voices carried across the night, fragments of fear and uncertainty echoing between them.
The most common questions were the same ones whispered over and over: Would they survive the journey? And how long before the horrors reached the other cities?
Their voices painted a hopeless picture. The young and old alike spoke only in hushed tones, wondering how long they might live before death found them. A few cursed the horrors that plagued their lands, and the allies who had promised to stand beside them but had not come.
Only a handful among their countless numbers clung to hope, and even they prayed for a miracle, though none could say what that miracle might be.
While vast numbers of people streamed from the city, an equally great multitude remained. Most were ordinary citizens wearing mismatched armor, their strength ranging from the first to the third rank.
These people, men and women, young and old alike, gathered wherever they could, in plazas, markets, parks, or any open ground near their homes, waiting for orders.
Meanwhile, warriors clad in silver-white armor, their numbers numbering in the tens of thousands, marched through the streets in practiced formations. The symbol of the white flame gleamed on their chests.
They split into small companies, heading toward every gathering place in the city, plazas, squares, and open courts, readying for what was to come.
The city walls, too, were lined with soldiers dressed in white. Massive mana pulse cannons, each the size of a building, roared to life atop the battlements, their open maws glowing bright as the war engines stood ready to unleash annihilation.
The same scene unfolded throughout the city, in the armory halls, the training fields, and within the great fortress that stood at the center like a heart of marble and fire.
Preparations were being made, as some had left their homes in an effort to save their lives. Others stayed behind, prepared to face the horrors they knew they could not defeat.
But there were also those still trapped between both choices, struggling to decide in a world that offered no clear path, only the promise of loss.
In one of the houses in the city’s inner ring, raised voices echoed faintly beyond its sturdy wooden walls, anger steeped in desperation.
Inside, in the wide central hall, a man sat slumped on the floor. He wore armor of gray and black leather, the insignia of a white flame etched proudly across his chest.
His weapons, light and compact, marked him as an archer. He was a young, brown-haired, hazel-eyed man, and his eyes now shone wet with tears. His hands rested limply on his knees as he stared down at the floorboards, as though searching for strength somewhere in the grain.
A calm, steady voice broke the silence. It was soft, yet carried the weight of resolve.
"Hastan, my love, you will stay and fight. I know this because I did not marry a man who runs from his own words, and I will stay because you did not marry one either."
Hastan’s head lifted, his throat tightening around the words that refused to come.
"Nmairis, please, I’m begging you... leave." His voice cracked, ragged from grief. "It’s my duty to the Empire, to our people... to myself. I must stay and protect our city, but you...you have to live. Even if there’s barely any hope left for this continent, you must survive."
Nmairis shook her head slowly, her eyes glimmering in the dim light.
"You can’t leave because the Empire gave you the life you have. I know you won’t turn away, even if it means sacrificing it to defend what you believe in... even if it means certain death." Her breath trembled, but her words didn’t falter.
"I won’t stop you," she whispered. "So give me the same honor, and let me die beside you. What’s the point of living in a world without you?"
"No... no, no, no..." Hastan’s voice broke into a raw scream. He shook his head violently, tears spilling down his cheeks. "You have to live, you have to..." His voice fractured into sobs.
Then he said it, softer than a breath, but heavier than all the noise of the city beyond their walls. "You have to live for the sake of our child."
The words fell between them like the toll of a bell, quiet, final, and impossible to ignore. And though he spoke barely above a whisper, to Nmairis it was louder than the chaos outside, louder than the screams, louder than the raging cannons, louder than her own beating heart, which grew impossibly louder at the revelation.
The argument only grew more heated after that moment. But now it was Nmairis’s turn to plead, begging her husband to consider leaving with her, their roles reversed by a single, undeniable truth.
Nearly ten minutes later, Hastan stepped out of their home. His face was pale and hollow, his eyes red and dry from tears that had long since stopped.
His expression carried the dull calm of someone who had cried until there was nothing left, anger, helplessness, and determination all buried beneath the same empty mask.
He moved silently through the broad streets of Nova. The city around him stirred with movement, the shouts of soldiers, the clatter of carts, the distant wail of frightened children, but he heard none of it.
His gaze stayed fixed ahead as he walked toward the city walls, the direction opposite the fleeing crowds.
He didn’t look back once, whether from fear that a single glance might shatter his resolve, or because he could no longer bear to add another layer of pain to what already consumed him.
Hastan walked until the streets opened to the ramparts. He climbed the sleek stone steps, boots scraping softly, until he stood atop the wall. The night air struck him at once, sharp and cold, rolling down from the eastern mountains. His hair whipped in the wind as he stared out into the distance, the empty stretch of the land.
For a long while, he stood there in silence, the city behind him alive with motion and light, and the dark horizon ahead hiding whatever horrors were still to come.
"Lieutenant... Lieutenant... Lieutenant Hastan!"
"Huh?" Hastan turned sharply toward the voice. To his left stood an older man, broad-shouldered, gray in the beard, his armor scratched and dulled by long years of service.
"Captain Razian," Hastan breathed, unable to find any other words.
The older man gave a slow nod, the wind tugging at the edge of his cloak. "Young one," he said, his voice calm and as cold as the night air, "I wouldn’t claim to understand your pain, but as your elder, I’ll offer you one piece of advice."
He stepped closer, his gaze steady. "Ask your heart where it wants to be, not your pride, not your sense of duty, not your mind or your rank."
"Only your heart."
Razian placed both hands gently on Hastan’s shoulders. When he spoke again, his tone softened. "Ask your heart if it wishes to die here, on this wall, in this city. Because if there’s even a single reason for you to live, I urge you to leave."
"You don’t need to die here," he said with a small, fatherly smile. It wasn’t a speech meant to inspire or guilt him, it was a simple, honest plea.
Hastan swallowed hard. "Captain Razian," he said quietly, "You have six children... and a wife... and many grandchildren."
Razian chuckled at that, the sound deep and weary. "Aye," he said. "As annoying as my wife can be, I do love her, and all those children of mine."
He exhaled slowly, the lines around his eyes deepening. "I have served for a long time. Eight years as a line trooper, five as a corporal, three as a sergeant, another four after that, and now eight as a lieutenant. The Empire’s given me more than I ever deserved."
He looked out over the dark fields beyond the wall. "If I were to leave now, I might save her... maybe a few of my sons. But I won’t. Because today is the day I repay the life the Empire gave me, all those years of peace, of happiness."
He turned back to Hastan, smiling faintly. "And as for my sons, they’re not children anymore. They can make their own choices."
"So all in all, I have no regrets." He laughed like he was not accepting his death, and the deaths of many of his loved ones.
Hastan met his gaze, the faintest tremor in his breath fading. "Captain, if I leave," he said at last, his voice steady, "It would be my greatest regret, knowing I ran when my Emperor died defending his people."
The gloom that had weighed on his face seemed to lift, replaced by quiet resolve. The two men stood side by side in the cold wind, their cloaks snapping in the air, soldiers who had already accepted the cost of what was coming.
Each section carried its own characteristics; some districts were filled with tall, sleek towers of metal and glass, others with low stone buildings, and still others where the dwellings were shaped from living trees, grown and guided into natural forms of shelter.
At the center stood the palace, rising high enough to brush the cloudless sky. It was as grand as it was formidable, a fortress of white marble built for both beauty and defense.
Its spires burned with white flames that shimmered like living stars, casting pale light across the upper terraces.
It was a beautiful city, and even though the sun had not yet risen, the city was alive with activity. Beneath the blanket of the starry sky, the streets glowed with crystal lamps, magic lights, and movement.
If any ordinary traveler were to lay eyes upon it, they would struggle to recall a finer sight, not only for its splendor and scale, but for the strange spectacle unfolding within it.
For this city, home to more than a million souls, was not alive with the calm rhythm of daily life. It was in motion, a mass migration that spread through every ring and every street.
The wide marble roads were choked with people of every race. Humans were the most numerous, but there was no shortage of others, elves, beast folk, dwarves, and countless more.
Entire families moved as one, clutching what few belongings they could carry, their steps quick and uncertain, driven by a quiet desperation.
The air was thick with the sound of it, hurried footsteps, the rustle of carts and fabric, the crack of hooves on stone.
Adults kept their eyes forward, their faces tight with dread. Children cried openly, their small voices rising and falling in waves. It was a city still beautiful, still alive, but filled now with the sound of fear and dread.
Droves of people, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, moved steadily toward the distant north, some veering northeast, others northwest.
The shallow murmur of their voices carried across the night, fragments of fear and uncertainty echoing between them.
The most common questions were the same ones whispered over and over: Would they survive the journey? And how long before the horrors reached the other cities?
Their voices painted a hopeless picture. The young and old alike spoke only in hushed tones, wondering how long they might live before death found them. A few cursed the horrors that plagued their lands, and the allies who had promised to stand beside them but had not come.
Only a handful among their countless numbers clung to hope, and even they prayed for a miracle, though none could say what that miracle might be.
While vast numbers of people streamed from the city, an equally great multitude remained. Most were ordinary citizens wearing mismatched armor, their strength ranging from the first to the third rank.
These people, men and women, young and old alike, gathered wherever they could, in plazas, markets, parks, or any open ground near their homes, waiting for orders.
Meanwhile, warriors clad in silver-white armor, their numbers numbering in the tens of thousands, marched through the streets in practiced formations. The symbol of the white flame gleamed on their chests.
They split into small companies, heading toward every gathering place in the city, plazas, squares, and open courts, readying for what was to come.
The city walls, too, were lined with soldiers dressed in white. Massive mana pulse cannons, each the size of a building, roared to life atop the battlements, their open maws glowing bright as the war engines stood ready to unleash annihilation.
The same scene unfolded throughout the city, in the armory halls, the training fields, and within the great fortress that stood at the center like a heart of marble and fire.
Preparations were being made, as some had left their homes in an effort to save their lives. Others stayed behind, prepared to face the horrors they knew they could not defeat.
But there were also those still trapped between both choices, struggling to decide in a world that offered no clear path, only the promise of loss.
In one of the houses in the city’s inner ring, raised voices echoed faintly beyond its sturdy wooden walls, anger steeped in desperation.
Inside, in the wide central hall, a man sat slumped on the floor. He wore armor of gray and black leather, the insignia of a white flame etched proudly across his chest.
His weapons, light and compact, marked him as an archer. He was a young, brown-haired, hazel-eyed man, and his eyes now shone wet with tears. His hands rested limply on his knees as he stared down at the floorboards, as though searching for strength somewhere in the grain.
A calm, steady voice broke the silence. It was soft, yet carried the weight of resolve.
"Hastan, my love, you will stay and fight. I know this because I did not marry a man who runs from his own words, and I will stay because you did not marry one either."
Hastan’s head lifted, his throat tightening around the words that refused to come.
"Nmairis, please, I’m begging you... leave." His voice cracked, ragged from grief. "It’s my duty to the Empire, to our people... to myself. I must stay and protect our city, but you...you have to live. Even if there’s barely any hope left for this continent, you must survive."
Nmairis shook her head slowly, her eyes glimmering in the dim light.
"You can’t leave because the Empire gave you the life you have. I know you won’t turn away, even if it means sacrificing it to defend what you believe in... even if it means certain death." Her breath trembled, but her words didn’t falter.
"I won’t stop you," she whispered. "So give me the same honor, and let me die beside you. What’s the point of living in a world without you?"
"No... no, no, no..." Hastan’s voice broke into a raw scream. He shook his head violently, tears spilling down his cheeks. "You have to live, you have to..." His voice fractured into sobs.
Then he said it, softer than a breath, but heavier than all the noise of the city beyond their walls. "You have to live for the sake of our child."
The words fell between them like the toll of a bell, quiet, final, and impossible to ignore. And though he spoke barely above a whisper, to Nmairis it was louder than the chaos outside, louder than the screams, louder than the raging cannons, louder than her own beating heart, which grew impossibly louder at the revelation.
The argument only grew more heated after that moment. But now it was Nmairis’s turn to plead, begging her husband to consider leaving with her, their roles reversed by a single, undeniable truth.
Nearly ten minutes later, Hastan stepped out of their home. His face was pale and hollow, his eyes red and dry from tears that had long since stopped.
His expression carried the dull calm of someone who had cried until there was nothing left, anger, helplessness, and determination all buried beneath the same empty mask.
He moved silently through the broad streets of Nova. The city around him stirred with movement, the shouts of soldiers, the clatter of carts, the distant wail of frightened children, but he heard none of it.
His gaze stayed fixed ahead as he walked toward the city walls, the direction opposite the fleeing crowds.
He didn’t look back once, whether from fear that a single glance might shatter his resolve, or because he could no longer bear to add another layer of pain to what already consumed him.
Hastan walked until the streets opened to the ramparts. He climbed the sleek stone steps, boots scraping softly, until he stood atop the wall. The night air struck him at once, sharp and cold, rolling down from the eastern mountains. His hair whipped in the wind as he stared out into the distance, the empty stretch of the land.
For a long while, he stood there in silence, the city behind him alive with motion and light, and the dark horizon ahead hiding whatever horrors were still to come.
"Lieutenant... Lieutenant... Lieutenant Hastan!"
"Huh?" Hastan turned sharply toward the voice. To his left stood an older man, broad-shouldered, gray in the beard, his armor scratched and dulled by long years of service.
"Captain Razian," Hastan breathed, unable to find any other words.
The older man gave a slow nod, the wind tugging at the edge of his cloak. "Young one," he said, his voice calm and as cold as the night air, "I wouldn’t claim to understand your pain, but as your elder, I’ll offer you one piece of advice."
He stepped closer, his gaze steady. "Ask your heart where it wants to be, not your pride, not your sense of duty, not your mind or your rank."
"Only your heart."
Razian placed both hands gently on Hastan’s shoulders. When he spoke again, his tone softened. "Ask your heart if it wishes to die here, on this wall, in this city. Because if there’s even a single reason for you to live, I urge you to leave."
"You don’t need to die here," he said with a small, fatherly smile. It wasn’t a speech meant to inspire or guilt him, it was a simple, honest plea.
Hastan swallowed hard. "Captain Razian," he said quietly, "You have six children... and a wife... and many grandchildren."
Razian chuckled at that, the sound deep and weary. "Aye," he said. "As annoying as my wife can be, I do love her, and all those children of mine."
He exhaled slowly, the lines around his eyes deepening. "I have served for a long time. Eight years as a line trooper, five as a corporal, three as a sergeant, another four after that, and now eight as a lieutenant. The Empire’s given me more than I ever deserved."
He looked out over the dark fields beyond the wall. "If I were to leave now, I might save her... maybe a few of my sons. But I won’t. Because today is the day I repay the life the Empire gave me, all those years of peace, of happiness."
He turned back to Hastan, smiling faintly. "And as for my sons, they’re not children anymore. They can make their own choices."
"So all in all, I have no regrets." He laughed like he was not accepting his death, and the deaths of many of his loved ones.
Hastan met his gaze, the faintest tremor in his breath fading. "Captain, if I leave," he said at last, his voice steady, "It would be my greatest regret, knowing I ran when my Emperor died defending his people."
The gloom that had weighed on his face seemed to lift, replaced by quiet resolve. The two men stood side by side in the cold wind, their cloaks snapping in the air, soldiers who had already accepted the cost of what was coming.