INTRODUCTION: THE INVASION

The palace was in an uproar.

Celia Lumis darted and weaved between an endless crowd of frantic personnel- guards, janitorial workers, advisory staff, representatives from other city-states far and wide, and more- as she raced down the corridor.

"Excuse me! Pardon me, I must get through!"

She didn't wait to see if the two soldiers escorting her were keeping up as she pushed past the various bodies in her way. So omnipresent was the confused panic that she, the Countess of Luxmouth, was paid very little mind. Though Celia didn't listen to any of the worried conversations around her, a few choice words reached her ears.

"...invasion…"

"...no clue where they came from…"

"...unusual tools…"

"...magic orbs..."

"The Duke has to be informed!" someone shouted.

"I'm sure he knows already," she thought. "But I need to be there with him!"

Her mad dash brought Celia past chamber after chamber until she reached her destination: a large set of double doors presided by two more iron-clad guards. Though visibly as unsettled as everyone else, they saluted and stepped aside, allowing her access to the throne room within.

"Father!"

Xavier Lumis, Duke of Luxmouth, sat with his head bowed. When he looked up at Celia, she stopped in her tracks before even crossing the doorway; her father looked for all the world like he'd aged a decade in an hour. His head of short, pale red hair seemed grayer, and the unfazed wisdom Celia had grown accustomed to seeing in his eyes was absent in favor of uncertain trepidation. Nothing had ever elicited such a reaction, not even the news of an occasional raid on a small outlying village in the countryside.

"If I didn't know better, I would think he'd just been told the forces of the Nether were at our very doorstep."

As it was, she didn't know what exactly caused him such anguish- only that she, as countess, would have to assist him through it however she could.

"Everyone in the palace is panicking!" she exclaimed, finally willing her legs to carry her into the throne room. Various advisors and representatives looked at her as she passed by, but she didn't pay them any mind. "What's going on? Is it true we're being invaded?"

Her father stood, flanked by a quartet of guards in full diamond gear. "Celia. Come with me, please. I will explain everything on the way."

She dutifully fell into step beside him as he exited the chamber. They and their escort made a left down the hall, then a right at the first intersection. Celia wasn't sure where he was leading her, but she also wasn't about to ask.

"We've received dire news," he said in his deep, aged voice. "An unknown enemy force has invaded many of the smaller territories to the north, conquering them faster than news could even be delivered. It would seem messengers were intercepted before word could spread, until a lucky few managed to escape."

"An unknown force?" Celia asked. "But how can that be? We've maintained good relations with our neighbors for many years; who would risk uniting us all against them?"

Her father sighed. "These people have not been identified as native to any of the nearby states. In fact, we know very little about them at all."

At the end of the corridor, they took another right, and she finally understood where they were going. Another set of doors and iron-garbed soldiers gave way to her favorite, and the largest, area in the palace: the garden.

"Do not disturb us," her father said aloud. The guards stood at attention, waiting by the door as they entered.

It could have been mistaken for a small forest biome. Three chunks long and wide, abundant with plant life, and even featuring an artificial river, the garden contained denser flora than could be found anywhere in Luxmouth's inner or even middle districts. The area was covered by a stained glass dome through which sunlight gleamed, creating a magnificent harmony between natural beauty and sheer crafting talent.

"I always come here when I'm feeling stressed," Celia mused inwardly, "but Father hasn't brought me here just for ease of mind, has he?"

Beyond its aesthetic value, the garden served a practical purpose: food production. Crops of all varieties were planted within, and in the span of a single day up to five harvests could be made. Feeding a city as large as Luxmouth was no easy task, but the sheer amount of food required from its farms was mitigated thanks to the palace's garden, and as such starvation was a non-issue.

As much as Celia valued the area for its contribution to keeping the city well-fed, something about it had always puzzled her. There were no bees or beehives to be found, nor were there composters. She was no expert in agriculture, but even she knew such things as pollination and bonemeal were critical to the mass-production of crops. How the garden could grow such an anomalously large bounty in so short a time had never made sense. Today, Celia would get an answer.

"I had been planning to show you this on your birthday," her father said as he led her toward the center, where an oak tree nearly half a chunk wide and three times her height grew, "but it seems I must entrust you with the knowledge now."

She felt her heart race. Celia wouldn't turn 18 for another month, and she certainly wasn't anywhere near ready to succeed her father as Luxmouth's leader. What noble secret had he been compelled to reveal to her early?

Celia watched as he placed a lever on the grass beside the tree, several blocks away. He threw it, and the ground under her feet trembled. Despite her alarm, her father didn't seem fazed as several grass blocks sunk into the dirt, forming a staircase which led below the great oak.

"Down here," was all he said before descending.

With her already rapid pulse only quickening, she followed him into a dim cavern where oak logs and pillars of soil had seemingly arched themselves around a dirt pedestal covered in vines. The unusual block arrangement wasn't what grabbed Celia's attention, however; that went to the object atop the dirt. It was a smooth, glassy yellow sphere which gave off a golden radiance. Something about it, far beyond the curious novelty of merely being an item she'd never seen before, transfixed her.

"It's beautiful… but what is it?"

She hesitantly reached out to touch the sphere, but her father put a hand on her wrist. "I don't know what it is exactly," he said. "But our harvest is as large as it is thanks to this object. It has been in the care of House Lumis for generations, enhancing the growth of vegetation and crops."

Celia nodded, still not looking away from it. "Do I need to keep it a secret?"

"Several of our allies from other cities know of its existence," her father explained, "and some even have orbs of their own, with different effects. But you would do well not to make its existence too publicly known. If it were stolen, our food supply would suffer."

"I don't understand, though. Why are you showing it to me now, if you were going to wait until I became an adult?"

There was a moment of silence, and she could hear him resisting a very long sigh. "Because I won't pretend to know what's going to come of this invasion. The future is more uncertain than ever, and you and I must lead our people through this bleak time together. I decided it would be better for you to know about Luxmouth's treasure now."

Her father tugged on her shoulder. Finally tearing her gaze away from the orb, Celia followed him back up the grassy stairs and into the garden. He removed the lever, and the hollow was sealed again.

"What I have heard from the few messages we've received is that our enemies possess magic orbs as well," he continued. "They have used their powers to a supposedly frightening degree, overtaking territories and bringing ruin to anyone who dares to oppose them."

Celia's heart was in her throat. Just when she thought the bad news had ended, her father spoke again. "Worse still, they seem able to locate these objects with alarming ease. I fear these people will set their sights on us soon enough, so it is important that you understand what they are after. Come, we must address our people. "

Not another word was spoken as she followed him out of the garden and through the corridors.

"How far could they have reached? Has Tenebyss been affected?" A knot tightened in her stomach. Luxmouth's southern neighbor was a major source of the city's ore supply, but she had a more personal reason to worry about it as well. "Melissa... is she safe?"

When they returned to the throne room, even more people were present. Celia spotted two familiar heads of blond hair amidst the crowd. The elder was a tired-looking woman named Emily Silverhand, current head of a family of professional craftsmen. So well-renowned were they that House Lumis had, for four generations, enlisted their talents for renovations and even city planning. Emily herself had designed the stained glass dome over the garden. Beside her stood a boy just a year younger than Celia, with an uncertain look on his face. "Felix! It's been a while since I last got to see him, but why is he here? I'm not complaining; I think I could use a friend's company right about now..."

When he noticed Celia looking at him, she offered a wave as she passed by. Felix returned it with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Duke Xavier!" someone cried when he sat on the throne. "What are we going to do?"

Numerous voices echoed similar questions. Celia took a seat at his right, surveying the crowd of anxious, expectant people. The attention wasn't even on her, yet the pressure felt crushing. Her father raised a hand, and the room fell silent.

"For now," he intoned, "we must learn more about our enemies. They seem to have come from nowhere, yet are organized well enough to pose a great risk to Luxmouth and to our neighbors should this invasion progress any further."

"We lack the manpower to deploy an army against them," Celia thought unhappily. "Luxmouth hasn't been involved in a war for more than 30 years. Mobs and Illagers are one thing, but this?"

Emily stepped forth from the crowd, with Felix at her side. "Excuse me, your grace. If I may, I have information regarding our new enemies."

It was only when she spoke that Celia noticed her father's troubled expression soften, ever so slightly. Beyond a professional relationship, House Lumis and the Silverhands were historically close friends. Felix had even been her first friend when they were younger, though they'd not spent as much time together for several years.

"Proceed," was all he replied.

"A friend of mine was in Sunset Ridge when the invaders arrived. He was able to escape, and although was injured he made it to Luxmouth. He's still being treated, so I'm here to relay the message in his place."

Her father nodded. "I wish him a swift recovery. What did he have to say?"

"He was able to put a name to these people. Apparently they'd announced a warning upon their arrival, which he wrote down before getting away."

Celia leaned forward in her chair, determined to catch every word. Emily produced a sheet of paper from a pouch in her brown construction vest and began to read. The young countess wouldn't know the full meaning of what she was hearing for some time, but the words ingrained themselves in her mind.

'An age of ruin has come, Inlanders. We are the Usurpation- and your supremacy is over.'

Two months later, and an ocean westward…

BOOK ONE: THE WIDER WORLD

Part One: Leaving the Nest

Chapter 1: Better Late Than Never

The village was silent.

One could have called it a ghost town- given its decrepit state, one was likely to. The battle against encroaching cobwebs had long since been abandoned, the weeds had grown to nearly waist-height in some places, and many of the buildings had begun to succumb to the elements. Restoring them would be impractical, given the town had only one inhabitant remaining.

Blake had always imagined exploring a place like this. He'd spent countless hours in his childhood envisioning a great expedition with his friends to an abandoned little hamlet, and finding what secrets of generations past it hid. Perhaps there would even be one wise old man left to share stories of when the community once thrived.

A small, bitter laugh escaped him. He never imagined he'd be the old man in question- and he'd never considered how that hypothetical person might feel to be the last one.

"Damn it all, I'm barely even nineteen."

The other humans, who he'd grown up with, who he'd mined and crafted and explored and fought mobs with, were gone. As the years passed, they had all found their "callings" and left, one by one. Blake hadn't objected at the time- why would he have? It was an exciting prospect, to go off into the unknown and pursue one's real purpose in life. His friends had all done just that, bidding him and the villagers a cheerful farewell, never to return.

He doubted they had met anything but success in their travels. After all, they had been teammates for as long as he could remember. He knew those old friends of his even better than the local villagers who'd taken them all in as infants.

So… why was he having trouble recalling their names?

Blake got up, kicking a pebble aside. The stone block on which he was sitting sported numerous chips in its edges. One of his neighbors had accidentally placed it there as a child, at the corner of her home, and the group opted to try breaking it with little more than wooden axes. For reasons that escaped him, nobody had bothered to remove it for years to come. There was no reason for its placement or its permanence; the stone block had merely been the subject of some kids playing around with stray materials. The memory almost annoyed him; he could recall that but not any of their names?

He made his way along the empty dirt road, passing by run-down buildings and crude construction projects he and his old gang had worked on in the past.

"Take care, guys. I'll always remember our adventures here," the first to leave had said.

"I'm gonna miss you. Best of luck in the future," said another.

"Well, that's it. It's just the two of you left after I leave. You'll both find your paths, I know it," said another.

"…bye, Blake."

For as hard as it was becoming to remember his childhood friends, he never forgot their parting words. He could never forget them. And now here he was, alone in a village that even the villagers themselves had abandoned some time ago. He'd done the best he could to preserve it in their absence, to never let time wear away those precious memories. But entropy proved stronger in the end, as evidenced by the increasingly dilapidated town.

If only he had realized how much he would come to cherish the past.

He finally reached his destination: a small shack near the outskirts, lined with mossy cobblestone. This was where he'd lived with a small villager family as a child before building his own house. It was still there, on the other side of town, and it was in considerably better shape than this old place, but he wasn't in the mood to go back there right then.

Stepping inside, he swatted a thin spider web out of the doorway. The interior was just as dismal as the exterior: a dusty wooden floor and some rickety chairs were all that greeted him. No mementos of the residents to be found, not even of his adoptive father. Thinking of the old villager made Blake's eyes sting. How long had it been since he passed on? Five, maybe six years? That was also around the time the others had started to leave.

That was the time his old life began to drift away.

Now, not even the hostile mobs drew near the town anymore. He would have loved the chance to defend his home from a zombie pack or an overeager creeper, showing off his sword prowess one more time, but the monsters seemed entirely uninterested. Was it just to spite him? Were even they daring Blake to step away for just a bit, and brave the perils of the outside world?

He sighed. The sun was beginning to set in the cloudy sky, and he was tired. Managing the crops and performing halfhearted maintenance on the village gate hadn't been terribly exhausting, but he found he barely had the energy to do anything these days.

A few drops were audible against the shack's roof, snapping him out of his nostalgic trance. He muttered something foul to himself for moping, then exited in a hurry. The incoming rain urged him to get home quickly.

Blake's house was nothing special, but he'd always been proud of it. Two floors, a room for chests containing the many ores he and his friends had mined in the past, and how could he forget the wall-mounted map of the region they'd made together as kids? He always smiled when he saw that, and the various notes scribbled onto it. Places they'd been, places too dangerous to revisit, places as yet undiscovered- everything was marked in meticulous detail. It hadn't been updated in a long time, not since the villagers had started to leave.

As the rain began to come down harder outside, he wandered upstairs to his room and flopped onto his bed. Staring at the ceiling from behind a few strands of unkempt brown hair, he could only wonder one thing to himself.

"What am I doing with my life?"

Was this really what he wanted? To forever linger in his hometown, alone and yearning for a simpler time that, deep down, he knew would never return? The final member of his circle of friends had left three years ago, and the last of the villagers moved away a year and a half after that. Reality had stared him in the face the whole time, but he'd always refused to accept the facts: nobody was coming back to relive their old adventures. And with no idea where anyone had gone, it wasn't as if he could just track them down.

"I'm… hopeless, aren't I?"

He forced himself to sit up and reached into the chest beside his bed for a snack. Fresh carrots were never in short supply; he'd grown too many of them to keep up with over the last few months, mainly out of a lack of anything else to do. "There's too many in here to just eat as they are… maybe I could make a stew."

Blake began to dig through the chest, picking out carrots most suitable for such a task without having a clue what his actual criteria were. Like most aspects of his life as of late, he went about it automatically.

It was then that his hand brushed against something at the very bottom which felt different: a loose wooden panel, inserted like a puzzle piece into the chest. He hadn't emptied it in such a long time that he'd never realized there was a potential secret compartment. With his attention finally diverted, he pushed aside all the carrots and pried up the panel to reveal a thin envelope.

"What's this…?"

He could feel his heart accelerate just a bit as he stared at his discovery. This was more excitement than he'd felt in a long time, minimal as it was. Blake picked up the envelope and set it on his bed for inspection.

The paper bore a few signs of minor weathering, but seemed otherwise normal. One side had been sealed in a thin layer of slime, while the other bore his name in vaguely familiar handwriting. Further intrigued, he tore it open and withdrew a letter.

"Blake,

I don't know if you'll ever find this, but I had to get my thoughts out one way or another. I'll be leaving the village in just a few days, and after that you'll be the only one of my old friends still living here. To be honest, I'm a little worried for you.

When Adam first left, things began to change for us. We started to hang out a bit less frequently as a group, and our mining trips never lasted as long. Then Mark went away, then Lauren. And every time someone left, it affected you the hardest.

You did your best not to let it show, but I could tell you were bothered by it. You'd always been the one to round us up for adventures, after all. Remember the treehouse we built in the birch woods? Or the mushroom biome we romped around in? Those were great times, and I'll never forget the fun we all had together.

But time goes on, and things change. One by one, we've had to move on with our lives. We're not kids anymore, you know? I think all of us came to accept that in some way, except for you. I know you're still really bothered by the change."

His eyes stung again, but he forced himself to keep reading.

"When I leave, you'll be the last of our old gang. I'm worried about how you'll handle it, but I know I can't talk to you about this in person. You'd just brush it off, and tell me I have nothing to be concerned about. But we've been friends our whole lives, and I like to think I know you better than that.

If you ever find this letter, take this message away from it: it's not healthy of you to dwell on the past so much, not when your whole future is just over the horizon, waiting to be found. I hope you'll one day accept that times have changed, and that our days of adventuring together are over. Look back on them fondly, by all means (I know I will), but don't let the memories stop you from seeking out a new adventure of your own. Go out, meet new people, and find your place in the world like we have. Whatever you find for yourself, I'm sure you'll bring all the enthusiasm to it that you did with us. Get out there and live your own life- you're going to do great.

Always your friend,

Alice"

He stared at that letter for a very long time, the sound of hammering rain his only companion.

Blake wasn't sure when- or even if- he'd gone to sleep that night, but he later found himself rummaging around downstairs, assembling various goods for the road. Maybe, in some suppressed part of his heart, he'd wanted to leave all along. He had told himself for years that he had to stay, in case someone found their way back. He told himself it was up to him to maintain the place he and his friends had grown up in; without them around, who else would? It was only after reading the letter that the truth had finally crashed over him like a tsunami: his emotional low wasn't a recent occurrence; he'd been miserable for the last three years.

"I've got so much life ahead of me!" he ranted to himself as he bustled about the kitchen, looking through chests of preserved meats and crops, "I can't believe I wasted so much time!"

Blake didn't have the slightest idea what emotion dominated at the moment. Excitement? Annoyance? Impatience? Longing? Whatever it was, it drove him toward one objective: leave the village once and for all. Set out, and start fresh.

"Fresh…"

He paused, only then noticing how fast his heart was beating. That word echoed in his head a few times as he gathered supplies: assorted foods, iron tools he'd made long ago and never used, and even a spotless diamond sword. It was one of his proudest creations, so much so that it too had gone unused ever since he crafted it five years prior. Yet looking at it now, he couldn't help but feel an inexplicable detachment from his old sentiment.

After another moment of deliberation, Blake put the sword back in its chest. And the tools. And the other assorted goods he'd attempted to cram into his inventory. By the time he was done, the only things he had left were a compass, a small map of the region, enough preserved meat and carrots to last about a week, and a lightweight stone sword- just in case.

"That'll do."

Maybe he was just trying to leave faster than he could risk changing his mind, but he'd decided that all of his treasures and ores found in the past would be better served staying behind, for some other adventurer to one day come across. They were mementos of his time there, and he didn't want them to hinder his progress- he was overdue to leave the nest as it was. The only other item he would bring along on his fresh start was the letter from Alice, as a constant reminder of both his fond memories and the need to look forward in his life, not just backward.

With his supplies ready, he spared one last look at the home he'd built and stepped out into the abandoned village. Blake cast his eyes around twice, then he did an about-face and looked to the east. There was a hill past the town's borders that he and his friends used to climb together, spending hours just enjoying the view.

"Yeah… that's where I'll start."

A quick jog brought him to the top. The village was behind, and a long stretch of grassy plains lay ahead. Beyond that, a thick oak forest where the trees inexplicably grew taller than normal. Beyond that, an ocean. And beyond that, he wasn't sure- he'd never traveled overseas. What he was sure of was his purpose: it was time for a new start. Mine again, craft again, and find a place for himself in the vast world. Blake didn't know what lay ahead, if anything, but the thought of finding out for himself filled him with a sense of thrill he hadn't felt in years. The sun was rising in the east, encouraging him as he took his first steps to descend the hill, away from home. His new journey, his search for adventure, had begun.

What Blake didn't realize at the time was an adventure was about to come for him.