Chapter Two: A World of Cards and Fire
Alcraya may have begun as humanity's second chance, but it didn't take long for it to mirror Earth's worst habits.
When the war over the Arcglove technology finally burned out, a fragile peace settled over the battered settlements of the new world. The surviving factions emerged from the ashes and carved the land into what would become the Seven Nations. Each was shaped by the battles it had survived, the ideologies it clung to, and the power it had managed to seize. Different flags, different philosophies, different enemies but they all shared one truth.
The card chooses the child. And the card rules everything.
Within two days of birth, every Alcrayan newborn manifests a glowing sigil in the form of a card. It forms beside the child, hovering in midair, etched with ancient runes and a single word. Light. Dark. Elemental. Summoner. Morpher. The card cannot be forced or changed, and it marks its bearer for life. It does not simply indicate potential, it defines social rank, education, job eligibility, military value, even one's worth as a spouse in the eyes of the nobility.
To be cardless is to be cursed. To be born with a blank card is a rumor. An error. A lie the elite whisper about but never confirm.
Each nation built itself around these affinities. In the north, the kingdom of Valedren worships the Light. Their cities rise like monuments to order and justice, but their rule is hard and absolute. Dravosh, further west, is cold, broken, and feared. Dark card bearers dominate its mountains and lead a harsh people who believe strength is a form of truth. To the cliffs of the east lies Iskrael, home of the Summoners. Their beasts walk the streets like living weapons, bonded and loyal. South of them lies Rovaan, a kingdom carved in stone and fire. Elementals are revered there, raised in forge-temples and trained from childhood to wield raw destruction. Nethra lies behind veiled trees and secret paths, governed by Morphers who rarely speak plainly. They are master spies, negotiators, and schemers. Along the coasts, Kaelstrom thrives on trade, gold, and mercenary power. It welcomes all card types and hides all kinds of illegal activity behind its shining ports. Finally, there is Halcor Reach, founded by the descendants of the ship engineers who once kept the Mother Ships alive. They control most Arcglove production and answer to no one but coin.
Though unified by history, the nations do not trust each other. Peace exists, but it is enforced by threat, not goodwill. Everyone remembers what happened the last time they went to war. And everyone knows what would happen if it happened again.
The card, by itself, is inert. It hovers, but does nothing. That changed with the invention of the Arcglove. Created by the Cradle Guild, the Arcglove was humanity's first true interface with the strange energy that floats in Alcraya's air. Built from a rare metal called Obrium, it allows the user to channel that invisible force into their card and awaken its power. It doesn't create energy, it simply directs it. But in the right hands, that is enough to level cities.
At the age of sixteen, all card-bearers undergo the Awakening Rite. It is both a ceremony and a test. Some call forth their element in fire or water. Some summon beasts. Some shift their faces or bodies into other forms. But not everyone survives. Some are rejected. Some cards consume the bearer. Some never activate at all. And a few, very few lose themselves in the process.
Arcgloves are expensive. Families save for years to buy one. In poor districts, teenagers pray for sponsors or steal what they can. In wealthier cities, children are trained from the moment they can walk to prepare. The glove is not sacred. It is not rare. But it is not easily earned. It is a tool. And on Alcraya, tools are survival.
Of course, where there is power, there is also belief. Entire religions have formed around the origin of the cards. Some worship the runes as divine gifts. Others say the planet gave them to test humanity. A cult known as the Children of the Blank claims the cards are lies, control mechanisms designed to shackle the human spirit. They believe those born with blank cards are the world's answer, not its mistake. Most governments brand them as terrorists. In Dravosh and Valedren, they are executed on sight.
The deeper mysteries of the card system remain unexplored. Though the Arcglove is accepted, true Arc-engineering. The study of the card's internal runes and structure is forbidden. Attempts to rewrite or duplicate cards are banned under every major law code. Still, rumors persist. Whispered tales of rogue scholars, missing children, and illegal testing in the old crash zones. Some claim a sixth card type once existed, buried in a forgotten ruin. Others speak of a new class being bred in secret, one capable of using two cards at once.
No evidence exists. But on Alcraya, stories have weight. And weight draws blood.
One such story tells of a child born fourteen years ago.
His card appeared like the others. But there was no rune. No glow. No word. Just a blank surface that reflected no light, no power, no truth.
Most believe the child died. Others say the card never woke.
But those who know the truth?
They know the card wasn't empty. Only dormant.
And in a world ruled by what you're born with, there is nothing more dangerous than the unknown.