The Pillar

As he stepped into the radiant glow at the end of the hallway, he was met with a scene that transcended the wildest dreams of humanity. Before him lay a vast city, its majesty rivaling that of the grandest castles. The citadel before him seemed to have been sculpted from the very fabric of the cosmos, a colossal cathedral of ancient times, yet far grander than any earthly structure. It pulsed with an ethereal blue light, twinkling like distant stars scattered across the infinite expanse of space. This place was so breathtakingly magnificent that any unworthy soul daring to gaze upon it would surely face divine retribution.

The city sprawled endlessly, adorned with towering spires and miniature castles that dotted the skyline like jewels on a crown. The streets were immaculate, untouched by the grime of the world, and the city shimmered with a kaleidoscope of radiant hues, each ray illuminating the surroundings with an otherworldly glow. Above, the sky was a swirling vortex of clouds painted in vibrant colors, a canvas of mysteries where galaxies, nebulas, and countless stars danced in a cosmic ballet.

At the city's edge, colossal pillars rose majestically, their golden surfaces reflecting the light and casting a warm glow that enveloped the entire realm. This city was a marvel beyond human comprehension, yet an unsettling silence hung in the air, a stillness so profound that the young man could hear the rhythm of his own breath and the steady thump of his heartbeat.

Suddenly, a fierce gust of wind swept through the area, an invisible force that enveloped him in its embrace, whisking him away without a trace. It was as if he had never existed, and once the oppressive wind dissipated, the landscape returned to its eerie tranquility, untouched and devoid of life, save for the myriad colors that continued to illuminate the surroundings.

Sidon, a name whispered among the great cities that forged the Malkuth kingdoms, stood as a testament to resilience. Though not as developed as its counterparts, Sidon remained a sanctuary for the peasants and the downtrodden, a place where life, despite its struggles, thrived in its own humble way. Here, the cost of living was low, and the streets bustled with the hopes and dreams of those striving to elevate their status in a society that often overlooked them.

Yet, beneath the vibrant surface, many suffered. The shadows of Sidon concealed the harsh realities faced by its most vulnerable inhabitants. Shelters were scarce, and countless souls found themselves sleeping in the streets, battling hunger and despair in a city that promised so much yet delivered so little. 

In the heart of this struggle lay Back Valley Street, infamously known as Death Street or, more grimly, Death Island. Here, life was a fragile thread, with more than ten to twenty souls succumbing daily to the merciless grip of hunger, the biting cold, and the violence that lurked in the shadows.

"Catch that witch and bring her back to me!" A booming voice shattered the stillness, reverberating through the desolate streets. The man who commanded attention was a hulking figure, muscles rippling beneath a tattered shirt, his left cheek marred by the scars of battle, giving him an intimidating presence. He barked orders to his subordinates, urgency lacing his tone.

"Yes, Boss!" they replied in unison, scattering into the night, lanterns flickering in their hands, casting ghostly shadows against the crumbling walls of the forsaken buildings.

The darkness wrapped around the Isle like a shroud, suffocating and lifeless, as they searched for the elusive girl who had slipped through their fingers. After what felt like an eternity, they returned, their faces etched with disappointment.

"Boss, it seems she is not here either," reported a middle-aged man, his ragged attire a reflection of the despair that surrounded them.

The boss fell silent, his frustration palpable. "What a useless pest," he muttered, disdain dripping from his words. "You can't even capture a single fragile girl?"

The subordinates bowed their heads, fear glimmering in their eyes, unwilling to meet his gaze. "We'll find her for you, we swear," one of them pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice.

"You better make sure you get her, or else you know what will happen," the boss growled, his anger a storm ready to erupt.

"Let's move out and search another area," he commanded, leading his gang deeper into the shadows, their footsteps echoing ominously as they vanished into the narrow alleys of Isle Street.

A sigh escaped from the darkness of a nearby crumbling building. "At last, they've left," a young girl murmured, her voice barely a whisper against the night. She appeared to be in her late teens, her long brown hair a wild mane framing her delicate features. Despite the grime smudged across her face, her golden eyes sparkled with a fierce spirit. 

Her attire, though tattered and worn, bore a unique charm. The remnants of a once-green jacket clung to her frame, now a faded blend of muted colors. Her shirt, stained and frayed, hinted at a life lived on the fringes, while her brown leather pouch hung around her neck, a testament to her resourcefulness. 

"Yet again, I've escaped," she declared, stepping out from her hiding place, her heart racing with exhilaration. "But just wait—I'll crack his nuts open one day," she vowed, determination igniting her spirit as she peered into the darkness, ensuring no one lingered nearby.