Dissension: The World Beyond, #1

By David Robinson

There is strength in darkness. It draws upon deep-seated rage and resentment, hatred and violence, and makes the impossible seem possible. But it can exact a terrible price. The Rakenji people learned this lesson the hard way. For all their power, they were wiped from existence by newcomers who claimed their land as their own, and relegated that darkness to the shadows of a long-forgotten past. Now, two hundred years later, the darkness is returning, escaping its prison and threatening to tip the scales between shadow and light, bringing about a rebirth of the old ways. Surrounded by flames and the blood of his family, Veil Kotrata-an unknowing bridge between the old ways and the new-becomes a pawn in a vast game of dominance, control, and power, setting him on a journey of self-discovery and vengeance.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Robinson
• Release date: Mar 3, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230750918

Book preview

​Prologue

THE AIR IN THE DEPTHS of the damp cavern stank of rotting flesh, so thick that the two men could taste nothing but decay. They both wore thick cobalt-blue cloaks, partially covering their steel armour, as was the custom among the Diharian knights, but even that could not shield them from the chill of the deceased. Their voices echoed in the dark with nothing but the faint light of their oil lamp illuminating the stone structures surrounding them.

The taller of the men hesitated, gripping the lamp, as the sting of a corrosive wind slipped through his cloak. We shouldn't be here. There is a warning in the air around us.

His partner breathed deeply and placed a hand on the damp stone wall. We're so close now. I can hear it calling. A grin grew on his face, contrasting the fear in the other’s eyes. Can't you hear it?

No, I can't. I fear it may have some hold on you.

Proof only of its magnificent power, but I do not feel its grasp, only a call.

This was a mistake. We should not have come here. A new howling wind struck at the lamps, penetrating the glass and smothering the vital flames, consuming them in darkness.

Your fear is a weakness, a voice echoed, as if originating from all around them.

Left in the dark, the taller man called for his comrade, Cid! No response. Where are you? He stumbled through the gloom towards where Cid would have been standing.

Cid's voice crawled over the cave walls from behind him. It's here, Silas... It's overwhelming.

Cid, where are you? Don't touch it. This isn't what we came here for! Remember why we came here!

Fools ... both of us. We came here to destroy something so beautiful. Why shouldn't we use this—

No! We can't.

Imagine the good we could do.

This is a dark power. No good can come of something that emanates such a stench of death.

This ... isn't for you ... anyway.

A faint crimson glow in the distance of the cave revealed Cid as he reached for the glowing artifact. Desperately, Silas cried out, Cid, get away from that mask!

As Cid's fingers contacted the metallic surface of the crimson mask, he spoke in an eerily sober tone: Something is happening to me, Silas. This mask ... it’s ... for me. It will give me what I need.

You're talking nonsense, Cid. Still, too far away to reach Cid, the light grew so bright that Silas had to shield his eyes. CID! His scream was a desperate cry for acknowledgment. Please get away from it! It has control of you! I can see that clearly now! You aren't strong enough to avoid its hold!

Risking sight, he opened his eyes and prayed that his friend was still alive. As he adjusted to the new blinding light, Cid stood only feet away, his eyes blood red and staring back at him through the demented eye sockets of the deformed ebony mask. Obsidian-black veins were crawling down his neck.

As Cid spoke, the words reverberated oddly, like an old rusty door slowly squealing open, with only the darkest night matching the depth of his voice and only the honesty of the question more distinct than the anguish. You think me weak?

History

Nien, the only known continent, was besieged with violent war, and so Duke Farsig Digrem had traveled the south sea in search of new land. 

Dihari, that new land, was eventually discovered and conquered, and the settlers quickly discovered an unusual benefit of their new home: a resource like no other. They called it magic.

With the assistance of magic, the Kingdom of Dihari prospered in peace for two hundred years. But during that same period, Nien—the northern continent—was united, by brutal force, becoming the Utorian Empire.

In order to maintain peace, when Emperor Krolech of Utori demanded allegiance, the Diharian kingdom negotiated instead a balanced alliance, maintaining its independence.

However, when Sigourney City—the economical hub of Dihari—refused to pay the additional tariffs and lower prices for their magic-forged steel, which had no equal, a rebellion formed. The Sigourney governor rallied his people, and the city took on a new shape: one of hostility and opression. Their army grew in accord with their influence, and before long, the Sigournean silver-masked warriors were born.

​Chapter 1: Veil

THE SITUATION WAS HOSTILE.

This is the best damn blade I have at this shop! the large, bearded shopkeeper screamed at his customer. Why would I let it go for such a low price? His bloated face turned red, and foam formed at the corners of his mouth.

Veil Kotrata was forty-three and aging very well. He had emerald-green eyes, a strong jaw, light stubble, and short, always-messy brown hair. Sanding at the small storefront counter, he appeared perfectly calm. Sorry, sir, I can only offer what it is worth to me.

As a hunter and provider for his family, coin did not come easy, and he was very efficient at not buying anything that wasn't a necessity. Though his physique made it plain that the shop keeper would stand no chance in a brawl against him, and his chiselled features spoke of a life of hard work, he spoke cautiously.

Look, this is a very nice gun and blade combo. The steel seems strong enough to pierce even the hardest armour, even what the Diharian elite wear, but I am a simple hunter, looking only for a bow and maybe a dozen arrows. If you can't help me with that, then please don't try to sell me anything else.

The shopkeeper relaxed a bit at the explanation but held his lips tight and eyes focused. He spoke flatly, We don't carry bows.

Then I am sorry; I will try another shop. Veil had nearly turned to retreat when the shopkeeper made the connection.

You're that hermit muk who lives in the mountains, aren't you?

Veil halted and answered without emotion: Yes ... that's me.

They say you breed with kin and live in the mud like pigs. The fat shopkeeper began to chuckle at his own words, We don't want your muk coins anyway, savage. Leave my shop and never come back. He gripped the hilt of the gun-blade tightly.

Veil still withheld his emotions. Then I won't.

He walked out onto the dirt road of a darkening village. The small village of Hihgar was built mostly of wooden structures with the exception of one stone windmill. It was almost night, and most of the population—roughly six hundred villagers—had either retired or gathered at the local pub. Veil took notice of the closed signs on every other shop. That went well, he said to no one.

As he began his long walk home, he replayed the events of the failed purchase. He was not a weak man and knew this well, but a meaningless fight would not do him or his family any good. The shopkeeper's insults weren't anything he hadn't heard before, so the sting the words used to hold had dulled and couldn't penetrate his discipline. His family had been given a bad reputation for reasons of his undisciplined past. He dared not reminisce about the man he used to be, for fear of awakening the darkness that dwelled within him.

Veil trudged west through the thin evergreen path up the mountain towards home. His three children and wife would be waiting for him to return with a new bow. Unfortunately, they would have to wait a little longer for hunting to begin. This year was a special one for the family. For the first time, their son Lloyde was set to join Veil in the hunt.

Lloyde will be upset that he has to wait another day for his own bow, Veil thought, disappointed in himself. Should have gone in earlier.

The first sign of trouble was the scent of ash. He stood still trying to identify its origin. Deep in these woods, a fire that creates this sort of incense was never a good sign. One of the many dangers of moving his family to Hinder Forest was the frequent spark fires during the hot seasons. Over the years, he’d learned to determine the difference between the forest fires and his house chimney. This smoke was too strong and wet with the smell of living plants, which gave him enough reason to quicken his pace.

He was accustomed to the forest trail, but even that did not explain the unbelievable speed at which he glided through the constant changes of the forest, a pace that would have made him appear nearly a blur to any onlookers.

As he got closer, his concerns mutated to fear. The source of the fire was in the same direction as his home. His mind raced, and his eyes focused. His two young daughters and wife had Lloyde there to protect them, he reassured himself in an attempt to stay calm. His son had reached the age of sixteen today, and he had grown to be a very able young man. Surely, he would have taken them someplace safe from the flames.

Only minutes from the clearing and his family, the heat caused beads of sweat to roll into his eyes. Ignoring the sting to avoid overlooking anything vital, he scanned the scene. Before him, the flames swept out from the broken windows of his home and reached out over the log peak, as if trying desperately to climb to the stars, pushed back only by the immense billows of violent smog choking the life from the forest. Fireflies of ash sailed across his family's garden and covered the porch in scorched pepper. The front door stood ajar. His vision focused on the shattered door latch. Without significant struggle, he fought his body's natural reflex to avoid danger and plunged through the open doorway, debris tearing at his shirt as he did so. The sweat mixed with his tears. Whether they were tears of panic or just the heat burning his eyes he didn't have time to decide.

He was aware of nothing but the image of his two beautiful daughters in his mind, one five years old, the other seven, both with umber, seemingly boundless hair akin to their mother. Fair skin on the oldest and always a smudge of dirt on the youngest, Medi. She would attempt to follow her brother anywhere, and always ended up dirtying her clothes and face as she tried. Sehara, the seven-year-old, was the spitting image of her mother, Cara, both physically and mentally.

When he and Cara had first arrived at Hihgar, they hadn't known how to interact properly with the common folk. Paired with Veil’s anger toward how they were raised, they encountered many problems.

They had only each other. Their love ran deep through the past, flowing like the roots of two redwoods sharing a single source of nutrients, wrapping each other in protection. Together they could have continued to stand tall even after the whole forest burnt to the ground. Two trees in a field of ash huddled over each other, feeding each other. Veil had known this his whole life.

CARA! His scream vanished in the fires deafening growl. Where is she? He scanned the nightmare that had once been his home, and his eyes fell upon the figure of his wife on the hardwood floor, leaning one shoulder weakly against the wall. His eyes caught hers and saw that life that still remained in them.

He tumbled to her side in an effort to escort her to safety, but just as his enduring arms reached around her, she spoke, soft but firm: No.

Cara? Veil questioned her protest, searching her body for the possible reasons. He discovered a swathe of blood across her waist, and a pool beneath