Salaz Durin had always felt like a ghost in his own life. Born in the quiet town of Elden, where the days stretched endlessly and the nights brought nothing but the promise of another dull morning, he drifted through life without purpose. His father, a prosperous landowner, had tried to shape him into an heir, but Salaz had only ever felt the weight of chains whenever he looked upon the fields that would one day be his.

  His father, a prosperous landowner, managed a sprawling farm that had brought the family wealth and respect. But no matter how hard his father tried, he couldn’t convince Salaz to take any interest in the farm or its future.

  Salaz found the monotony of farm life suffocating. The rows of crops, the predictable seasons—it all felt like a cage. But life has a way of forcing responsibility upon even the most reluctant. One chilly autumn night, his father passed away suddenly, leaving Salaz as the sole heir to the family’s vast lands and responsibilities.

  Unprepared and unwilling, Salaz stumbled into adulthood under the weight of obligations he neither wanted nor understood. The once-thriving farm began to wither under his neglect. Crops failed, debts mounted, and the estate slowly slipped through his fingers like sand. When his mother succumbed to illness a year later, Salaz found himself utterly alone, drowning in a sea of unpaid bills and failing crops.

  The chair groaned under his weight, just as it had under his father’s. Salaz traced the grooves in the wood, the indentations left by years of restless fingers. This was a prison, not a legacy. His father had called it duty. Salaz called it a slow death. And he was done dying.

  One evening, over a shared bottle of cheap wine, he confided in his childhood friend, Garrick.

  “Every morning, I wake to the same sun, the same fields, the same life that is not mine. This land is a cage, Garrick. If I stay, I will be buried here long before I die.”

  Salaz muttered, staring into his glass.

  “I’ve tried, but I’m not cut out for it. I need… something else. Something different.”

  Garrick, a merchant with modest success, saw the desperation in Salaz’s eyes. After a long pause, he leaned in and whispered, “Then come with me. I’ve got a business venture lined up. We could use someone like you.”

  Salaz didn’t hesitate. Anything was better than the slow death of farm life. He sold the last of his land for a fraction of its worth and threw himself into the world of trade. The early years were a whirlwind of small victories and crushing defeats. Markets fluctuated, deals fell through, but Salaz learned—and he learned fast. He transformed from a naive farm boy into a shrewd, calculating merchant.

  Years passed, and though Salaz was seasoned in the art of trade, true wealth eluded him. One day, Garrick approached him with a proposition that seemed too good to be true.

  “There’s an iron mine for sale,” Garrick whispered, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “War’s coming. You know what that means—iron will be worth more than gold.”

  Salaz felt a flicker of hope. This could be the break he’d been waiting for. Without a second thought, he pooled every coin he had and borrowed heavily from moneylenders to purchase the mine.

  At first, everything seemed perfect. The mine promised endless riches, and Salaz envisioned a future filled with luxury. But as weeks turned into months, the iron veins began to dry up. Panic set in. Instead of valuable ore, the miners unearthed strange, transparent stones that shimmered faintly in the dim light of the tunnels.

  Salaz ran his fingers over the stone’s surface. “What in the gods’ name is this?” he muttered. It was cool—no, colder than a stone should be. As if it were drinking in the warmth of his skin. When he held it up to the light, something stirred within. A flicker. A pulse. Almost as if the stone was alive.

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  Garrick wasn’t as patient. The mounting debts and the mysterious stones strained their partnership. Salaz slammed the door open, breathless from running. Garrick’s desk was bare, save for a single scrap of parchment. Hands trembling, he unfolded the note. “I’m sorry, Salaz. I can’t do this anymore.” The ink was dry. Garrick had been gone for hours—maybe longer.

  Garrick was gone, leaving Salaz alone to face the wrath of the moneylenders.

  A week later, Salaz stood outside the mine, dreading what awaited him. But it wasn’t the miners who greeted him—it was the debt collectors. Their faces were cold, their intentions clear.

  “Thought you could run from us, Durin?” one sneered, grabbing him by the collar.

  They dragged him to a secluded warehouse where the strange stones were stored. The dim light barely illuminated the towering piles of shimmering rocks.

  “You owe us,” one of the thugs growled, pressing a knife to Salaz’s throat.

  “And these useless rocks aren’t going to cover it.”

  Just as Salaz braced for the worst, the warehouse doors burst open. Soldiers in polished armor stormed in, their swords gleaming under the flickering lanterns. At their head was a tall, sharp-eyed man with an air of authority.

  “Enough!” the man commanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

  “This man is under the protection of the crown.”

  The moneylenders froze. One by one, they released Salaz and backed away.

  Salaz stared at his unexpected savior. “Who… who are you?” he stammered.

  “Zephir,” the man replied curtly. “Advisor to King Aldric.” He turned his attention to the stones, his eyes narrowing as he examined them.

  “I’ve heard rumors about these.”

  Salaz’s heart raced.

  “These stones... do you know what these are?”

  Zephir rolled the stone between his fingers, his expression unreadable. “Do you know what men do for power, Salaz Durin? They kneel. They betray. They kill.” He held the stone up to the flickering torchlight.

  “This… is worth more than gold. More than blood. You just don’t know it yet.”

  The moneylenders, still lingering, dared to interrupt. “These stones are ours!” one snapped.

  “We have a claim!”

  Zephir shot them a glare that silenced the room.

  “You have no claim here. Leave now, or face the king’s wrath.”

  The debt collectors, realizing they were outmatched, retreated hastily. Salaz, still reeling from the turn of events, looked at Zephir.

  “Why are you helping me?”

  Zephir smiled thinly.

  “These stones whisper secrets, Salaz Durin. The kind of secrets men kill for. The question is—will you listen, or will you be silenced?”

  “You will continue your operations,” Zephir said smoothly. “But now under the crown’s guidance. Your debts are forgiven, and in return, you will supply these stones to us. Profit will be shared, of course.”

  Salaz considered the offer. It was either this or ruin. Zephir could have confiscated these strange stones or the mine in exchange for paying Salaz's debts. But instead he wanted Salaz to continue his work. There had to be a reason why he wanted Salaz, but Salaz didn't have the time to think about it. He nodded slowly.

  “Deal.”

  Zephir’s smile deepened, though his eyes remained cold.

  “Excellent. Then let’s waste no time.”

  A year passed, and Salaz’s fortunes soared. The stones, now called Lightstones, became the most coveted commodity on the continent. There was a significant difference between the amount of Lightstone Salaz supplied to the kingdom and the amount that was released to the market, but Salaz didn't care. His pockets were full enough. Jewelry crafted from them adorned the elite, and their unique properties caught the attention of scholars and alchemists alike.

  But wealth brought new problems. Reports began to surface of Lightstones being discovered elsewhere. Soon, the market flooded, and their value plummeted. Salaz’s profits dwindled, and his pleas to Zephir for assistance went unanswered.

  To make matters worse, war erupted between the Adler and Sizat Empires, destabilizing trade routes and crippling Salaz’s investments. It felt as if the gods themselves had turned against him.

  But fate wasn’t finished with Salaz Durin. The Lightstones had more secrets to reveal—and their true power was yet to be discovered.

  As war loomed on the horizon, Salaz finally believed he had secured his fortune. But far beneath the earth, where the veins of Lightstone ran deepest, something ancient had begun to stir. And soon, the world would tremble.

  And that’s another chapter done! If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much. The world of “The Fall of Everything!” is vast and full of details, so if there's something you're curious about, I'd love to explain it in more depth. Your thoughts can also influence the story—whether it’s something you’d like to see more of or a question you want answered, feel free to share it in the comments! Your feedback is incredibly important to me and helps shape the story. The next chapter is coming soon, so stay tuned!