Many years ago, on Koreen Paradis...

It was one of the more high-end Rich Worlds out there, with more than 38% of the population having achieved Divinity. The three Deities responsible for Koreen Paradis had made several modifications to make it dense enough for the growing population of Divines, not to mention broader. They made alliances with other nearby Deities, which further justified the modification, after all, Koreen Paradis played host to some of these great powers as well from time to time.

The Deities almost always discussed one subject: the Aspire to Divine campaign. That organization was relentless in its efforts to recruit forces that would join the fight against the Primeval Deities. Invitations to their Breaking Chasms were rampant. The Aspire to Divine was proud of having taken some of them away from the grasp of those zenith beings.

...Yet not everyone was so keen to join. Most Deities weren’t inclined to fight an enemy that would most assuredly leave them alone as long as they stayed in line and knew their place.

Ambitions were limited.

Ambitions were poisonous.

For many, toeing the line between being just ambitious enough to keep Direction in their favour and having a flavorless, soulless life was peak living. They’d endure that till their dying breath. That was what made life worth living – nothing more.

The idea filtered into the minds of the Divines on Koreen Paradis.

Yes. Why leave and pursue greater power and ambitions only to be hounded by the Aspire to Divine because of it?

The Deities behind these Divines gave them everything they wished for to keep their CONTRACT with AKHASHA – a CONTRACT for perpetual immortality – running. In the end, if the fledglings would perhaps form worlds near Koreen (in the future) after transcending into Deityhood and agree to an alliance of worlds, that would be perfect.

Yes, that was perfect.

But in the meantime, the Divines on Koreen Paradis would indulge in the pleasure of the Tacit Enslavement Pact.

Mortals were the servants of Divines on this world, divided into four tiers: Ordinary, Menial, Valuable, and Essential.

To make Koreen Paradis Rich, the Deities had introduced the seventeen Fell Wildernesses onto its nine continents. They were dangerous, nigh-unlivable patches of land and sea that constituted about 40% of Koreen. Monsters that could contest against Divines spawned within these areas, thriving in the adverse, bizarre environmental conditions there, and all of them were immortal and intelligent; they could only be dismissed for short intervals before they returned again. Indeed, they were impossible to kill, seal, or cage.

Thus, it was in the best interests of mortals on Koreen to sign themselves off to the protection of the Divines through the Tacit Enslavement Pact.

Depending on the master a mortal signed themselves to, it was possible to live comfortably and even grow stronger until the Tacit Enslavement Pact was no longer necessary, but that wasn’t a luxury everyone received. Most mortals on Koreen Paradis remained as Ordinary slaves restricted to fields, barns, plant houses, and farms. Unlike the Menial Slaves, they never got to see, much less work in their master’s demesne. They got the roughest treatment, especially when under callous, cruel masters.

Boron, or rather, Ciumin, had been born into that life.

It had been tragic to be sure, but with his mother, father, and six siblings, it was a norm that he could tolerate. To one who’d never seen anything bigger or happier than the dirty barn they called their home, or the bowl of poorly ground millet doused with lesser forms of Divine energy for nutrition on the daily, it was all bliss. It was adequate.

...But that adequacy crumbled when two of his brothers died at the hands of one of the master’s slave drivers.

A little more than a year later, the rest of Ciumin’s siblings followed. He broke down, nearly falling into madness, but his father kept him sane. Every night, when he refused to eat, crying, the man would pin the boy down and shove down his mouth more and more portions of the millet – some of his (the father’s) and his wife’s.

Bite my hands all you want. I’ll force you to survive if that’s the last thing I do. I will not let you become like your brothers and sisters. Grow stronger – bigger. That was the message every night.

And indeed, Ciumin did grow stronger, even against his will...

...But at the expense of his mother’s life. She’d sacrificed too much for his livelihood, but in her own words – perhaps her death throes – her purpose was fulfilled.

Soon, Ciumin’s father followed. The boy had never seen him weep for his children or his wife – not once. On the day he passed, Ciumin had sat with him as the sun set, regarding him with a hateful expression.

"What is it? You’ve been glaring for days now," the old, thin man had said. "Let me take a guess. It still bothers you that I didn’t weep for them as you did, right?"

Ciumin had said nothing. A streak of guilt made him switch to glaring at the ground instead.

His father swept his staunch, dry eyes on him and ruffled his hair slowly – weakly.

"I spent all my tears a long time ago, when it became clear to me that I was never meant to be anything more than I am right now," he’d said with eyes that only wished they could turn moist with tears. "Your mother and I confronted our limits long before we birthed any of you. Physical weakness we could handle, but not the greatest form of it there is: the inability to see ourselves as anything more than... this. We inherited the minds of slaves. Oh, how we wished we could think differently, think broadly, and become masters of our own fates like our friends who escaped enslavement and never turned back. Back then... we were so sure that those who left their comfortable bubble and resisted the Tacit Enslavement Pact would die like all others." He ground his teeth.

"If only we had tried to think as our masters do...." He faltered. "If only we thought beyond our capacity and dared to live as Divines, maybe..."

Ciumin cried in his stead. He had been sensing the life sweeping out of his father for days now. Anguish and sorrow squeezed him from the inside as though he were a towel.

"Maybe your life will be a curse, too. Maybe in the end, you inherited the same foolishness that I have," the man said, gripping Ciumin’s shoulder tight. "But if you’re going to die, don’t let it be by the hands of our slavers. Slit your own throat in a Wilderness, if you must. Just... die anywhere but here. Promise me."