To say that Zilean wasn't surprised would be an outright lie. Kaiser Dios was an anomaly wrapped in contradiction. Even though the young Liberator before him showed a remarkable lack of formality or even basic respect for rank, Zilean found he was entirely comfortable with it. Perhaps it was because, compared to the rest of his royal kin, Zilean had always been closer to the ground, more accustomed to the real pulse of the world rather than the artificial heartbeats of gilded halls.

It had been centuries, indeed, since he'd last appeared at a royal gathering. The trappings of nobility, the delicate webs of court intrigue—they had ceased to hold any charm for him long ago. These days, even his supposed servants at the War-Den barely regarded him as royalty. They spoke to him plainly, addressed him by name, and regarded him as one of their own. He preferred it that way. After all, he thought bitterly, one cannot wage war from ivory towers, nor hear the cries of the people through stone walls.

As he observed Kaiser more closely, Zilean couldn't help but make assumptions. Kaiser's posture, the cadence of his speech, the measured confidence of his words—everything whispered of noble upbringing. There was a kind of elegance beneath the razor-edge danger that clung to Kaiser like a cloak. He noted the man's hands, pristine, unmarred by heavy labor or obvious battle scars. Zilean silently concluded that Kaiser's life had been one of relative ease, sheltered by privilege and comfort.

He had no idea how utterly wrong he was.

Yet what truly puzzled Zilean in this moment was something else entirely. Kaiser Dios had asked a question so simple, so rudimentary, that it jarred him from his previous assessments. Zilean studied Kaiser more intently, searching for mockery or hidden intent. Why would such an obviously intelligent and clearly educated individual, at least, educated enough by the Liberatorium's standards, ask something so glaringly basic?

After a moment, curiosity overcame him, and Zilean decided to humor the Liberator.

"You already know that I'm Soulless," Zilean began slowly, watching carefully for Kaiser's reaction. "And yet you question how I live."

Kaiser leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed intently upon Zilean, utterly focused and undisturbed. "Indeed. Every creature in this world, from the weakest child to the strongest titan, bears some trace of Sol within. I've watched corpses lose their last fragments of Sol, and even they appeared richer in that brief moment than you do now. You…" Kaiser gestured carefully, his voice lowering, almost reverent with curiosity, "You seem even emptier than death itself."

Zilean took a moment before responding, gaze flickering around the room, settling on the grotesque paintings that surrounded them. Each canvas was another silent victim, trapped within the confines of their frames. With a solemn breath, he began, "Soulless individuals, Kaiser, are an extraordinary anomaly. We are born devoid of a soul, and thus can never awaken Sol nor wield it. Origins as well, remains forever beyond our grasp."

Kaiser tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he considered this. "But physically, you're indistinguishable from any other human?"

"Exactly," Zilean confirmed, the metallic hum of his voice was clear. "Unlike the Silvarin, whose very nature is fundamentally different from ours, a Soulless person looks, breathes, and bleeds exactly like any normal human. Yet inside, there exists only an empty, yawning void... A hollowness impossible to perceive without profound insight or specific means."

Kaiser tapped the table idly, his tone turning contemplative. "Yet you're far from powerless."

Zilean let out a low chuckle, darkly amused. "No, I am not. But the strength I've forged is one earned by blood, sweat, and bone-shattering effort. I am an aberration even among the aberrations—one who transcended limits that should never have been broken. But such cases as mine are exceedingly rare, almost mythological."

Kaiser nodded slightly, absorbing this information, though still clearly unsatisfied. "Tell me, then," he said quietly, probing further, "Why have I never heard of such people before? Even in passing?"

Zilean's massive form seemed to become even heavier, the shadows in the room thickening around him as he spoke. "That's because Soulless individuals are not simply pitied or ignored, Kaiser. We are actively erased. From the moment of birth, the world turns against us."

He paused, allowing silence to emphasize the gravity of his words. "Imagine being born utterly defenseless, weaker than the weakest child. You watch your peers awaken incredible abilities, their potential bright and limitless. Meanwhile, your own body remains stubbornly human, unable to harness even the faintest glimmer of power. You are called worthless, weak, inferior—a failure at the very core of existence."

Zilean leaned forward, intensity seeping through the visor of his helmet. "Soulless children are mocked relentlessly, stripped of dignity, and viewed as stains upon their families. Society brands them as burdens, as mistakes. Eventually, they vanish from their homes, taken quietly away in the dark of night—never to be heard from again. We are the invisible, the forgotten and the deliberately lost."

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Kaiser's expression darkened, a strange light flickering within his eyes. He was clearly evaluating something deeply within himself. "And you… you are the exception?"

Zilean's heavy gauntlet curled into a slow fist, the metal groaning softly under immense pressure. "I am. But only because I refused to accept the role the world offered me. I carved my own path from nothing, breaking every chain placed upon me by fate and by man. And now, I seek out others like myself, those discarded by society. I offer them the same choice I once seized, the chance to defy the world's cruel definitions."

Kaiser studied Zilean carefully, absorbing every detail. Finally, he nodded once, slow and deliberate. "You mentioned that they take the Soulless from their homes. Who are 'they'?"

Zilean's response was colder, harder, edged with a blade of restrained fury. "The Liberatoriums, Kaiser. Those grand institutions that claim to protect the world—they are the very same who vanish the weak into shadows. They are ashamed of what they cannot understand, fearful of what does not fit their precious structure of power."

Kaiser was quiet, digesting the truth Zilean had shared. In the silence, Zilean could see him piecing things together, measuring possibilities, weighing implications.

"What happens to them… The others taken by the Liberatorium?" Kaiser asked finally.

Zilean's visor lowered a fraction, his armored shoulders seeming to carry the weight of centuries as he looked at the ground. For a moment, the old warlord was silent. Then, with the low rumble of someone forcing words through iron, he said, "I am the one who takes them."

Kaiser's brow knit, genuine confusion cutting through his habitual cool. "You? Personally?"

Zilean nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Yes. Now, by royal decree, I am the one who gathers them." His tone held no pride, only the exhausted pragmatism of a man who had inherited a necessary cruelty.

Kaiser didn't flinch, nor did he show any disappointment. He simply folded his arms and regarded Zilean with that sharp, almost predatory patience. Zilean caught this lack of reaction, and it needled him, just slightly. Most men would have recoiled or spat some condemnation at the king's policy, but Kaiser simply waited, as if the world had never held a single moral certainty.

"So," Kaiser said quietly, "What's the justification? Why remove them from society? Is it simply that they don't fit?"

Zilean shook his head. "No, not only that. There is a deeper reason, one even most Liberators and scholars do not fully grasp. The Soulless are unique in a way that matters greatly to the survival of humanity."

He paused, a strange tension building in the air. "Because we cannot be tainted. That is our purpose, our value."

Kaiser's eyes narrowed, a rare note of intrigue slipping past his mask. "Tainted… how? What does that mean?"

A sigh echoed through Zilean's helm. "This is the first thing you've asked, Kaiser, that I am not surprised you do not know."

He leaned forward, voice dropping to a level that seemed to shake the ink-stained walls themselves. "Tell me, have you heard of the Unborn?"

Kaiser nodded. "I've heard the name. I know they're listed among the greatest threats in lower ranked Tales. But I know little else."

Zilean's gauntlet drummed lightly on his knee. "Then you know nothing of them," he said, almost gently. "Let me explain: There are three great races upon this world—Humans, the Grounded, and the Silvarin. The Grounded, as you likely know, are not human, but some choose to live among us. The Silvarin, too, have their own regions, some openly hostile, others friendly."

He paused, glancing to the shattered windows as if recalling long-forgotten battlefields. "The Unborn are a race as well, but not as you imagine. They are not born in the ordinary sense. They are forged, either in the deepest pits of Hell itself, or from those tainted in the waking world. They are a scourge, a blight on all life, mindless and hungry. They are humanity's greatest enemy and its oldest nightmare."

Kaiser's smirk faltered for the first time, sweat prickling along his brow. "You're serious. Hell? As in… the pit? You expect me to believe these monsters are born in some afterlife myth?"

Zilean's laughter was a cold, hollow thing, bouncing through the battered room. "Not the hell of church sermons and priestly firebrands, if that's what you're thinking. Not the burning pit of fire and lava where sinners are damned for eternity."

Kaiser's heart gave a little skip. He'd heard those very words before... 'Church of the One God...' the priests in his old world, the same damn sermons about damnation. For a moment, he wondered if the worlds were closer than he thought, if his own reality had bled through to this one in ways he couldn't yet understand. But another, colder part of his mind cautioned him: Coincidence.

He pressed on, feigning indifference, but Zilean saw the flicker of something deeper in his eyes. "So… not that Hell. Then what is it?"

"It is a place, as real as this ruined village." Zilean's voice was grave, but matter-of-fact. "A domain beneath the world, inaccessible to mortals except through death or… other means. We call it Hell because no other word is fit to describe the endless suffering, the madness, the utter void. The Unborn are born there, shaped from the remnants of broken souls. But they can also be made in the waking world, when living beings become tainted."

Kaiser's hand curled on the table, knuckles pale. "Tainted… by what, exactly?"

Zilean's gaze grew distant. "By Sol, when it is corrupted. Sometimes it's exposure to certain powers, forbidden acts, or, most dangerously, the touch of the strongest of the Unborn. But the most common path is through battle itself. Every time a person slays an Unborn, a portion of that creature's taint seeps into their soul. The more Unborn you kill, the more their poison takes root in you."

A sharp silence fell. Kaiser, for all his composure, stilled in realization. "So it's not just the Unborn themselves who are a threat. It's the stain they leave behind."

"Exactly." Zilean's tone was clinical, but beneath it lay the weariness of someone who'd watched this cycle for centuries. "The soul becomes… blurred, corrupted, less and less human."

"And the Soulless?" Kaiser asked quietly.

"We cannot be tainted," Zilean said, a faint edge of pride or perhaps sorrow coloring his words. "It is why my brother decreed we be kept apart, watched, even used as weapons when the darkness comes. We are the first wall."

For a moment, respect flickered openly in Kaiser's eyes. The world made a fraction more sense. But the cost, he realized, was steep indeed.

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