New World

"Help!" A piercing scream echoed through the bank office. Chaos erupted as terrified employees and customers found themselves held hostage by armed robbers. A gunshot shattered the tense silence, and a security guard collapsed onto the floor. Panic ensued—shrieks filled the air, and women sobbed in terror. The robbers moved swiftly, stuffing large bundles of cash into bags, the bank's vault forced open under the duress of the trembling branch manager. Moments later, the manager was executed with a cold-blooded shot to the temple, his lifeless body crumpling to the marble floor as a pool of blood spread beneath him.

Outside, a woman cycling past the bank caught sight of the unfolding horror. With trembling fingers, she dialed emergency services, only to be met with an eerie silence—no response. Desperation mounting, she redialed again and again, but still, no answer came. Before she could react further, a group of men sprinted toward her. A sharp blow to her head sent her crumpling to the pavement. In an instant, she was dragged into a dark alley, vanishing from sight, her bicycle left abandoned on the curb.

Across the city, turmoil spread like wildfire. Protesters stormed government buildings, smashing windows, toppling furniture, and attacking officials with unrelenting fury. The parliament, once a bastion of order, was now a battleground. Police and military units stood in rigid formation at the presidential palace, the last line of defense against the swelling tide of insurgents. Then, without warning, five massive trucks tore through the barricades, forcing their way onto the palace grounds. Protesters surged forward, clashing violently with security forces. The military retaliated with gunfire, but the insurgents—many now wielding captured weapons—returned fire. Explosions rocked the streets, smoke and flames rising as the nation descended into anarchy.

In every region, stores, malls, and supermarkets were ransacked. Lawlessness reigned. Women walking alone were assaulted, their screams lost amid the chaos. The madness stretched deep into the night, and at exactly 11 PM, the government of Gambua collapsed. It became the tenth country to succumb to revolution in a series of uprisings sweeping the globe. With no law left to enforce order, the nation fragmented. Former police officers, rogue soldiers, and local militias seized control of different territories, each ruling with their own brutal brand of authority.

Global superpowers took notice. Fear gripped world leaders as they scrambled for solutions. The United Nations convened an emergency summit, urging the remaining stable nations to form an alliance against the spreading rebellion. But experts were skeptical. Old conflicts, deep-rooted historical grievances, and unresolved colonial tensions threatened to derail unity. Optimists speculated that, if a miracle occurred, it might take two or three years to restore balance—if peace was even possible at all.

Five years earlier, in a developed nation…

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the outskirts of Aratsun's capital city. Amid vast, manicured gardens, a grand mansion stood—a fortress of wealth and power. Few knew the young man who resided within its opulent walls, but those who did spoke his name with a mix of reverence and intrigue.

Navies.

A genius. A prodigy. An enigma wrapped in privilege. Despite his youth, he commanded vast wealth and influence. But behind the imposing gates of his estate, behind the perfection of his world, lay secrets known only to a select few—including his right-hand woman, Balqis.

Balqis, perpetually youthful at twenty-five, appeared untouched by time. More than just a personal aide, she was a warrior—deadly in combat, a master of disguise, and proficient in every weapon imaginable. But beyond her lethal skill set, she was also an impeccable housekeeper and an unrivaled chef. Love was an alien concept to her; loyalty, however, was absolute. She existed solely to serve Navies, her devotion unwavering, her emotions buried beneath layers of discipline.

That morning, before the sun fully rose, Balqis was already in motion. In the state-of-the-art kitchen, she prepared breakfast with the precision of a master chef. Her hands moved swiftly—chopping, frying, plating—crafting a meal that was both nutritious and exquisite. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of sizzling bacon, a feast fit for a king.

Navies, ever meticulous, approached food with calculated intent. Every bite was weighed, measured, and analyzed for its nutritional value. Balqis, understanding his routine, laid out a variety of options—raw vegetables, select cuts of meat, a carefully curated spread that met his exacting standards.

Once breakfast was arranged, Balqis turned her attention to Navies' attire. Today was a significant day—the first time he would step beyond the confines of his home. At fifteen, he was finally set to experience a world he had only observed from a distance. Until now, his education had been exclusive, handled by private tutors of the highest caliber. But today, he would enter high school—a calculated step toward integrating into society.

"Master Navies, what theme would you prefer for your outfit today?" Balqis inquired, her tone firm yet gentle.

Navies, sipping his coffee, met her gaze with an amused smirk. "I'll leave it to you. Choose something subtle—I'd rather not attract attention."

Balqis nodded and moved to his expansive wardrobe. Rows of tailored suits, silk ties, and luxury watches gleamed under soft lighting. She selected a sophisticated yet understated ensemble—a simple but elegant shirt, neatly pressed trousers, and a high-quality yet discreet timepiece. His footwear, polished to perfection, was from a collection that featured only the finest brands: Berluti, John Lobb, Salvatore Ferragamo.

Navies, ever composed, scrolled through his tablet as he finished his meal. Financial reports, multi-billion-dollar acquisitions, board restructuring, even political maneuverings—this was his world. He understood the language of power and influence, yet had never once set foot beyond his estate's walls.

"Balqis, is everything ready?" he asked, setting his tablet aside.

Balqis placed a glass of fresh fruit juice in front of him. "Yes, Master Navies. Please drink this first. I'll make the final preparations."

Satisfied, Navies nodded. "Good. Let's do this. I wonder if the world outside is as intriguing as they say."

After finishing his juice, Navies stepped into his lavish bathroom. Marble walls, gold-trimmed fixtures, and the finest bath products money could buy. As warm water cascaded over him, his mind wandered—curiosity flickering at the thought of what lay beyond his sheltered life.

Dressed immaculately, Navies met Balqis at the entrance hall. Outside, his garage housed a fleet of luxury cars—Bugatti, Rolls-Royce, Ferrari, Lamborghini. Yet today, he chose none.

"We're walking to the bus stop," he declared. "I want to see the world from an ordinary perspective."

Balqis, ever obedient, inclined her head. "As you wish, sir."

As they stepped onto the bustling streets, Navies took in the unfamiliar sights—the morning rush, the ordinary lives unfolding around him. It was a world he had never touched, but one he intended to understand.

At the bus stop, a shadow loomed—a man eyeing the expensive watch on Navies' wrist. He moved in, ready to strike.

A heartbeat later, he collapsed, unconscious.

Balqis, expressionless, returned a tiny needle to her sleeve. "Your safety comes first, Master Navies."

Navies smirked, stepping onto the bus. "The world is already proving entertaining. Let's see what high school has to offer."