The Crown of the Sewer

Niva DeRosa was born in the 38th year After the War (A.W.), a time when Thornus was still licking its wounds, but the sun had begun to shine a little brighter. She was the second child of Donlane DeRosa, a man whose hands were as rough as the cobblestones of the city but whose heart was softer than the silk worn by the nobles of Predymesh.

Donlane was a sewer worker. In a city built on layers of history and filth, he was the one who ensured the flow kept moving. He was a giant of a man, not in height, but in presence. Every morning, before the sun even thought about rising, Donlane was up. He would tidy their small, cramped home, prepare a modest breakfast for Niva and her siblings, and then descend into the under-city.

Niva never knew her mother. She had passed away bringing Niva into the world, a tragedy that had shattered Donlane's heart into a thousand pieces. Yet, he never let the sharp edges of his grief cut his children. He smoothed them over with hard work and a weary smile. Stepping into the void left by her mother was Aunt Heline, Donlane's sister. She was sweetness personified, a woman with no children of her own who poured a mother's love into Niva. To Niva, Heline was not just an aunt; she was the warmth of a home that could have easily been cold.

But it was her father, Donlane, who Niva worshipped. He had a birthmark on his right hand, a peculiar shape that looked strikingly like a crown. Niva used to trace it with her small fingers when he came home, scrubbed clean but still smelling faintly of damp earth. "You are the King of the Sewers, Papa," she would say. And he would laugh, a deep rumble that shook his chest. "A king with a shovel for a scepter, little one."

He wasn't an educated man. He wore no suits, sat in no high offices. But the physical toll of his labor was etched into his skin. As Niva grew, she watched the giant begin to stoop. The years of damp and darkness were claiming their due.

It was this sight—her father's weary back—that drove Niva to the Military Academy of Thornus. She wasn't seeking glory. She wanted a salary, a pension, a way to lift the burden from the King of the Sewers.

The Academy was a different world. Rigid, cold, and filled with the sons and daughters of the city's elite. It was there she met Granold Rolnifeld.

Granold was everything Niva wasn't. Loud, opinionated, and effortlessly popular. He bragged incessantly about his father's achievements in 'The War', yet he was a fierce critic of the current government. He claimed they were all liars, yet he despised the opposition just as much. "They are two sides of the same rusted coin," he would say, leaning back in his chair with an arrogant smirk.

Niva found his neutrality dangerous. "To stand in the middle is to be crushed by both sides," she would argue. She didn't know which side was right, but she believed in the necessity of choosing, of finding a truth to stand on. Their arguments were legendary in the mess hall. He teased her, his eyes dancing with amusement, and she would flush with frustration and a confusing mix of admiration. He was a playboy, yes, but he listened to her. Or so she thought.

Then came the night that shattered her naivety. It was late, the academy grounds bathed in the silver light of the moons. Niva was returning from the library when she saw them. Granold, pressed against the stone wall of the dormitory, kissing another girl. The way he held her, the way he laughed—it was the same charm he used on Niva.

Something fractured inside her chest. It wasn't just jealousy; it was betrayal. She felt foolish, a sewer worker's daughter thinking she could debate philosophy with a Rolnifeld. She walked away, leaving her first crush in the shadows. That night, she told herself she had stolen her own first kiss back from a future that would never happen.

The joy that had defined Niva dimmed. She became focused, steeling herself against distractions. She ignored Granold for the rest of their tenure. She wasn't the brightest cadet, nor the strongest, but she was relentless. When graduation came, Granold stood on the podium as Valedictorian. Niva stood two steps down, graduating 3rd in her class.

She didn't clap for him. She looked past him, towards the crowd where a stooped man with a crown on his hand was wiping tears from his eyes. She had done it. She was an Intelligence Officer. The King of the Sewers could finally rest.