Legacy of Blackwood

POV: Chris – The God of Blackwood

The sun hung above like a spotlight—golden, unwavering—as I continued my solemn, sovereign march through the very veins of my Empire. But now… now came the blessings.

My left hand raised slightly. One of my elite snapped his fingers without a word. Behind us, four armored trucks—matte black, marked with the Blackwood crest—stopped with a hiss. Their rear doors opened. Inside? Billions in crisp, freshly printed Blackwood Currency, sealed in steel-cased vaults.

I walked, eyes scanning like a god among mortals. I didn't stop for noise or admiration. I stopped for essence.

A little boy selling bottled water on the sidewalk. His knees dirty, his hands blistered.

I knelt—not out of humility, but power restrained—and handed him 1 million BC in a sleek obsidian envelope.

"For your future. For your family," I said.

He cried without sound, his mother rushing from behind a stall, weeping at my feet. My elite formed a circle, keeping the crowd at bay.

Further down, I saw an old woman selling fabric—royal blue, imperial red, colors of the flag. Loyal colors. I approached her.

"How long have you sold here?" I asked.

"Thirty-two years, my Lord," she said, trembling.

"Not anymore," I said.

A briefcase was lowered at my signal—10 million BC.

"Retire. Pass the skill. Let others weave our flag."

She collapsed in worship, the fabric wrapping around her like a cloak of honor.

By now, whispers had become thunder. "He's giving wealth."

"The God is rewarding."

"Blackwood walks with fortune in his hands."

We crossed into the tech district. I saw a trio of young men, working on a street prototype of a solar engine—ambitious, unregistered. Illegal? Maybe. But I saw vision.

I asked no questions.

"50 million BC. Register your patent. Build it. In my name."

Their tears were loud, their joy louder.

The stroll wasn't for show. It was law made flesh. Power made personal. Legacy made eternal.

Some rulers speak from thrones. I give from the streets.

And as my elite escorted me into the next district, the people didn't just cheer—they sang.

"Glory to the God of Blackwood. Blessing in his footsteps. Power in his gaze."