Legacy of Blackwood

POV: Chris – The God of Blackwood

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The sun hadn't even reached its throne in the sky when I stepped out of Citadel Blackwood.

No convoy today. No sirens. No announcements.

Just me, cloaked in imperial black, walking—not as a ruler, but as a force of nature—through the veins of my empire.

Yesterday was gold.

Today would be soil and shelter.

I wasn't here to throw riches like confetti—I was here to plant legacies, to give the very ground itself to those who had earned it. Not by noise, not by titles—but by something far rarer: quiet loyalty.

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District 9 – The Builders' Alley

I saw a woman pouring concrete with her bare hands. Skin blistered. Clothes torn at the edges.

I walked up. "How long have you done this?"

She looked at me, stunned. "Thirteen years, my Lord. No permits. No land of my own. I just... keep building for others."

I signaled my elite.

A drone descended, scanning her biometrics. I tapped once on the holo-pad.

"You now own five plots in the Northern Sector. Prime estate. Fully registered under your name. No tax. Build what you want. And a construction company to your name—Blackwood Masonry."

She fell to her knees.

"I don't know how to thank you…"

I leaned in. "Build something immortal."

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District 4 – Artisan's Cross

I passed a man sketching a mural on a cracked wall. It was unfinished, but I could already see it: children rising from chains, reaching toward the sun. I saw my emblem hidden in the horizon.

"Is this yours?" I asked.

He nodded, nervous. "They said it was too political. I wasn't paid."

I turned to one of my elite. "Find the property owner. Seize the wall. Make it public domain."

The man gasped.

"You now own the building behind it," I added. "And a plot in the artistic belt. Let every wall you touch speak of this empire. Your art is now state-funded."

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Sector 12 – The Forgotten Fields

I passed an elderly couple tending a dying garden.

They didn't look up. They didn't recognize me. They just kept watering what little life remained in their soil.

I stood beside them.

The man said, "You here to buy tomatoes, son?"

I smiled. "No. I'm here to give you better land."

He squinted. "We're too old to move."

I knelt in the dirt with them.

"Then we bring the land to you."

I granted them 50 acres of farmland, fertile and irrigated. A house, rebuilt with tech-controlled systems. And five young workers, paid by the state, to help them tend their crops.

They still didn't recognize me.

But the old woman touched my hand and said, "Thank you, kind boy."

And that was more than enough.

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District 5 – Burnt Rows

Here lived the forgotten. Those who had lost homes during the rebellion. People sleeping in makeshift sheds. Families in ruins.

I didn't call for a rally.

I simply walked street by street, handpicking those whose pain spoke volumes in silence.

A young man—an amputee from the border war—saluted me from a wheelchair. His house had no roof.

"Your land is now in the Royal Quarter," I said. "Two stories. Fully adapted. The state owes you more than one limb can pay."

A widow with three daughters tried to hide when she saw me. She had nothing but a mat and a broken door.

I entered and said, "This street is now under your name. Ten houses. Renovated. Rent-free. You'll oversee them as community manager."

By noon, hundreds had been granted homes, thousands given land.

No media. No pomp.

Just the empire re-rooting itself through my presence.

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Evening – A Hill Outside the Capital

I climbed alone. No guards. No words. Just me and the empire below, glowing in twilight.

And I said to the wind,

"We are not measured by the wealth we hoard... but by the futures we ignite."

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