The neon sky above Vaidhar's western province flickered with the artificial gleam of a long-forgotten satellite array—one of many relics left behind after the rise of cultivation energy began to disrupt modern systems. Most didn't work anymore. But they still blinked. Like ghosts in the sky.
Below, the village of Velhara Sector-73 buzzed with quiet life.
Metal housing units, weather-worn but stable, stretched out in uneven lines across the hills. Light poles, powered by modified spirit cores, flickered dimly in the streets. Drones weren't allowed in this region anymore—the atmospheric density of martial energy would fry their circuits within minutes.
The people had adapted.
They built with their hands, tempered tools with qi-infused steel, and kept their tech limited to what could coexist with their cultivation systems. Ancient tech coiled with modern dreams.
And in this evolving chaos, two boys clashed beneath the violet dusk.
A ring of children gathered to watch. Not on stone or sand—but on soft martial turf, a synthetic battlefield designed to mimic pressure resistance and body feedback. A product of old science, repurposed for new warriors.
Kane charged like a beast set loose—wearing force-absorption gloves, his fists blurred through the air as he unleashed strike after strike. Every blow cracked with raw physical strength, powered not just by muscle, but by the early sparks of energy coursing through his veins.
Across from him, the other boy didn't wear gloves. Or gear. Or any sign of spirit-tech.
Raizel.
Barefoot, blindfolded, back straight.
He was silent—always was. His presence felt... wrong. Like someone who didn't belong to this time, or perhaps any time at all.
Kane roared as he went for a sweeping kick—only for his leg to be caught mid-air.
Raizel moved with practiced fluidity, spinning and placing a palm gently on Kane's chest, sending him tumbling.
"Oof—!" Kane groaned. "How the hell did you even see that coming?"
Raizel didn't answer. He tilted his head slightly, sensing the faint vibration of energy running under the artificial training pad.
He didn't know why he trained so hard.
No one forced him. There was no exam, no elder breathing down his neck. But something inside him kept screaming: Prepare.
And so he did. Every night. Every morning. He trained in silence.
From the deck of an old auto-forge workshop, a man watched with crossed arms.
Kain Varthas.
A former General-Class cultivator of the Empire. Retired, by choice. He had once commanded sky fleets that moved between sectors, fought off invaders from rogue factions, and even brokered peace with the Upper Tier Mercenary Halls.
Now he was a blacksmith who rarely left his village perimeter.
And yet… people still bowed their heads when he passed.
He wasn't Raizel's father. But he'd raised him like one. Just as he had raised Kane.
Brothers by bond, not blood. The kind of bond you don't choose—it chooses you.
By night, the lights of Velhara were dim. Solar panels powered by beast cores flickered on rooftops, keeping only essential buildings alive: the water node, the training square, and the shrine complex—where ancient tech merged with martial engravings from a forgotten time.
Elder Milos stood atop the commune platform, beside a faded screen that once displayed satellite data but now only showed looping glyphs.
"The Vaidhar Empire once stood shoulder to shoulder with the Corelight Sovereignty," he said to the gathered youth, many seated on the low alloy benches that buzzed with spirit insulation. "We had weapons that could warp reality, soldiers who rode lightning, and a guardian relic that chose a champion every ten cycles."
He pointed eastward, where the shadow of a broken skyscraper towered like a forgotten monument.
"It has been one hundred and twenty years since the last Trial of Fates. The artifact has not chosen. Not even once."
"It's a myth," someone said.
Elder Milos looked them dead in the eye. "So are you. Until you're not."
That night, Raizel stared up at the sky from atop the rusted skeleton of a long-dead drone tank. The stars blinked. Some were satellites. Others… weren't.
He didn't know who he was before this village.
Just that he hated a name he couldn't remember.
Just that he feared silence—but lived inside it anyway.
Inside his chest, something stirred. Something deep. Something not human.
A transmission crackled to life at the village watchtower.
[Scout Unit #4 offline. Bio-signatures terminated. Unknown anomaly detected. Northern woods. Location: Dusk Hollow.]
Kain Varthas stood in silence.
A few elders whispered. A young tech apprentice paled.
"Three men are dead," someone said. "Horribly."
And still Kain said nothing. Only looked at Kane. Then at Raizel.
They didn't hesitate.
"Gear up," Kane muttered, already grabbing his force sleeves.
Raizel said nothing. Just walked.
They didn't know it yet, but this was where the thread would begin.
Not with a prophecy. Not with a miracle.
Just two boys walking into the dark.
And somewhere far away—a forgotten artifact blinked for the first time in decades.
Awaiting the the one which can accept him.
End of Chapter