The market sector was a ghost town, locked down and barricaded with pulsing, holographic police tape. Lieutenant Verza Zal arrived on the scene, her boots clicking on the grime-covered pavement as she walked past the strips of light. She saw the Accord forensic team already at work, their scanners casting pools of blue light over the scattered, armored bodies of the downed troopers.
Verza knelt, her black gloves a stark contrast to the dirty street. Her grey BSO half-cape was slung over her left shoulder, leaving the three gleaming insignia on her right chest clearly visible. The forensic team leader saw her and snapped to a salute. "Obey and Prosper, Lieutenant."
Verza nodded curtly. "What killed them?"
One of the forensic techs, kneeling over a pockmark in a trooper's white chest plate, looked up. "A gold pebble, ma'am."
Verza held out her gloved hand. The tech placed the small, strangely glittering nugget into her palm. She gestured for a scanner. Her right-hand man, Lieutenant Ret Breind, swiftly handed one to her. She scanned the gold. Just as she'd suspected: a high-energy mineral, identical to the ones from the BOLO report.
"How can a raw gold pebble pierce Legion armor?" she asked, her voice a cold, analytical whisper. "I understand the casualties in civilian clothes and the Nexon security uniforms, but this armor is rated to withstand several Solcore bursts at peak condition."
"That is what we suspect, Lieutenant," the forensic tech replied. "The velocity and kinetic energy required... it would have to be a high-level Striker-class Solar."
"No." The voice came from the Legion captain who had been leading the pursuit. He stood nearby, his arm in a medical sling. "He was an irregular. He manifested weapons, swords and a dagger from thin air. Then, as he fled, he manifested a slingshot and fired these... gold ores."
Verza let out a long, slow sigh. This was infinitely more complicated. She dropped the gold pebble into an evidence bag. "Record and take out every single one." She then stood and began walking toward Mr. Triabdi's store.
As they walked, she and Ret passed several more downed Legion troopers, their white armor scarred and dented. "Such a waste," Ret muttered, his voice full of disdain. "Most of them should have died in a more glorious battle, not a market skirmish."
"Not a lot of them died," Verza corrected him, her voice sharp. "Thanks to the rapid response team, they arrived in a timely manner. Most of these men will see another deployment."
They arrived at Triabdi's store. Verza saw the Kalamoran inside, shaking in a corner, wrapped in a BSO-issued thermal blanket.
"Mr. Triabdi," she said, her voice soft. "We meet again."
Triabdi practically leaped off the chair, standing ramrod straight. "I gave you his minerals!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. "I do not know who he is, really! I just found out his name, he said it was Bepoo! Please, I am innocent!"
Verza calmly took the bag of minerals Dorian had left on the counter. "Thank you for cooperating with the investigation," she said, handing the bag to Ret. She then knelt on the ground. Her black-gloved fingers traced the residue of the fight. She saw them: deep, clean slash marks in the plasteel floor, the walls, and the counter. The work of a blade, not a blaster.
…
Dorian stumbled into the apartment, the door hissing shut and sealing with a heavy, final thud. He leaned against it, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. He was alive. He was lucky. He was an idiot.
He slid down the door and slumped onto the dusty couch, his entire body trembling from the adrenaline crash. He grabbed the remote and turned on the holo-screen, letting the mind-numbing noise of a generic grav-ball game wash over him, a desperate attempt to dampen the screaming in his own head.
What he needed now was to relax, to get his head straight. Lyra was about to take her early graduation exams. Sooner or later, she would be given a choice, a path to her own focused academy. Whatever she chose, he would support her. As long as it was not Aethelgard. Never Aethelgard. Marcus... Marcus was still carefree, lost in his own world. That was a blessing.
The problem was this place. This apartment. This planet. He was not safe here. The BSO was now hunting a "Bepoo." The Legion was on every street corner. He just had to hope Ratik found a new planet for them, and fast.
…
Six Months Later...
[Aethelgard Academy - Headmaster's Office]
A high-ranking Luprime Identifier was visiting the academy. This should have been a great occasion, a cause for celebration. For Headmaster Jasrun Dovan, it was a nightmare. He stood sweating in his own office, a polite, terrified smile plastered on his Gunnossian face.
Tala Felaeon, a human woman with eyes that seemed to burn with a cold, inner power, stood staring out his window, her hands clasped behind her back. Identifiers were rare, irregular Solars who possessed the unique, almost mystical ability to sense the potential of an Awakening in a child. And Tala Felaeon was one of the most powerful Identifiers in the Accord.
She had a special child, one she had found on Nexus Prime years ago. A potential she had never seen before in all her decades of service, a power that was off the charts. She knew, the moment she saw him, that it was not time to give him to the Accord. Not yet. He needed to be groomed, protected, and monitored. So she had arranged the scholarship to Aethelgard herself, a quiet way to keep her prize safe, intending to snatch him up the moment he Awakened and present him to the Celestarch as a personal, loyalty-defining gift.
And now, her prize was gone.
"Where," she said, her voice a low, cold whisper, "is Dorian Elias Kepler?"
Jasrun's sweat began to bead on his pale forehead. "Identifier Felaeon, I am sure he is just mixed up in our database. A simple clerical error..." He snapped his fingers at Faculty Head Ororili, who was standing in the corner, looking equally terrified. "Search the name. Dorian Elias Kepler. Immediately."
Ororili, who remembered the name and the infamous withdrawal form she had drafted herself, felt her blood run cold. "Ma'am," she said, her voice barely audible. "We... we kicked him out. One and a half years ago. He... signed a resignation letter."
Tala turned from the window, her movement slow, deliberate. The air around her seemed to shimmer, to warp, as if buckling under the pressure of her suppressed, irregular power. "You. Kicked. Him. Out."
Her voice was a cold, furious blade.
"BRING HIM BACK TO THIS ACADEMY!" she roared, her control finally shattering. "YOU RUINED MY CHILD!"
Jasrun flinched, scrambling back. "Ororili!" he shrieked, his own authority vanishing in the face of her raw, terrifying power. "Contact the school administration! Deploy a staff transport! Get to Dorian Kepler's residence now and bring him back to this campus!"
…
A fast, light Corvette-class ship, painted in the pristine white and red of Aethelgard Academy, looked glaringly out of place as it landed on a grimy platform in the lower levels of Nexus Prime. A staff administrator, his uniform immaculate, stepped out and looked at the surrounding decay with an expression of pure distaste. He found the apartment number and knocked, the sound overly polite in the tense, quiet corridor.
A heavy hiss preceded the door sliding open. The staffer was greeted not by a human, but by a tall, lanky Zynar with three-jointed limbs. It was Jakor.
"Good afternoon," the staffer said, his voice tight. "Is there... an ex-student by the name of Dorian Elias Kepler residing here?"
Jakor scratched his head, a long, three-fingered hand running over his scalp. "Kepler? No. Sold this place to me two months ago."
The staffer's eyes widened in pure, unadulterated panic. "What? Two... two months? Do you know where he is now? A forwarding address? A new sector?"
"Hell if I know," Jakor grumbled, already starting to close the door. "Leave. I have got work to do."
"Please!" The staffer lunged forward, his hand holding the door open. "You do not understand! My head is on the line! I must find him!"
Jakor's annoyance flared. "Leave," he growled, "or I will call Nexon Security." Just as he said it, a two-man Nexon security patrol, their blue and grey uniforms a familiar sight, rounded the corner. Jakor seized the opportunity. "Security!" he shouted. "This man is trying to force his way into my house!"
The Nexon officers, who likely dealt with Jakor daily, assessed the situation: a known local merchant versus an uppity Aethelgard official, way out of his jurisdiction. "Sir," one officer said to the staffer, his hand on his holstered pistol, "please step away from the door. You are causing a disturbance."
The other officer turned to Jakor. "Do you mind if we copy the door cam footage for the report, sir?"
"By all means," Jakor said. "Get him out of here."
The officer scanned her wristband over the door's security panel, copying the last five minutes of footage. "Be safe," she said to Jakor. He nodded. "Yeah, thanks." The Nexon patrol then began to firmly escort the protesting, frantic Aethelgard staffer away.
Jakor went back inside, the door hissing shut. The apartment's interior was unrecognizable. It was now a high-tech communications hub, with holographic maps flickering on the walls and data streams scrolling across multiple monitors. Ula, the massive Neman, sat at a console, monitoring the data feeds.
"Who was it?" Ula rumbled, not looking up.
"Just some Aethelgard staffer," Jakor said, grabbing a stim-drink. "Trying to find Dorian."
Ula's huge hands stopped moving. "Aethelgard? Why? Is it about this?"
Jakor looked at the central console, at the complex, invisible network Dorian had built for them, piggybacking on the Accord's own secured channels.
Jakor answered his question. "No way. If the Accord knew about this, they would be sending Legion troopers, not a terrified academy bookworm. Even our own revolutionary cells do not know how we are communicating."
Ula was silent for a long moment, then nodded. "Great. Prepare the shuttle for five hours from now. I have got an asset I need to acquire."
"Dropping supplies or picking up an asset?" Jakor asked, using their code.
"Pick up," Ula said, standing. "Monitor the transmission for me. I need to get ready."
"Aye, boss," Jakor replied, his three-fingered hands already flying across the console.
…
[Aethelgard - Headmaster's Office]
The situation had become grim. The news of the staffer's arrest by local security had sent Jasrun into a full-blown panic. Tala Felaeon just stood by the window, her back to them, her silence more terrifying than any scream.
"He is gone, Identifier," Ororili said, her voice trembling as she read the report. "He sold the apartment two months ago. No forwarding address."
"Find one," Tala said, her voice dangerously quiet.
"Ah, ma'am," Ororili stammered, "there is a fellow student. Someone who was close to him. Juno Park. She came to my office months after he left... she even used her father's name, Alexei Park, to demand information on his withdrawal."
Tala turned, her head snapping around, her cold, powerful eyes finally showing a flicker of interest. "The Apex Guild Master's daughter? A Nullbreaker? She was close to him?"
"Yes, Identifier."
Tala looked at Jasrun, who was standing frozen in terror. "Call her. Now."
"Yes! Of course, Identifier, right away!" Jasrun fumbled with his desk console. A moment later, the call connected, and Juno's holographic image, crisp and clear in training suits, materialized on the headmaster's desk.
She looked surprised, then her expression turned wary, her eyes hardening as she saw who was in the room.
"Headmaster Dovan," she said, her voice cool and professional. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Jasrun Dovan got straight to the point, his voice a tight, nervous squeak. "Student Park, do you know an ex-student by the name of Dorian Elias Kepler?"
Juno's hologram looked at him, then at Ororili, and finally at the imposing figure of Tala Felaeon. Her expression was one of cool, professional politeness. "Yes, Headmaster," she said. "But I have not seen him for quite a while, though."
Ororili leaned forward, her voice anxious. "Do you still have his contact number? Or his current residence?"
Juno's face put on a convincing mask of old, sad resignation. "Did he move? Sorry, but after he left the academy, he... he cut me off. After that, I never saw him again."
Jasrun Dovan's world collapsed. He could feel Tala's patience break, the very air in the room feeling colder, heavier. By the time this call ended, he might as well be dead.
"Thank you, student," Ororili said, her voice a hollow whisper, and she quickly cut the call.
Tala Felaeon stood in the silence, her face an unreadable mask. She tapped her wristband, a small holo-comm popping up. Her fingers moved, typing out a single, silent judgment. A message to her superiors, detailing the failure of the Aethelgard branch to secure the asset. It was the end of Jasrun Dovan's career.
She then stood, her movements smooth and graceful. "Thank you for your time, Jasrun," she said, her voice devoid of all emotion. "And good luck with your future endeavors."
And that was it. He was finished. Jasrun Dovan could only drop his head, his hands clasped on his desk. "Thank you, Identifier." At least, he thought, he was not dead... for now.
…
[Apex Guild Training Hall]
Juno finished her sparring drill and immediately checked her wristband.
{hey, headmaster call me.}
A reply came back almost instantly. {yeah? what did you say.}
{as you requested, i said you cut me off. they bought it.}
{thanks, i owe you one.}
{is it really necessary?} Juno texted, a flicker of genuine worry in her.
{yes, its just safety precaution.}
{you become too paranoid, dorian.}
{better be safe than sorry.}
Juno rolled her eyes, a small smile on her face. {just say that you just wanna swim on your new found wealth.}
{oh isnt it ironic the heir of apex guild lecturing me on wealth.}
Juno just sent back a single, smug {ehe} sticker.
…
[On the Edge of the Mid-Rim, Planet: Friton]
On a simple, peaceful planet where nature still thrived, a new, grand house sat on several acres of lush, green land. A herd of Muurbeasts, docile, wooly herbivores, grazed peacefully in a large pasture. Nearby, a flock of Zilka Hen, small, chicken-like creatures with iridescent, crystal-like feathers, roamed freely.
This was the new Kepler home, a property Ratik had found for an astonishingly low price, its only downside being its complete lack of public starliner access.
John, no longer covered in the grime of the mines, was tending to the Zilka Hen, a look of simple, uncomplicated peace on his face. He saw Dorian and Ratik, both dressed in sharp, professional suits, walking towards the property's landing pad.
"Oh, Ratik, Dorian," he called out, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Where are you two going, all dressed up like that?"
Dorian, a confident, easy smile on his face, turned. "Buy some ships, Dad."
John could not have been more shocked. His boy, his son... he had become a man while he was not looking. He just sighed, a sound of pure, unadulterated pride. "Just... do not forget to save your money, you hear?"
Dorian laughed, a warm, genuine sound that rolled across the open field. "No need to worry, Dad. From here on out, there is only up."
⋘ 𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒂.. .⋙
🎮: Stardwey Valley: Completed.
🎬: -
♬:
- Your Song – Elton John (ch.9)
- A Lovely Night – La La Land (ch.20)
- Merry Go Round of Life – Howl's Moving Castle (ch.25)
- Small Fragile Hearts – Victor Lundberg (ch. 27)
- Skyfall – Adele (ch. 29)
- No Time To Die – Billie Eilish (ch. 30)
- Yesterday – The Beatles (ch. 32)
**A/N**
Hey everyone, KujoW here👋
First off, thank you, thank you, thank you for reading this far.🙏🏻 It means the world to me that you've stuck with this silly little novel of mine. With Arc 1 wrapped up, I wanted to share a few thoughts on the journey so far.
To be completely honest, Dorian started as a bit of a self-insert. That white streak of hair? Yeah, that's from my own avatar, hehe. But as I kept writing him and building the world around him, he really started to become his own person.
It was a weird process. I actually had to delete several chapters, I'm not kidding, like 2 or 3 of them! because I realized I was forcing him back into an old, circular arc. I tend to get tunnel-vision on the world-building, and my "forever DM" brain kicks in. In my D&D campaigns, I'm always the 'horizontal and the vertical' of the world. I build everything. But with this story, I had to learn to stop being the world-builder and start being the character. I had to learn to let Dorian's decisions, his fears, and his passions guide the story, not my grand, pre-planned plot.
My original plan for the Accord was... well, pretty generic. I was going to make them a big, faceless corporation that managed "portal dungeons," just like you see in a lot of manhwa.
But in the end, I realized it was more interesting to make them a grounded, authoritarian government. I really want to show the suffocating choke hold the Accord has on its people, all built on their single, insidious motto: "Obey and Prosper."
The core theme I'm exploring is that the Accord's need for absolute, sterile control is so desperate because it is a violation of life itself. Tyranny takes constant, exhausting effort.
And then comes Dorian.
He's not trying to be a revolutionary. He's just a kid trying to survive and protect his family. But his creations, his games and his music spark emotion. And for me emotion is a pure idea. It occurs spontaneously, without instruction. It's the one thing the Accord can't schedule, can't regulate, and can't control.
That's what I wanted to establish in this first arc: Dorian is the unintentional spark of a revolution. In the next arcs, we're going to dive a lot deeper into that fire.
A Question for You All:
This story is, in many ways, a love letter to the art that shaped me. But I want to know what shaped you.
So, what are your all-time favorite games, songs, or movies? What's that one piece of art that just sticks with you?
More importantly, how did it make you feel?
Drop your recommendations and your memories in the comments. Who knows, maybe your "Stardew Valley" or "Your Song" will give me some new ideas for the future!
Thanks again for reading my novel. See you in the next one!
~ KujoW🧣