High above the cityscape, in a sleek, metallic tower in the Neo-Goryeo District, executives of NovaCorp gathered around a floating holo-table. The interface pulsed with data streams, charts, and glowing schematics of unknown devices. The conversation was quiet, measured, but each word carried weight.
The executives themselves were the picture of precision and status — tailored suits that gleamed under the light of the holo-panels, sharp features, and eyes that seemed to read more than just numbers. Their discussion hinted at far-reaching designs.
"Our new software platform is nearly ready," one said, eyes scanning a holographic map. "The bloodline fragments are critical. Once secured from the mission, evolution advances beyond expectation."
Another adjusted his sleek, cybernetic wrist implant. "The academy will send the students into the abandoned districts. We don't interfere directly. But ensure the fragments reach our systems."
Meanwhile, in a shadowed chamber across the continent, the Takayama Family, a prominent Japanese lineage, spoke in hushed tones. The patriarch, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, leaned over a scroll of encrypted records. "This mission is a test," he murmured. "Not merely of skill, but of opportunity. Those who succeed will gain leverage in the fluxion. Our students are already in place within the academy, watching, waiting. We move carefully. No one must know our true hand."
Behind them, their children and young disciples trained in private, disciplined movements, unaware that their parents' gaze followed every potential misstep. The family's eyes gleamed with pride and calculation, their heritage evident in disciplined posture and subtle energy control that only few outside the sect could recognize.
Far from both the corporate towers and family halls, the fluxion government maintained authority over the abandoned districts. Though they controlled the terrain, they had supplied the corporations and sects with mysterious artifacts that could be summoned in critical moments — items whose true potential was not yet revealed, even to the students. The executives and sects spoke around them carefully, hinting at power and influence but never revealing the full scope of their plans.
Inside the academy, instructors Selene and Darius continued teaching, preparing students for what they could control. The Rust District boy — still unknown to corporations, families, and sects alike — trained quietly, unaware of the subtle threads of destiny already woven around him.
The floating gates opened the next morning. Students ascended levitating platforms that would carry them into the abandoned district. Below, the terrain waited — wild, dangerous, alive. Mountains twisted unnaturally, rivers reversed, and beasts shaped by the Cosmic Rupture prowled through the shadows.
The boardrooms were silent, the families whispered, the artifacts remained dormant. But the game had begun.
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