The city bathed in golden light.
Tall towers shimmered like giants of glass and steel, their windows catching the morning sun in brilliant glints. Birds wheeled silently across a pale-blue sky, and the wind hummed soft music through the leaves lining the avenue. Traffic murmured in orderly chaos — just enough to feel alive, but not yet loud enough to drown the world.
And in the midst of it all, walking with poise and precision, was a man who drew eyes without trying.
Jake Virell.
CEO of DynaCore Global, one of the most powerful corporate engines on the continent. At only twenty-one, he was already a name that carried weight — the kind of man newspapers speculated about and executives envied in silence. Yet he didn't carry himself with arrogance. No flash, no swagger — just quiet authority and effortless charm.
His crisp white shirt hugged his broad shoulders with tailored perfection. His grey formal trousers moved with sharp lines, and his polished black shoes struck the footpath with a rhythmic, calculated tap. Passersby turned their heads. Some recognized him instantly. Others simply sensed that rare aura — a presence that couldn't be bought or taught.
But Jake's mind wasn't on his success today.
No… not today.
As he walked toward the shimmering black-and-silver tower of DynaCore, he touched the inside of his coat pocket. His fingers brushed velvet — the small box still there, still real.
The ring.
Simple. Elegant. One he'd spent months designing himself — not with gold or diamonds, but with memory and meaning.
He closed his eyes briefly.
After today… I'll ask her.
Everything he had built — all the expansion, the partnerships, the reputation — wasn't just for power. It was a promise, forged long ago under the stars beside someone who made him believe in more than success.
He hadn't told anyone. Not even her.
But today was the day.
He stopped at a busy intersection. The pedestrian light flashed red. Across the street, the DynaCore building towered high — a structure of dark-glass panels and steel wings, as if part of it wanted to take flight.
Jake smiled softly. Not many things stirred his heart anymore — not after the past he'd locked away — but this moment felt different.
The light turned green.
He stepped forward.
Shoes touched the painted white lines of the zebra crossing. Around him, other pedestrians moved in rhythm, but time itself seemed to slow as the light above changed.
One step. Two steps. The city was quiet, peaceful.
Then it happened.
A shift.
No sound. No warning. Just a ripple — like someone had thrown a stone into the pond of reality.
Jake's body tensed. His breath caught in his throat. Every instinct — some long-buried, forgotten in this lifetime — screamed at once.
He turned.
And saw it.
A beam of white light — razor-thin and blinding — shot forward from behind, silent as a ghost.
His eyes widened. His body moved.
Too slow.
The beam tore clean through his chest.
His back arched. His feet lifted. The world… stopped.
---
Everything froze.
A child with an ice cream cone mid-step. A pigeon flapping its wings, suspended in air. A bus locked inches from the curb, tires stilled mid-spin.
Jake remained standing, upright, as if untouched.
But he wasn't.
He looked down slowly.
A perfect hole glowed in the center of his chest — not burned, not bleeding, but filled with light. No pain, just... emptiness. As if something vital had been plucked from him without effort.
Then he looked up.
Across the street. High above.
On the rooftop of a building — silhouetted against the morning sun — stood a figure.
Tall. Cloaked in long black. Face shadowed by the angle. Unmoving.
Yet Jake knew. Knew with certainty.
This wasn't a stranger. He had seen this figure before — in dreams, in fragments, in other lives he couldn't remember clearly. There was a familiarity deeper than blood. But no comfort.
Only dread.
His lips moved. The word came out hoarse, hollow.
"...Why?"
His legs gave out.
He collapsed soundlessly onto the crossing.
And the world, so full a moment ago, now felt impossibly still.
---
The figure at top of the rooftop laughed.
Softly at first — a breath of amusement — then louder, darker. A sound not meant for mortal ears.
"Oh, Jake…" the figure said, voice smooth as poisoned silk. "Still so predictable."
The cloaked man stepped to the edge of the roof, hands tucked behind his back like a teacher surveying a failed student.
"You gave up all that power... everything you were… for her?"
His head tilted slightly.
"A mortal woman. Fragile. Fading. Insignificant."
He chuckled again.
"Well. It's over now."
One hand raised.
Dark energy spiraled from his palm, gathering into a burning crimson sphere, etched with runes that shimmered and twisted. The very space around it distorted.
"I'll erase your soul completely. No rebirth. No return. Just... gone."
He cast the spell.
But…
Nothing happened.
The figure blinked.
Then frowned.
He tried again — deeper, stronger, with true intent.
Still… nothing.
His smile vanished.
"What…?"
He extended his senses.
His energy probed into Jake's body on the street below. He scanned every thread of spiritual presence, every echo of a soul.
There was nothing.
The body was an empty shell.
Then realization struck like thunder.
"KRYPTO!!!" he bellowed, fury tearing through his voice.
The skies above the city rumbled as his divine anger shattered the air itself.
"You interfered! You stole him from under my strike?! For him?!"
The cloaked figure's aura exploded, warping the building beneath him. Rooftop tiles disintegrated. Glass cracked.
"You dare defy ME for that mortal?!"
His hand trembled — not from fear, but fury.
He stretched his senses wide, slicing through layers of illusion, ripping through space and spell until he found it — tucked in a fold of this small world, hidden behind ancient barriers.
A presence.
Krypto.
"Found you."
With a savage roar, he raised both hands, forming a ball of raw destruction — red, black, and alive with unrestrained death. The runes around it pulsed violently. The wind howled. The very ground below him shuddered.
He hurled it with a scream.
The attack raced forward — not toward Jake, but toward the hidden fold in space.
And then the world broke.
---
Inside a sealed sanctuary of glowing mist and geometric light, a man stood before a cocoon of radiant gold.
Krypto.
An immortal being, his robes glowing faintly in the fading light. His face was hidden beneath a golden-etched hood, his hands moving in fluid arcs, weaving stabilizing seals around the flickering soul trapped inside.
Jake's soul.
Cracked, fragile, unstable.
Krypto paused as the sky above split open.
He looked up.
"No…" he whispered. "He's already found me."
A distant roar shook the chamber. Cracks spread across the walls of the dimension. The fabric of this small world — already fragile — began to collapse.
And then, he saw it.
The incoming attack.
A mass of pure, world-breaking power — screaming toward them like a dying star.
"I have no time…" Krypto muttered, stepping toward the soul cocoon.
His palm rested over Jake's flickering essence. He closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry for everything. For hiding the truth. For letting you forget who you are."
The explosion drew closer.
"If you survive this…"
The seals around Jake's soul turned red, trying to hold, failing.
"…then you must return."
Krypto's eyes narrowed. His final whisper echoed through the collapsing chamber.
"The Thousand Worlds... need you."
And then ball came near krypto and exploded