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CHAPTER 2 — THE CRASHED KNIGHT
The shockwave from the crash still trembled through the metal dunes when the teens reached the Shatterfields. The air smelled of burning plasma. The ground glowed beneath their feet in long molten cracks.
The wreckage was impossible to miss.
A silver ship — sleek, arrow-shaped, and scorched black — lay buried in a jagged trench carved straight through the debris fields. Smoke hissed from shattered vents. Shards of cosmic energy flickered around the wreck, like lightning trapped in slow motion.
Kario felt his heart pounding.
This wasn't scrap.
This wasn't junk.
This was something powerful. Something dangerous.
And someone was alive inside.
He felt it.
 The First Sign
Sen raised a hand, signaling the others to stop.
Something moved near the hull — a silhouette dragging itself across metallic rubble.
Vexa reached for a scrap bar to use as a weapon.
Juno crouched, eyes sharp, already calculating escape routes.
Kario stepped forward before he even realized he'd moved.
"Wait—look."
He pointed.
The figure collapsed into the sand with a metallic clang.
 The Rebel
They approached cautiously.
The person lying in the sand wore cracked, medium-gray armor, streaked with glowing fractures. A long, slender weapon — a spear made of swirling cosmic matter — lay half-buried beside him, flickering like a dying star.
His breathing was shallow.
His face pale.
His armor branding unmistakable.
Two symbols burned on his shoulder plate:
A star wrapped in water — PWSP
slashed through with a diagonal mark —
and beneath it, the insignia of the ROPS Rebels of Primordial Space.
Vexa's eyes widened. "He's both? That doesn't make any sense—"
Juno whispered, "PWSP soldiers don't defect. They don't. They'd rather die."
Sen knelt beside the stranger, careful, gentle.
"He needs help."
Kario stared at the spear — at the swirling cosmic blade.
A Galaxyblade.
A real one.
His breath caught.
The stranger's eyes snapped open — bright blue, glowing faintly with gravitational distortion.
He grabbed Kario's wrist.
"You—" he choked out. "Stay back. They're coming."
Kario froze. "…Who's coming?"
The man's voice was a harsh whisper.
"PWSP Wave Trackers… they followed me through the drift…"
Vexa swore under her breath. "We need to leave. Now."
But the stranger wasn't done.
His hand tightened around Kario's wrist with surprising strength.
"You… what is your name?"
"Kario."
The man's gaze sharpened — recognition, disbelief, something like hope.
"You have the… the resonance."
He coughed, pain wracking his body.
"You can feel the Primordial frequencies, can't you? Even without training."
Kario opened his mouth—but no words came.
The Decision
The wind howled through the Shatterfields. Metallic shards rattled like chimes. Storm clouds rolled in overhead, dragging trails of purple static.
Juno scanned the horizon. "Guys. We don't have time for weird mystical crap. Look."
Three distant lights moved across the sky — blue, cold, and uniform.
PWSP patrol drones.
"Sen," Vexa said quickly, "can you carry him?"
Sen didn't hesitate. He lifted the man gently, like he weighed nothing.
"We're bringing him back to the shelter," Kario said.
Juno's head whipped around. "Are you insane? That's a PWSP fugitive and a ROPS rebel! If they find him with us—"
"They won't," Kario said, more confidently than he felt.
"And if we leave him here? He dies."
Vexa met Kario's eyes.
She hesitated only a second.
"…All right. I'm in."
Juno threw up his hands. "Fine. If we die, I'm haunting all of you."
Sen nodded once. "Let's go."
Together, they fled the crash site — sprinting across the glowing Shatterfields as the PWSP drones descended toward the smoking wreck.
Behind them, the stranger's voice murmured weakly.
"…Kario. Your name… it shouldn't be possible…"
Kario frowned. "Why not?"
The man managed a faint smile.
"Because you're supposed to be dead."
Kario stumbled mid-step.
"What?"
But the stranger had passed out again.
Vexa grabbed Kario's arm as they ran.
"Save the questions for later!"
The storm winds roared, swallowing their footprints.
The group raced toward the safety of the dunes — carrying the rebel who would change their destiny, and whose mere presence guaranteed the PWSP would hunt them now.
The moment they decided to save him…
their lives were no longer their own.