Kael Voss strode slowly out of the Verdant Bio-Dome's eastern cultivation sector, his boots crunching softly on a bed of desiccated bio-engineered fern fronds. Following the familiar alloy walkway that snaked up the slopes of Aurora Peak, he set his sights on the distant gravitational cascade—where Gareth "Wraith" Stone trained relentlessly in the Bio-Armor Reinforcement Technique.
He had no urgent tasks on his schedule. For the past week, his daily ritual of visiting Gareth had been driven by little more than amusement; he couldn't help but grin at the way his friend gritted his teeth, muscles bulging against the cascade's crushing gravitational force as he endured the technique's brutal cellular restructuring.
That Bio-Armor Technique was no trivial feat. Even the first tier demanded unimaginable torment—muscle fibers tearing and regrowing, bone density amplifying under stress that felt like a planet's weight. Kael shuddered to think what the higher tiers held; they'd likely strip a person's body down to its genetic core and rebuild it from scratch.
"Gareth must be regretting it by now," Kael mused, kicking at a discarded piece of rusted alloy scrap as he walked. "That technique's ferocity is way beyond what any of us frontier kids imagined." He'd already resolved to ask Dr. Thorne if Gareth could switch to a less brutal protocol once they'd settled into their apprenticeships. The thought of helping his friend escape such agony lifted his spirits slightly.
Glancing up at the vegetation lining the walkway, Kael noted the telltale signs of the dome's artificial seasonal cycle—gene-modified evergreens shedding their silvered needles, their branches bare against the soft glow of the aurora. The path was carpeted in a thick layer of these needles and dried synthetic vines, making each step cushioned and silent. It was a rare moment of tranquility in the Conglomerate's high-stakes training grounds.
Suddenly, the distant clang of energy weapons and shouted cheers cut through the calm. Kael's gaze snapped toward the source—a plateau to the north, where Cadet Mentors oversaw combat drills for new core apprentices. The trainees wielded quantum blades that hummed with blue energy, their movements enhanced by basic gene augmentations as they sparred in pairs.
A twinge of envy gnawed at Kael's chest. He'd watched these drills countless times, longing to grip a quantum blade himself, to test his reflexes in real combat instead of endless meditative cultivation. But Dr. Thorne had forbidden it—ever since Kael had become his probationary apprentice, the elder scientist had barred him from all combat training, insisting it would disrupt his progress in the Unnamed Gene Calibration Protocol.
"It's not fair," Kael muttered under his breath. While other apprentices honed their fighting skills and grew stronger by the day, his own progress felt negligible. The Unnamed Protocol had granted him sharper focus and boundless stamina, but nothing tangible—no enhanced strength, no energy blasts, nothing that would let him hold his own in a fight. Even Gareth, after just two months of the Bio-Armor Technique, had grown bulkier, his skin tougher, his punches powerful enough to crack synthetic steel.
Yet Kael couldn't deny the truth: without Dr. Thorne's mentorship, he'd still be scavenging energy shards on his homeworld, struggling to keep his family's life support running. The credits he sent home each month—earned through his apprenticeship—had lifted them out of starvation. So he bit back his complaints, consoling himself that the protocol's benefits would reveal themselves in time.
Shaking off his gloomy thoughts, Kael let his gaze wander aimlessly over the walkway's edges. His mind was still wandering when his boot came down hard on something solid hidden beneath the needle bed.
"Argh!" Kael sucked in a sharp breath, his face contorting in pain. He dropped to his knees, clamping both hands around his right foot, his thumb pressing firmly against the throbbing toe. The agony was searing—worse than the radiation burns he'd endured as a child—and he collapsed onto his side, grass and needles sticking to his sweat-dampened tunic. His vision blurred for a moment, and he could feel his toe swelling rapidly beneath his synthetic fiber boot.
"It must be a chunk of solid carbon-titanium," he groaned, wincing as he probed the area through his boot. The Conglomerate's construction projects often left behind discarded alloy scraps, but none had ever hurt this badly. He worried his toe was bruised or fractured—any injury that slowed his movements would interfere with his cultivation.
After several minutes, the sharp pain faded to a dull ache. Kael propped himself up on one elbow, scanning the needle-strewn ground for the culprit. The dried foliage was a uniform grayish-silver, making it nearly impossible to spot anything hidden beneath. Frustrated, he grabbed a thick, fallen branch from the edge of the path, used it to steady himself as he stood, and began poking and scraping at the debris.
His efforts paid off when the branch struck something hard, sending a small object skittering across the walkway.
Kael leaned down, his curiosity overriding his discomfort. The object was roughly the size of his fist, shaped like a cylindrical vessel with a narrow neck—similar to the nutrient paste containers in the dome, but far more ornate. It was caked in dust and grime, its surface dulled to a uniform earthy brown that concealed its true material.
He picked it up, surprised by its weight. It felt far heavier than any synthetic or ceramic container he'd ever held—dense, as if forged from some rare alloy. "Metal?" he murmured, turning it over in his hands. Metal vessels were uncommon in the Conglomerate; most storage containers were made of lightweight polymers or bio-engineered plastics. This one felt ancient, its edges worn smooth by time.
Brushing the dirt off the neck of the vessel with his thumb, Kael uncovered a glint of emerald green beneath the grime. As he rubbed harder, the true material emerged—an iridescent green alloy etched with intricate, leaf-like patterns that shimmered faintly in the aurora's light. At the top, a small, seamless cap sealed the opening, fitting so perfectly it looked as if the vessel had been forged in one piece.
"Could there be something inside?" Kael wondered, holding the vessel up to his ear and shaking it gently. There was no sound, no hint of movement—whatever it contained, if anything, was either solid or sealed in a vacuum. He tried twisting the cap, grunting with effort, but it wouldn't budge, as if fused to the neck.
His curiosity burned brighter, but a sudden twinge of pain from his toe jolted him back to reality. He'd completely forgotten about his injury in his fascination with the vessel. Glancing down, he saw his boot toe was already swollen and discolored—definitely bruised, if not fractured.
Gareth's training session would have to wait. He needed to get back to his quarters, apply a cell-repair serum to his toe, and then—finally—examine this mysterious find properly.
Kael slipped the vessel into the inner pocket of his tunic, ignoring the dirt that rubbed off onto his clothes. He didn't want anyone else to see it—there was something about its ancient design and unusual weight that made him wary of sharing his discovery. Limping slightly, he turned away from the gravitational cascade and headed back toward his cabin, his mind racing with questions.
What was this vessel made of? What did it contain? And why had it been discarded on a remote walkway of Aurora Peak? As he walked, he could swear he felt a faint warmth emanating from the alloy, as if the vessel itself was alive with dormant energy.