The twin suns of Epsilon-9 crept over the jagged horizon, painting the sky in shades of burning orange and bruised purple. Dusthaven Colony sprawled beneath them like a festering wound—endless rows of ramshackle habitats cobbled together from rusted ship hulls, scrap metal, and whatever salvage the wind blew in from crashed freighters. Smoke from illegal refineries hung thick in the air, mixing with the ever-present stench of unwashed bodies, spilled chemicals, and desperation.
In the distance, the inner city rose like a cruel mirage: gleaming towers of alloy and glass, shielded by energy domes that kept the toxic dust out and the privileged safe. Hover-vehicles zipped between spires, their anti-grav engines humming softly—luxuries the outer slums could only dream of. That world belonged to the nobles, the high-bloods, the ones born with Celestial Alliance crests branded on their wrists. This world—the slums, the dust, the constant fight for scraps—belonged to people like Kai Voss.
Kai trudged through the narrow alleys, boots crunching on broken plasteel shards. At nineteen, his body was already a map of survival: lean muscle forged from years of labor, scars crisscrossing his arms from beast claws and noble "lessons." His dark hair was cropped short to keep the dust out, and his gray eyes held a cold, calculating edge that made even hardened scavengers think twice before crossing him.
He adjusted the worn strap of his scavenged plasma cutter—a relic from some long-forgotten mining rig, patched together with wire and hope. The blade was duller than he'd like, but it still hummed when activated, and that was enough for the work ahead.
"Another day grinding away at nothing," he muttered under his breath, voice low and bitter.
The only real path to power in this universe lay through the Sanctuaries—mysterious dimensional rifts scattered across planets, remnants of some ancient civilization no one fully understood. Inside those unstable pockets of reality roamed countless ferocious creatures, each one carrying precious Aether Shards: crystalline fragments of pure evolutionary energy.
Kill a beast, extract its shard, refine the energy into your body. Accumulate Aether Points tier by tier: Base, Evolved, Sacred, Apex. Push far enough in a tier, and you could bind an Aether Spirit—a summonable weapon, armor set, shield, or even a full transformation form drawn from the beast's essence.
Stories abounded of frontier nobodies who struck gold in a Sanctuary, refined Apex Shards overnight, and rose to command fleets. But those were fairy tales for children. In reality, the Celestial Alliance controlled almost everything. Premium Sanctuary keys—stable, beast-rich, safe—were auctioned to the highest bidders: core-world clans, merchant conglomerates, military academies. A single key could cost more credits than an entire frontier colony earned in a decade.
Low-caste colonists like Kai were left with public rifts: unstable, poorly mapped, crawling with low-tier beasts and prone to deadly collapses. Entry was technically free, but "taxes" and bribes to local overseers ate up whatever meager earnings scavengers managed.
Kai had no illusions. He couldn't afford legitimate entry. Instead, he hunted the bleed zones—dangerous fringes where weaker beasts sometimes wandered out of the rift. It was illegal, of course. Poaching on "noble grounds," they called it. But hunger didn't care about laws written by people who'd never gone a day without food.
He slipped past the outer perimeter fence, moving silently through the irradiated dunes. The public Sanctuary rift loomed ahead: a massive vertical tear in reality, shimmering with violet and blue energy, guarded by bored Alliance enforcers in powered armor. They barely glanced at the slums beyond their barrier. Why would they? Low-caste lives were expendable.
Kai circled wide, heading for a known bleed spot where Base Aether beasts occasionally emerged. Hours passed under the scorching suns—sweat soaking his clothes, throat raw from dust. Finally, luck smiled.
A low, guttural growl echoed from the mist near the rift's edge.
An Ironhide Wolf limped into view—Base Aether level, its gray fur matted with old wounds, ribs showing through scarred hide. Weak, separated from its pack. Perfect.
Kai's pulse quickened. He crouched low, gripping the plasma cutter tightly. One good shard could buy food for a week, maybe even medicine for Lira's lingering cough.
He charged without a sound.
The wolf sensed him late, spinning with a snarl. Jaws snapped inches from his throat. Kai twisted aside, blade igniting with a sharp hum. He drove it deep into the beast's flank, feeling resistance give way as superheated plasma severed muscle and bone.
Hot blood sprayed across his arms—thick, metallic, steaming in the dry air. The wolf howled, thrashing wildly. Kai dodged a desperate claw swipe, then plunged the cutter into its neck for the killing blow.
Silence returned, broken only by his ragged breathing.
He dropped to one knee beside the carcass, hands steady despite the adrenaline. With practiced motions, he sliced open the chest cavity and extracted the Aether Shard—a thumb-sized crystal glowing faintly with inner light, warm to the touch.
"Base tier again," he sighed. "But points are points."
He'd saturated the Base Aether stage long ago through sheer grinding—hundreds of these low shards refined slowly over years. His body was stronger, faster, tougher than any ordinary low-caste youth. But without breaking into Evolved Aether, true power remained locked away. No Aether Spirit. No real future.
As he wiped the crystal clean and tucked it into his pouch, voices shattered the quiet.
"Hey, trash! That's our kill!"
Kai's head snapped up.
Three figures approached from the direction of the guarded entrance—young men in expensive enviro-suits, faces visible through clear visors twisted with arrogance. The leader, Rex Harlan, was unmistakable: blond hair perfectly styled, a golden Alliance crest pinned to his chest. Son of the local overseer. A minor noble, but on a frontier world like this, that made him royalty.
His two lackeys—similarly dressed, similarly smug—flanked him, laughing.
"Frontier rat poaching again?" Rex called, voice dripping with contempt. "You really don't learn, do you?"
Kai rose slowly, hand still on his cutter. "The beast wandered out of the rift. It's outside your 'noble grounds.' Fair game."
Rex barked a laugh. "Fair? You low-bloods don't get to decide what's fair. You exist to serve, to stay in your place. Hand over the shard. Now."
The lackeys flexed their hands. Aether energy flickered—Evolved tier auras flaring briefly. One summoned partial Aether Spirit gauntlets: metallic claws extending over his knuckles, humming with power.
Kai's jaw tightened. Three against one. They had gear, training, higher refinement. He had surprise, desperation, and nothing to lose.
But he knew the math. Running was smarter.
Yet something in him—the same fire that kept him fighting every day—refused to bow.
Rex smirked, interpreting the silence as submission. "Good choice—"
He lunged first, gauntlet-enhanced fist aimed at Kai's face.
Kai moved.
He ducked under the punch, cutter igniting as he slashed upward. Sparks exploded where plasma met aether reinforcement. Rex yelped, stumbling back.
The lackeys roared into action.
The fight blurred into chaos: fists, claws, plasma blade. Kai danced on the edge of death—dodging, countering, taking brutal hits that cracked ribs and split skin. Blood filled his mouth, vision blurring. But he gave as good as he got: one lackey screamed as the cutter severed tendons in his leg; another crumpled from a knee to the gut.
Rex, face twisted in rage and fear, fumbled for his wrist comm. "Distress beacon! Sector 7 bleed zone! Poacher attack!"
Kai knew he had seconds. He grabbed the wolf's Aether Shard, crushed it in his palm, and forced a rapid refinement. Raw energy surged through his veins—temporary strength boost.
Then he ran.
He vanished into the dunes before enforcer drones arrived, body screaming in pain, but alive. Again.
Hours later, hidden in the slums' labyrinth of alleys, Kai staggered into the tiny habitat he shared with Lira. The single-room shelter was barely ten meters square: a bunk bed, a hot plate, a leaking water recycler. Home.
Lira looked up from mending clothes, her face paling at the sight of him. At sixteen, she was the only soft thing left in his world—long dark hair tied back, gentle green eyes that still held hope despite everything.
"Brother!" She dropped the needle and rushed over, helping him to the lower bunk. "What happened this time?"
"Nobles," he grunted, wincing as she cleaned blood from his splits. "Same as always."
Her hands shook as she applied synth-gel patches. "You can't keep doing this, Kai. Rex Harlan's father runs half the colony. One day they'll send real hunters after you. Or worse."
Kai forced a tired smile, ruffling her hair. "Then I'll just have to get stronger before that day comes. We'll leave this dustball behind. Find a better world. I promise."
Lira's eyes glistened, but she nodded. She always believed him, even when he barely believed himself.
That night, as pain throbbed through cracked ribs and exhaustion pulled him toward sleep, Kai stared at the cracked ceiling.
Power. He needed real power—not scraps from bleed zones.
Little did he know, the universe was about to answer his unspoken wish in the most brutal way possible.
The next morning, colony-wide alarms shattered the fragile peace.
"Sanctuary destabilization! Dimensional collapse in progress! All citizens evacuate outer districts!"
Kai bolted upright, ignoring the pain.
Lira had gone out at dawn to gather rare herbs near the rift—herbs that sold for enough credits to buy real medicine.
She was in the collapse zone.
Without a word, Kai grabbed his plasma cutter and ran toward the growing chaos.
"For you, Lira… I'll carve through hell itself if I have to."