Morning dawned over the stone towers of the castle.
Cold light poured through the tall windows, running across marble floors and setting the golden eagle motifs along the walls aglow. The silence was almost reverent — as if the castle itself were holding its breath.
Behind a wide desk sat a man, his face hidden in shadow, shielded from the light spilling in through the windows. Only the brief glow of a cigarette betrayed his presence — a flare, then darkness once more.
Footsteps echoed across the floor. A door opened.
An officer of the Aquilaran Armed Forces entered, posture rigid, voice composed.
"Chairman… it is as you suspected. We are registering a large scale resonance — on the level of the soul."
The man in the shadows barely moved. Only the faint crackle of the cigarette replied.
"Damn it," he said, frustration cutting through his voice. "Do we have a lead on the source?"
"Negative, sir. But we can rule out Leonova. The readings indicate planetary spread."
So all of Symbion.
A brief pause, then he spoke — calm, yet carrying the weight of a verdict.
"Initiate Emergency Plan Asu."
"Yes, sir."
The officer saluted and left the room. The door closed without a sound, and the castle sank back into silence.
The Chairman remained seated. Smoke rose straight upward, dissolving soundlessly in the morning light.
A resonance of this magnitude… impossible without a trigger.
Who was responsible?
And what could they possibly gain?
He stood and stepped toward the window. Light fell across his shoulders, yet his face remained hidden in shadow. Below him, the city spread out — calm, unaware.
Fortunately, we were prepared, he thought.
At least for what we could imagine.
A bitter smile crossed his lips.
But preparation is theory — and this is reality.
He clasped his hands behind his back and gazed into the rising day.
Seems we can't keep it secret any longer.
If this reaches the public… nothing will ever be the same again.
A quiet breath.
Then begins the age of the Anima Resonance.
And in the clear morning light, the golden eagle above him seemed to cast a shadow that shifted briefly — as if it were alive.
≋⟡≋
The light continued onward, over rooftops, streets, and walls, until it found a boy racing through the city.
Darek pushed harder on the pedals. The wind cut into his face, but the pounding in his head was louder than any rushing air. Outside a café, teenagers stood with phones in their hands. All of them stared at their screens as if clinging to the news itself. A girl laughed nervously. A boy shook his head in disbelief. On the displays, maps and graphics flickered — red zones, numbers, headlines.
What's going on? Does this have something to do with the bang this morning? Darek thought.
That was only a few hours ago…
Must be something serious.
A sick feeling twisted in his stomach. He looked at their faces — fear, fascination, curiosity.
The city had changed.
The streets were filled with a strange order — no panic, but no normalcy either. People stood on sidewalks, talking loudly, as if afraid of the silence. A boy let small sparks dance across the back of his hand and shouted excitedly, "Hey, look what I can do!" His friend laughed and jumped back, nearly bumping into a trash can that straightened itself in the same instant.
"That was me!" the boy called out immediately.
"People!" someone grumbled from the crowd. "I can see clearly without my glasses now."
Further down the street, a shopping bag floated a few centimeters above the ground. The man beside it grinned proudly.
"Finally — no more back pain!"
Two women stopped and giggled.
"Come on, carry it all the way home!" one called.
The bag wobbled, made a small circle, then splashed into a puddle. The man stared at it and sighed.
"Great."
Something was happening everywhere, and Darek rode slowly past it all.
What is going on?
Voices, noise, shouts. The entire city vibrated — not just with fear, but with excitement.
He rode on. The sound of his tires felt as though he were rolling through dust made of light.
Darek turned onto the main road. Above him rose the gray rooftops of Solara, Aquilara's second largest city. Tall stone buildings towered like cliff faces against the sky, and between the alleys fluttered banners bearing the eagle's symbol — outstretched wings glinting in the sun.
A cold wind swept down from the mountain ranges, carrying the metallic scent of snow and steel. It wasn't called the land of eagles and mountains without reason — proud, harsh, unyielding. Here, people believed that only those who endured the storm deserved to fly.
Darek felt the wind.
Eagles, mountains, pride. A lot of wind. Maybe too much.
He tore his gaze away, focused back on the road, and pedaled even harder.
≋⟡≋
The television studio was flooded with harsh light. Cameras panned across a frantic crew. Red banners flashed across the monitors: Breaking News. A producer waved hurried hand signals, another counted down with his fingers. The anchor cleared his throat, eyes darting across his notes.
"G–g–good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We're interrupting with breaking news… the past hours have shaken our nation and the entire world."
His voice trembled, fingers tapping nervously against the desk.
"Across the globe, witnesses report inexplicable phenomena directly linked to the bang in the sky. People are suddenly developing abilities that were previously thought impossible."
Behind him, a map lit up. Darek caught it out of the corner of his eye while waiting at a traffic light. The military. Again. Maps, borders, zones. It felt as though they were mapping fear, not the event itself.
"Even before the bang," the anchor continued, "tensions between Aquilara and Lenovar had been rising. Analysts fear these new abilities could further destabilize the situation…"
≋⟡≋
Darek snorted quietly.
Not my problem. They'll figure it out.
He pushed his bike across the schoolyard, taking two steps at a time. Chaos reigned in the classroom. Ben sprang up, blond hair disheveled, nearly colliding with him.
"There you are! Everything's gone crazy!"
Darek looked around. A student at the board held chalk in his hand — it floated, writing formulas on its own. A girl by the window flipped through a book whose pages turned by themselves, her eyes glowing blue. Another boy made a desk vanish midair, the eraser in his hand vibrating as if it were the trigger.
"What the hell… what's happening here?" Darek muttered.
"This is just our class!" Ben shouted. "Wait until you see the others!"
Darek grinned tiredly. "Great."
Ben planted his hands on his hips. "I swear, if I get powers, I want something cool," he said.
"Invisibility?" Darek asked.
"Nah. Better — making things bigger! I'll buy gold coins, enlarge them, and sell them huge!"
Darek looked at him. "Or you could just create gold."
Ben blinked, then broke into a wide grin. "You're right. You're a genius!"
"I know," Darek murmured, yawning.
The door opened.
Mr. Markes entered — brown pants, green shirt, his round glasses slightly crooked as always. But his steps were unusually hurried. Behind him followed a man in military uniform.
He was tall — a head taller than the students — with a presence that filled the room instantly. The neon lights reflected off the insignia on his chest: Lieutenant Carris, Aquilaran Armed Forces. The uniform sat perfectly; not a thread out of place, no movement uncontrolled. His eyes — gray, cold, unreadable — swept across the class as if reading each student like a report.
Something about him reminded Darek of Aquilara's mountain peaks: silent, dangerous, unyielding.
"Please, quiet down," Markes began, but Carris raised a single hand — calm, commanding. A gesture that didn't ask for obedience. It assumed it.
"I said, quiet!" Markes' voice cut through the noise, louder than ever before.
Instantly, everyone fell silent.
Carris' eyebrow twitched. "Useful," he murmured dryly, his voice deep and flat.
Markes straightened unconsciously, a little prouder.
Darek watched him. Why did I listen to Mr. Markes?
What's going on?
"This is Lieutenant Carris," Markes explained, his voice tight. "Due to the events surrounding the bang, an assessment of all youths aged eighteen and above is being conducted."
Carris stepped forward. His boots struck the floor in hard, rhythmic echoes.
"Alphabetical order," he said calmly. "Two questions per person. Answer precisely."
His voice sounded built for soldiers, not students.
Ben swallowed beside Darek. Darek felt the same knot in his stomach.
Assessment.
This is happening way too fast. This can't be a coincidence.
Carris' gaze swept across the room. For a brief moment, it lingered on Darek — short, but intense enough to steal his breath. Then the lieutenant lowered his eyes to the list, as if nothing had happened.
That wasn't random, Darek thought. He saw me.
Carris began reading names. Each one sounded like a drumbeat. The tension in the room thickened.
As the lieutenant spoke, Darek watched him. No wasted words. No unnecessary gestures. That's how someone speaks who doesn't need to convince anyone, he thought.
At least he doesn't beat around the bush.
Until the dull school gong sounded.
Ding.
Dong.
≋⟡≋
The echo became the rhythmic clash of blades.
Across Solara, people reacted to the resonance in different ways — some with fear, some with curiosity. In an old dojo at the city's edge, someone answered it in their own way.
Diana sat in the dojo, located just outside the city. In Solara, where most buildings were constructed from massive, carefully worked stone and felt modern and enduring, the dojo seemed like a relic of another era. It was built almost entirely of wood — simple, yet dignified in form. The scent of resin and oiled floors filled the air, mingling with the soft rustle of leaves in the wind.
Wide sliding doors greeted visitors at the entrance, their frames carved from dark cedar. They opened soundlessly, revealing the vast training hall, where light was softened by thin rice paper.
Another set of sliding doors led into the inner courtyard — spacious, well kept, alive with lush plants, playful squirrels, and small birds. At its center rested a large pond, koi gliding across its smooth surface — slow, graceful, flowing with color. When the doors opened, the boundary between space and nature seemed to blur, as if the dojo itself were breathing with the garden.
In its prime, the dojo had housed over ninety students. It was easy to imagine the courtyard once filled with movement, voices, and countless footsteps — yet now a quiet dignity lingered, telling of those days.
Diana inhaled deeply.
Her blade vibrated faintly in her hand, every movement feeling more alive than ever before. She heard the crunch of the floor, the hum of the air. Sensei Daro stood calmly, his sword in perfect balance.
With a fluid turn, he attacked. Diana ducked — so fast that she startled herself.
What was that?
Her body felt lighter. Her vision sharper.
"Your speed…" Daro murmured, blade leveled at her.
Then he felt it too — a tremor deep in his arm, not of metal, but of flesh and spirit. He looked at his hand; veins stood out darkly.
"These madmen…" he muttered. "So they really did it."
"You're not distracted, are you, Sensei?" Diana grinned, her breath misting in the cool air.
Daro lowered his blade. "Diana. Principle three of Aquilaran fencing."
"A controlled gust is more dangerous than an uncontrolled storm," she replied automatically.
He nodded. "You're fast. But what good is speed if you hit nothing?"
Diana smiled, eyes glittering with ambition.