Year 5120 AC

  Among distant stars, deeper into time than Earth ever imagined, humanity survives inside a wounded giant: the Lattice.

  A spherical megastructure the size of a planet—hollow from within—once held the dreams of countless. At its heart towers a colossal crystal pillar, connecting the poles of the sphere, aglow with iridescent light, anchoring seven domed platforms in gravitational drift. Each dome preserves its own world: forests, deserts, oceans, storms. Seven scattered cradles of life, circling a crystal spine that hums with power.

  They say the sky cracked.

  They say the stars fell.

  And through it all, the Lattice endured.

  Aferyth, Verdant Wild Belt

  5120 AC, August 22nd, 2:15 PM

  The air was thick with the scent of blooming mothfruits and sun-cracked soil. A light breeze whispered through the treetops, stirring birds into song. Their chirps echoed across the valley where a small village sat cradled between towering forest and jagged mountains—like a breath held between wilderness and stone.

  The houses were humble: clay walls, solar-cloth roofing, relic-lanterns blinking softly outside doorposts. At the village’s edge, where the grass thinned into hardened ground, sat a crooked hut held together more by memory than material. Inside, it smelled of boiled herbs, relic dust, and old stories.

  Grandma Varn sat cross-legged on a threadbare mat, her eyes glinting with mischief behind deep creases. Her shawl, draped over one shoulder, bore the glyphs of their tribe—looped symbols that shimmered faintly under sunlight. Around her, a dozen barefoot children fidgeted, waiting for the lesson to start.

  Two boys wrestled near the firepit, fists full of each other’s hair.

  “Ow, let go, twigbrain!”

  “Say it again and I’ll feed you to a cliffbeak!”

  The smaller of the two—sharp-nosed, all elbows and knees—was Kael Varn. His older brother Sebastian Varn, or Seby, had the broader build, a head more hair, and the smugness of a one-year age gap used like a weapon.

  Grandma didn’t flinch. With the casual grace of someone who’d done this dance a thousand times, she reached forward and thwacked both boys on the head with her woven fan.

  “That’s enough, featherheads,” she said, chuckling as they yelped. “You can scalp each other after storytime.”

  Kael rubbed his head, glaring at Seby. Seby smirked and ruffled Kael’s hair just to be annoying.

  “Now,” Grandma said, her voice shifting into that smooth, sing-song rhythm that pulled every child into her words. “Where were we…? Ah yes. A long, long time ago… our ancestors lived on a great, round world. What was it called again? Urd?”

  A girl raised her hand from the corner—slim, dark-eyed, her braids tied with copper thread. Her name was Tali. She always sat straight, always answered first.

  “Earth,” she said gently.

  Grandma clapped her hands. “Ah yes, Earth. That’s what they called it. Earth! A sphere of blue and green. The first cradle.”

  The other kids looked at each other. Some rolled their eyes. Kael just tried not to look like he didn’t know that already.

  “And then,” Grandma continued, “the Fire God grew angry—burned the sky, scorched the ground. Our little Earth could not survive the storm. So we ran. Across the stars, in a great metal womb. And that womb… was the Lattice.”

  The children leaned in now. Even Seby. The word had that weight, that taste of something too big to picture.

  Kael, half-distracted, was squinting out the small slit window behind Grandma, where the sky shimmered faintly from the dome’s energy layer.

  A sudden gleam cut across the blue—a blazing dot growing fast, swallowing its own echo. Engines roared.

  “Granny, Is that the Fire God?” Kael whispered, pointing upward.

  Grandma blinked. Her smile faltered.

  "Stay inside kids"

  Just as she turned to look, a sharp clang rang out across the village—three bells struck from the main watchtower.

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  Every head turned.

  Then came the roar.

  A vessel—angular, loud, and unmistakably foreign—descended beyond the old grain shed. Its engines screamed, scarring the sky with heat, as it hissed downward in a spray of dust and pressure. Branches cracked. Children screamed.

  Out stepped six soldiers, pale-grey armor gleaming with the sigil of Korr Vale—a jagged mountain split by a vertical shard of light, enclosed in a broken circle. Their armor was sleek but rugged, plated with interlocking alloy composites embedded with faintly glowing shard lines—like veins of energy coursing beneath skin. Magnetic locks lined their spines, designed to snap drones or attachments into place mid-battle. Their helms were smooth, visorless ovals, with HUD-scanners running behind reinforced Aether glass.

  Each suit hissed softly, exhaling mist from exhaust ports on the back vents—powered by internal shard cores slotted into their hips and chest plating. A subtle hum filled the air, like a machine coiled for violence.

  One of them wore a black-etched pauldron—likely an officer. The others spread into formation with grim efficiency, like men too used to taking what they came for.

  “By order of Korr Vale Regional Command, this district is under scheduled ration and shard requisition. Cooperate and comply.”

  Tension cracked through the air like a frayed wire. Villagers gathered in the clearing, tight-lipped and weary.

  “Please,” called out Elder Harrek, stepping forward. “Our harvest was thin this cycle. The storage—”

  The soldier cut him off.

  “This isn’t about your vegetables. We’re resupplying active fronts. Rations, Aether shards—anything with caloric or core value. You’re in the Verdant. That means you’re in the supply chain. A second soldier, bulkier than the rest, added, “And don’t insult us with low-grade Aether. Purity tier’s expected—even if it’s scrap harvest.”

  Grumbling rose. A few villagers disappeared into huts, returning with small lockboxes, depleted power cores, necklace pendants repurposed to house low-tier Aether shards—most pale yellow or fogged orange, some cracked to the center.

  One child held out a pouch of shard dust. The soldier scoffed.

  Grandma Varn stepped forward, cane crunching against the soil. “You’ve bled this village for three seasons,” she said, voice even. “You want high-grade, go mine Korr Vale’s own mountains. Verdant’s not a minefield. These children need food and heat to live, with winters in sight.”

  The officer tilted his head. “And yet somehow, you survive. Always. Means you’re holding out.”

  He motioned with two fingers. One soldier scanned a crate with his wristband—glyphs flared crimson.

  “Grade-three Aether salt. Barely worth engine scrap.”

  Grandma Varn stepped forward, pulling the crate away from the soldier.

  The officer stepped forward, voice colder now, more measured. “Elder, step away. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

  Grandma didn’t budge. “If there were more to give, you’d have it. But if you burn your fuel trying to control Verdant, you’ll lose more than you gain. You all know that.”

  CRACK.

  The backhand landed across her cheek. She staggered but didn’t fall. Kael froze. Tali screamed. Seby stepped forward, fists shaking, breath shallow.

  The relic cuffs on the soldiers flickered.

  “Commander,” said the bulky soldier. “This one—his spike just lit up the band.”

  Sebastian’s chest rose and fell. Light shimmered at his fingertips. Dust coiled around his feet like it had caught his anger.

  The commander’s visor flared with data. Numbers and glyphs scrolled across the HUD.

  He turned sharply. “Get a scan on him. Full ACI readout. Now.”

  One of the soldiers raised a forearm device. A narrow cone of light passed over Sebastian’s chest.

  A sharp beep.

  “ACI 9.3.”

  The squad stiffened.

  “Well, well,” said the commander, his voice suddenly different. “Didn’t expect to find a Resonant out here.”

  He nodded. Two soldiers broke formation, heading toward Seby.

  “No!” Grandma cried. She lunged, grabbing one soldier’s leg, tears streaming. “Don’t take him. Not my boy. Please—he’s just a child.”

  One soldier hesitated. The younger one.

  The commander sighed. “Lady, I’ve done this dance in four zones. I know what happens next.”

  He reached up, tapped his neck. His helmet hissed, retracting with a sharp clack. The face revealed beneath it was battleworn—deep lines crisscrossed his features like old scars on metal. A jagged scar ran from the corner of his lip to the edge of his jaw. His beard was coarse and tightly groomed, and long golden hair was tied back in a high combat knot, streaked with ash and soot. One eye shimmered unnaturally—an ocular implant, faintly pulsing. The other, human, was tired but cold. The face of a man who’d stopped expecting redemption.

  “I didn’t want to do this.”

  The shot was a whisper of blue light.

  Grandma fell.

  Her shawl fluttered behind her. Her body hit the dirt like a dropped story. Kael ran to her, eyes wide, heart breaking. Her fingers curled into the soil. Her mouth moved with no sound.

  Screams tore through the village like sirens, villagers scattering in every direction—children pulled by mothers, baskets dropped, relics abandoned. The air pulsed with the chaos of sudden grief.

  Kael froze beside her, knees sinking into the blood-wet earth, hands trembling as they hovered above her still form. Her shawl, soaked through, fluttered like a dying ember.

  "Gra.....nny?"

  Then—

  “Grandma!” Seby’s voice cracked through the noise, raw and broken.

  Kael looked up in time to see his brother tear from the crowd, sprinting toward them with a fire in his eyes. But a soldier intercepted him mid-run, slamming him to the ground with a metallic thud.

  “Restrain the boy!” barked the commander. “Get him into the vessel. Now!”

  Sebastian screamed, kicked, twisted. “Let me go! Grandma! Let me go!”

  Kael crawled forward, "No-Seby" reaching—futile—before another soldier’s boot landed in front of him, forcing him back.

  He could only watch as Seby was dragged away, the ship’s hatch yawning open behind them like the mouth of a beast.

  Sebastian screamed

  Kael tried again to reach for him, but another soldier stepped in his path, shoving him backward.

  A shadow loomed.

  The commander walked toward him.

  “Sorry Kid! Can’t leave loose ends,” he muttered.

  He raised his wrist—where a slim, bracer-mounted emitter slid forward with a click, primed to discharge. The device hummed—

  —and Kael Varn woke up.

  "Akh"

  His breath caught in his throat. Sweat clung to his skin. The ceiling above him—the same old dented scrap sheet—warped in the flicker of a dying glowstone.

  Outside, the wind howled.

  He let out a deep breath.

  He sat up, fists clenched.

  Eighteen years had passed.

  But that day had never left him.