The smell of overcooked curry clung to the apartment like regret.
Somewhere beneath that stale cloud of flavor, a figure groaned.
Shukan Ashikaga stirred from his bed, face buried in a pillow that muffled none of his misery.
"Ugh."
With all the grace of a dead timeline, he rolled off the bed.
Crack. The floor tiles shattered beneath his feet—faint golden fractures spidering out across the apartment like something had just stepped through time itself.
Shukan squinted toward the window. The blinds were open, and he was absolutely sure they'd been closed last night.
A violent beam of sunlight cut across the room.
He sighed. "Time-light," he muttered. "Predictably annoying."
He stretched. His joints popped like old circuits shorting out. The air buzzed faintly around him—like it remembered his dreams even if he didn't.
And then—
"SHUKAN! ARE YOU FINALLY AWAKE?!"
The voice blasted through the apartment like an airhorn.
Shukan didn't flinch. He just exhaled sharply into his pillow.
"No," he called back, dry and unmoved. "I'm still sleeping, Itha."
He dragged himself into the bathroom. The mirror gave him nothing but disappointment.
Caramel-brown skin, short black hair tangled from sleep, and those orange-yellow eyes—like dying stars. They flickered slightly, pulsing with some unreadable emotion.
He turned away.
Threw on a wrinkled gray shirt, brown overcoat, and black boots that had seen too many resets. The whole fit looked like it had survived a warzone—and lost.
"Good enough."
"SHUKAN ASHIKAGA!!!"
Louder this time. Closer.
Shukan glanced at the window like he was deciding whether to jump through it or punch it.
He checked his phone. The calendar flashed a notification.
BREAKFAST PLANS W/ ITHA
His eye twitched.
"What the fuck…" he muttered.
Golden energy sparked at his fingertips.
Crack.
The phone screen fractured in his hand like brittle glass.
"...Really?"
The boots were actively trying to escape his feet. He had to stomp twice to get them to behave.
"You had one job," he muttered at them.
The kitchen was half on fire. The stove had been left running—again.
He raised his hand. A glow pulsed in his palm. Golden light slithered toward the stove's switch, flicking it off like it was scared of him.
"Crisis averted."
No breakfast. No motivation. Definitely no peace.
Outside, the sun assaulted him instantly.
He hissed, shielding his eyes from the Time-light. "Itha, I swear to—"
There he was.
Itha Arael. Pink hoodie. Phone in hand. Blissfully unaware of how much he was about to annoy someone.
Shukan crept up and snatched the phone right from his hands.
"Fast food chains that make really good food…?" Shukan read aloud. "Wow. Peak mystery."
"Hey! That was supposed to be a surprise!" Itha whined.
Shukan placed a palm on Itha's forehead, keeping him at a perfect arm's length.
"Yeah. You Googled lunch."
Above them, bullet trains screamed through the sky—surrounded by rings of glowing Focalized Energy, their trails warping the clouds as they passed.
Shukan pointed lazily at one.
"Let's ride one of those."
"I got enough for a ticket," Itha said, grinning. "You in?"
"I'd rather fly through a collapsing star than walk again."
They ducked beneath a floating archway—a half-formed support beam that shimmered with unstable energy. The street around them pulsed, cracks in the ground glowing with residual energy veins from the old war.
Streetlights flickered even though it was full daylight.
"This city's broken," Shukan said. "Kinda like your fashion sense."
"It was one hoodie," Itha muttered. "And you still owe me twelve Pelas."
"You lost the bet."
"I'll send it through Pela Marketplace!"
"You better," Shukan replied. "With interest."
The train station shimmered into view. Built over a constantly shifting energy grid, it pulsed with unstable platforms and hovering tracks.
Vehicles zipped past them—driven by people whose auras powered their own transport.
They stepped onto the platform.
"Loud in here," Itha muttered.
"No shit," Shukan replied. "Hundred people, concrete box. Welcome to public transportation."
An intercom buzzed to life.
"Train B-36 arriving in two minutes. Please do not use the bathroom. It is currently… under review."
Shukan blinked. "Under review?"
"There's a story there," Itha said. "Probably explosive."
The crowd resumed its chatter—until a man sprinted down the stairs, wild-eyed and ragged.
He stumbled, collapsed, got up, and started begging strangers.
Nobody responded.
"What's with him?" Shukan asked.
"I think he's—"
"Rhetorical."
The screech of the incoming train echoed through the tunnel.
Shukan turned. The old man was staring straight at him.
Eye contact. Intentional.
Shukan looked away fast.
"That's all you now," Itha said, stepping back. "I'm getting food."
"No tomato," Shukan muttered.
"Got it."
The old man limped toward Shukan and dropped to his knees.
"P-Please! I need help! My—my son, he—!"
"No."
The man's eyes widened.
"But—!"
Shukan stared, unmoved.
"I said no, dammit."
He shoved the man off. The old guy hit the ground hard. People flinched. No one said anything.
The intercom blared again.
"Train B-36 is now boarding. Departure in two minutes."
Itha was at the food stall, holding a milkshake.
"Milkshake, fries, burger—no tomato," he said.
"That's it?" the worker asked.
"Yep."
"Seven Pelas!"
He paid, waited, and checked his phone. A call popped up. Caller ID: Totally Just Some Random
He answered.
"Yo?"
"Train's leaving in thirty seconds. Where are you?"
Screaming echoed in the background.
"Who's screaming?"
"Remember that old guy?" Shukan said, voice distant. "Kinda tossed him. No big deal—"
Click.
The phone died.
"I forgot to charge it, didn't I…"
The worker handed him the food.
Order #34: Itha Arael.
"No tomato," he confirmed, nodding. "Bless."
Back on the platform, Shukan crouched beside the old man, frowning. "You okay—?"
CRACK.
The man moved faster than he should've.
Fist hit Shukan square in the temple.
Shukan stumbled.
Reflex. Pure instinct.
He struck back.
CRACK. A punch to the jaw. Then another. And another. Blood sprayed.
"WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?!"
Itha appeared at his side, sipping his drink.
"...Everyone's watching."
Shukan looked up.
Eyes. Dozens of them.
Watching, Judging.
The intercom buzzed one last time.
"Final boarding call for Train B-36."
He turned away. Hands bloody.
Guilt carved into his expression.
They boarded the train in silence.
Shukan collapsed into a seat by the door, eyes unfocused.
A shadow loomed.
He looked up.
A figure stood over him, one hand raised—
And the world tilted.
"Hey, what's with you today?" Itha asked.
Silence.
Itha takes out his phone, looking at the website he was on earlier. "I wanted to study Zeyth today while we got breakfast."
Shukans eyes widen. Joy seeping its way into his expression. "Zeyth? That combat reflex thing your class is studying at the university?"
"Ha! Looks like that put you in the mood. Yeah, that is what we are studying. And its not necessarily a combat reflex."
"Then what is it?"
"We can talk about it at the restaurant chain, it's too loud here."
Shukan sighed, looking out the window. reality blurred into the space around them as they went to speeds that eyes can't follow.
Some time later, the intercoms on the speeding train came to life. But not before the mic screeched.
The intercom screeched like a Void-touched banshee.
"ACK—" Everyone winced in unison, covering their ears like veterans of this acoustic war.
Bop. Bop. The mic finally settled.
"Hello passengers. Sorry for the mic glitch. Really. But anyway—we're coming up at a stop in the city Ka'vael, so if anybody wants to get off, ring the bell that should be above you."
The intercom cut off like it owed them money. A dull echo lingered in the air.
Ten passengers rang the bell without hesitation—including Itha.
"It's almost twelve and we haven't even touched breakfast," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Isn't it in this city?" Shukan asked, lazily watching the Time-light ripple across his reflection in the train window.
"Yeah. It's next to the university. The place we're going to is called CrunchFuel."
Shukan squinted. "What kind of name is that?"
"No idea. Sounds like it hurts to digest."
The train slowed, releasing a hiss of golden Focalized Energy Points that spiraled like heat mirages before vanishing into the air.
The sky outside sharpened in clarity—birds shimmered mid-flight, suspended in slow Time-light. The sun cast fractured halos through the window, and the skyline of Ka'vael bent slightly, as if adjusting to their arrival.
The doors slid open.
The train hovered five meters above ground. No stairs. Just open air.
Buzz.
"We hope you have a very good day!" the intercom chimed again—this time, without a screech.
Shukan chuckled. "I kinda like how it's protocol to be polite. Even when dropping people out of the sky."
FIFTEEN MINUTES (AND FIFTEEN COMPLAINTS) LATER
Shukan slammed the door handle open at CrunchFuel. The scent of something fried and slightly temporal greeted his nose—like seasoned lightning and soft bread.
Inside: Fluorescent lights buzzed like caged energy veils. A game of Azya played overhead on a wall-sized screen, combatants locked in a frozen timeline mid-kick.
"They always rig that tournament," Shukan muttered. "Force wins. Makes the narrative 'clean.' I hate it."
Porcelain tiles clicked under Itha's shoes—each step nudged them like they were reacting to his presence. Some had faint runes glowing beneath the surface.
A kiosk blinked awake.
"Hey there! Anything I can get you guys today?" The worker's eyes were tired but her voice was caffeinated. Hands already danced over the input screen like she was born doing this.
Shukan stuttered for a beat—caught off guard—but recovered.
"Nachos. No olives. Seriously. None." His voice came out rougher than expected. The weight of sleeplessness crept in.
"I'll just take a hotdog," Itha mumbled.
"Hotdog?" Shukan arched a brow. "You trust this place with meat shaped like regret?"
"I'm already here. My standards gave up ten minutes ago."
The employee nodded. "Alright. That'll be two Pela and twenty Ruun."
"Yeah, that's it," Itha confirmed.
They sat down—booth seats with cushions made from something almost leather, but shimmered like starlight under pressure.
The neon menu flickered above them:
CRUNCHFUEL CORE MENU — Void-Pressed Nachos — Chrono Fries (with Slow Melt Sauce) — Hotdog of the Fifth Era — Aether Ale (glows. don't ask why.) — MeltBun Tacos (Unstable)
Eat Fast. Burn Faster.
Shukan leaned back, staring up at the glowing ceiling like he could will sleep into his bones. Itha barely touched his hotdog before sighing.
"So... wanna talk about what happened yesterday?"
"Nope," Shukan said.
"Thought so."
And just like that, the glow of CrunchFuel kept buzzing—and the silence between them was loud in its own way.
SOME TIME LATER...
Itha slung his bag over his shoulder. "I'll catch you later."
"Yeah," Shukan nodded. "I'll chill here a bit longer."
Itha gave him a look. Said nothing more.
CrunchFuel's lights dimmed behind them. The sun? Golden. Not warm—loud. It painted everything in heavy yellows and soft orange. Buildings stretched out in long shadows. The air smelled like melted ice cream and metal.
Shukan found a slope near the university. Grass patch. Kinda uneven.
He dropped down onto it, elbows to knees. The world buzzed—quietly. Wind tugged at his vest. Cars zipped below. The last few rays of Time-light streaked across the horizon like someone took a blade to the sky.
He just...breathed.
And then—
Glint.
Something blinked out in the dirt a few inches from his foot.
Shukan blinked. "...The hell?"
He leaned forward. Brushed the grass aside.
There it was.
A small shard. White. Smooth. Clean. Etched on its surface—so faint it almost wasn't there—one word: HOST
He stared at it.
Didn't feel dangerous. Didn't feel anything. Just cold. Still. Out of place.
But something about it—No. Everything about it—Was wrong.
Still, without a word, Shukan reached out—
Fingers touched glass.
And then—
FLASH.
His body stiffened. Every atom in him convulsed like it remembered something from a lifetime he never lived. White. Nothing but white. But loud. Deafening. A hum. A whisper. A heartbeat.
THUMP.
[ACCEPTING HOST...]
THUMP.
[SYNCHRONIZING…]
"Wait—hold on—" he tried to move—
[LOCKED.]
The world screamed.
His bones felt like sand. His chest felt like stone.
His eyes rolled back.
WHITE. WHITE. WHITE.
Then— Silence.
Only the wind remained.
Shukan collapsed forward—eyes wide—hand still on the shard, now glowing.
Shukan woke up at 2:04 A.M. Lying face-down on cold concrete. Back aching. Head buzzing.
No dreams. Just static.
He blinked. Sat up.
The shard was gone.
His hand? Empty. Dirty.
The slope he was sitting on earlier was silent now, swaying grass brushing his arms like they were checking if he was still breathing.
He shook it off. "Tch…how long was I out?"
The city around him thrived. Not in chaos—but in rhythm. Night-life boomed in distant echoes. Hover-cars zipped by on violet-lit lanes. Street vendors shouted over late-night deals. Holo-signs flickered and flared. A couple laughed behind a corner—music blared from someone's wristband.
But to Shukan?
It all sounded far away.
He walked. Silent. Shoulders hunched. The weight of that… thing still crawling under his skin.
He got to his apartment. Tapped the side panel. Doors slid open with a hiss.
His coat hit the floor. He walked past the kitchen. Didn't stop.
He walked into the bathroom. Light on.
Looked into the mirror.
And froze.
His eyes—no—his left eye. It was glowing.
Not bright. Not like a flashlight. But faint. Soft. Like a clock ticking beneath his skin.
Inside the iris—Roman numerals.
Etched. Permanent. Like someone branded time into him. The lines spiraled inward, elegant but horrifying. Minute hands ticked. The hour hand didn't move. But he felt it. Like something behind the glass was…waiting.
His breath caught.
"Wh—"
And then he screamed.
Loud.
Backpedaled, slammed the door to his room shut. Chest heaving.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS??"
He clutched his face, pacing. Looked again.
Still there. It wasn't going away.
The glowing symbols pulsed faintly—almost…mocking him.
He backed into the wall. Slid down to the floor. Hands on his head. No answers. Just questions.
No control. Just— Tick. Tick. Tick.