Muhan's gaze was locked on the distant ridgeline, where the forest gave way to a vast expanse of glowing meadows. The trees bowed in unison, their crystal branches humming as though whispering a chant in a forgotten tongue. The very planet seemed to… breathe.
"Why is the ground… pulsing?" Mi-cha murmured beside him, her voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't answer.
Because deep within him, something stirred.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
But recognition.
As if this planet—Xylophia-IV—was more than just terrain.
It was memory.
It was home.
---
A sharp trill sounded from the sky as a majestic iridescent butterfly—larger than a glider—swooped past them. Its wings shimmered in geometric patterns resembling ancient sigils. Students oohed and laughed, scattering to explore in groups as guided by Flux.
But Muhan remained still.
The System Alert wouldn't stop.
> [Aether-Broken Code Identified.]
[Subject: Muhan Lockhart. Origin Signature: Matched.]
[Warning: The Planet's Core is Reacting.]
The ground beneath Muhan's feet began to shimmer faintly with invisible threads only he could perceive. Ether—a lost form of primal energy, once buried in myth—was leaking into him.
A flicker of movement snapped his attention to the treeline.
Standing atop a boulder was a lone figure in white robes—face obscured, silver hair cascading like starlight, their presence ethereal yet imposing. The air around them vibrated.
Then, a whisper—not from anyone around him, but from the planet itself—echoed through his mind:
> "You've returned, Aetherborn."
---
Meanwhile, Mi-cha was struggling. Her inner turmoil wasn't fading—it was worsening. She kept stealing glances at Muhan, noticing his silence, his far-off stare.
She had planned to confess everything today. About her lineage. About the centuries-old feud between their bloodlines. About how her grandfather—the Grand Master of Pjeonjaeham—had sent her to spy on Muhan, not love him.
And yet, she had failed.
Because somewhere between her mission and Muhan's quiet strength, she had fallen—hopelessly and irrevocably.
Her gloved hand reached toward his, but just before she touched him—
A blaring chime shrieked through their wristbands.
> ⚠️ CODE VIOLET BREACH — SECTOR 9B — ENERGY SURGE DETECTED ⚠️
Flux's voice turned grim. "All students, return to the Nano ship immediately. A pulse of unstable Ether has been detected. I repeat—unstable Ether is breaching planetary containment."
"Did you do something?" Mi-cha asked, her voice shaking, as Muhan turned toward her slowly—his iris no longer crimson, but bleeding into pure silver.
Muhan didn't answer.
Instead, the sky darkened. The floating mountains began to tremble, their foundations cracking. From beneath the grassy plains, vines of light burst forth, weaving like serpents through the soil. Reality was bending.
Flux's voice grew more frantic. "All students—this is not a drill. The planet's core is reacting to an Aether-Broken Signature. I cannot stabilize the region. Evacuation protocols have begun."
But it was already too late.
From the treeline, the robed figure began to walk forward, each step reverberating like thunder.
Mi-cha turned, her expression shifting from fear to realization.
"I've seen him… in the forbidden archives," she whispered. "That's not a person. That's a Remnant. A memory locked in planetary Aether…"
"A guardian," Muhan finished.
The figure finally stopped, just meters away. The air around him distorted. His voice was both soft and booming, layered with echoes that felt eternal.
"You should not exist. The Aetherborn were extinguished at the fall of Arcanis. And yet—here you are. Breathing. Walking. Remembering."
Muhan's breath caught. "Who… are you?"
The Remnant raised his hand. "I am the Judge of Continuity. And you, Muhan Lockhart, are an anomaly."
The next moment shattered the sky.
The Remnant's palm opened, unleashing a pulse of ancient energy—so raw and absolute that it tore open the sky like silk. A temporal fissure cracked the air above them, revealing layered images of a war long past: beings of light clashing with blackened titans, entire galaxies burning in arcs of Aetherfire.
Mi-cha screamed as the gravitational pull around them twisted.
"Muhan, we have to go!"
"No," he said quietly, stepping forward.
Because within that rift—within the memories displayed—he saw himself.
Not as a boy.
But as a warrior. Cloaked in silver fire. Leading armies of energy-bound beings.
Falling.
Rising.
And whispering a name only the ancient stars would know:
"Lockhart, the Last Aetherborn."
---
The fissure closed with a roar, and the Remnant's form began to dissolve.
But before fading completely, he said one final thing—so softly only Muhan heard it.
> "Find the other. She is the Key."
And then, he vanished.
---
The ground quieted. The students were safe. The planet calmed. The ship's systems stabilized.
But Muhan stood there, staring at his hands—silver threads of Aether dancing between his fingers.
Mi-cha touched his arm, eyes wide and trembling. "Who… are you?"
Muhan's answer was cold. Honest.
"I think I used to be a god."