75 Years Ago – The Day the Sky Broke
It began not with war.
Nor with warning.
It began with silence—
So vast, so absolute—
The world itself seemed to forget how to breathe.
Birdsong stopped.
Engines faded.
Even the wind stilled, as if the earth itself was holding its breath.
The sky dimmed, not with clouds or storm,
But as if something ancient hovered just beyond sight.
And then—
light burst.
From high above, as if heaven itself had been pierced,
A radiant downpour began.
No sound.
No thunder.
Just light—
falling gently, endlessly, silently.
It did not burn.
It did not blind.
It simply… showered the earth.
It stretched from one horizon to the other,
A jagged wound across the canvas of the sky.
And from it… light fell.
Not like sunlight.
Not warmth or radiance.
But something deeper.
Older.
Like a forgotten truth sinking back into the world.
It poured across the earth—
Not with sound,
Not with force,
But with presence.
And people—
froze.
Some fell to their knees,
Others raised their heads as if hearing a voice that wasn't there.
Some wept. Some screamed.
Others simply stood still, as if caught in a dream too vast to understand.
Then… came the shift.
A moment so strange, so unreal,
Reality itself seemed to bend.
The weight of the world pressed inward.
The air trembled with meaning no one could name.
What followed could not be measured in hours or minutes.
It was a breath. A heartbeat. An awakening.
And nothing would ever be the same.
Science failed to explain it.
Faith fractured trying to interpret it.
Governments fell silent.
People called it many things.
A miracle.
A reckoning.
A rebirth.
A warning.
But one truth rose above them all:
A New Age Has Now Began.
PRESENT DAY:
The city of Elexers hummed a low, constant thrum, a sound Cain had learned to ignore. It was a symphony of distant sirens, the rumble of hover-cars, and the ceaseless chatter of a million lives lived in neon light. The kind of noise that never stopped, never rested—just like the city itself.
He walked with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a faded black hoodie, the fabric a familiar comfort against his lean frame. His amber eyes, usually distant, absorbed the kaleidoscope of Elexers without truly seeing it.
Buildings clawed at the sky, glass and steel gleaming under a sun that felt too bright, too indifferent. People flowed around him, a river of faces, each one a stranger. He preferred it that way. Strangers asked nothing. Strangers expected nothing. And in this city, being invisible was its own kind of freedom.
Today was Sunday, a free day. No school, no forced interactions. His destination: the arcade—a dim, noisy haven where he could lose himself in the pixelated chaos. A place where his own internal static could blend into the overwhelming noise.
He skirted a bustling street market, the scent of fried dough, sizzling oil, and exotic spices doing little to stir him. A child's laughter—bright and carefree—pierced the background hum of the city, and Cain flinched, pulling his hoodie tighter around his face as if to block the sound.
He was passing a storefront, its mirrored glass reflecting a version of himself he barely recognized anymore: quiet, worn, hollow. That's when the world fractured again. A blur of motion. A sudden, sharp cry.
---
"Hey! My bag!"
Cain froze. His head snapped up.
A woman, her face contorted in panic, pointed a trembling finger down the street. A figure, cloaked in a tattered trench coat, sprinted away—a purse clutched in a gloved hand. The thief was fast, weaving through the startled pedestrians like a shadow.
Cain's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Move. The word screamed in his mind—a primal instinct, old and rusty, clawing its way back to the surface. Help her.
The instinct was there. The urge. The memory of what he used to be. His hands twitched. He could feel it: a familiar coldness crawling up his arms, spreading like a phantom ache. The precursor to his hidden power.
He could stop the thief. He wanted to.
But then came the shame. A swift, cold wave that flooded his chest.
What for?
The question echoed in his mind, bitter and cruel.
He was not a hero. Not anymore. Not after everything.
He didn't deserve to stand up.
He couldn't.
He wouldn't.
His feet remained rooted to the pavement. His breath caught in his throat.
His eyes, wide and helpless, watched the thief disappear into the crowd.
---
A flash of red. A streak of vibrant, fiery hair cut through the gray blur like a comet.
"Whoa there, buddy! That's not yours!"
The voice was loud—brimming with an almost absurd cheerfulness, utterly out of place in the tense moment. Cain blinked.
Out of nowhere, a boy, no older than himself, burst from an alleyway—a whirlwind of motion.
His red hair shimmered in the morning light like embers in motion. His golden eyes, wide and focused, zeroed in on the fleeing thief with hawk-like precision.
Before Cain could even process the arrival, the air shimmered.
WHOOSH!
A sudden burst of heat—like a furnace door flung open—rushed past. A small, controlled plume of fire erupted from the red-haired boy's outstretched hand. Not a wild blaze. Not an inferno.
But a focused, precise jet.
It didn't burn.
It pushed.
The thief, mid-stride, let out a high-pitched, surprised "Eeeek!" as the invisible force slammed into his back.
He stumbled. Arms flailed.
Then—THUD!
He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
The stolen purse rolled away, bumping to a stop beside a fruit stall.
The red-haired boy landed lightly, a faint wisp of smoke curling from his fingertips. He stood over the thief, blinking.
"Oh. Uh. Oops." He scratched the back of his neck, golden eyes widening. "I think I overdid it."
The woman, still trembling, rushed forward and scooped up her purse.
"Thank you! So much!"
The red-haired boy, looking slightly embarrassed, gave a half-bow.
"No problem, ma'am! Just doing my… uh… civic duty, I guess?"
He looked around, then noticed Cain—still frozen, still silent.
"So, uh… I can't leave him here, right?" He nudged the unconscious thief with the toe of his bright red sneaker.
"Is there, like, a police station nearby?"
Cain swallowed, throat dry.
There was no arrogance in the boy's voice. No swagger. Just raw honesty. The kind that disarmed you. The kind that made you want to believe.
He was new.
He didn't know the city.
But he had acted.
He hadn't hesitated.
He hadn't doubted himself.
Cain took a tentative step forward.
He couldn't save the woman's bag—but he could help him.
His voice, when it came, was a raspy whisper. Unused.
"There is a police station nearby. I… I'll help you."
The red-haired boy's eyes lit up. The golden flecks in them caught the sun.
"The police station? Right! Of course! Is it far?"
He tilted his head, wearing a hopeful, slightly lost puppy expression.
Cain shook his head.
"Not that far."
The boy grinned. Wide. Genuine.
"Awesome! Thanks! I'm Leo, by the way!"
He extended a hand—warm, calloused, pulsing with energy. A stark contrast to Cain's own cold, unfeeling skin.
Cain hesitated for a second.
Then took it.
His grip was uncertain. Leo's was firm. Solid. A surprising jolt of warmth surged through Cain's arm, like sunlight cracking through a long-forgotten window.
"Cain."
"Nice to meet you, Cain! You can lead the way."
Leo clapped him on the shoulder. A friendly, boisterous gesture.
Cain flinched internally.
But he didn't pull away.
Not entirely.
---
They managed to flag down a passing patrol car. Leo, with a surprising amount of charm, explained the situation to the officers, who looked at the unconscious thief and the slightly scorched pavement with a mixture of exasperation and weary familiarity.
Nova Reign. Another day. Another incident.
The thief was taken.
The purse returned.
The woman offered her thanks in rushed, grateful words.
Leo beamed like it was no big deal.
Like helping was simply the most natural thing in the world.
---
"Well, that was… eventful!"
Leo bounced on the balls of his feet, his energy practically vibrating.
Cain glanced at him.
"You said you were new in town?"
He could walk away after helping.
He could disappear into the crowd, as easily as he'd always done.
But the warmth of Leo's handshake lingered—a phantom sensation.
"Yeah! Got here this morning," Leo beamed. "Just exploring. Then I heard her scream and, well… I had to help. I mean, I am a hero, after all."
Cain glanced at him again.
"A hero, huh?"
He was young. Brave. Bright.
But that's how it worked now.
People chose their fate early.
Ever since the sky shattered seventy-five years ago, the world had changed.
Light fell. Power bloomed.
And with it, a new era began.
Cain studied him again.
That fire… it was real.
"Leo…" he began. "I was heading to an arcade. Want to tag along?"
Leo lit up.
"No way! Really?!"
He leaned in, eyes shining.
"This city's amazing, I heard there are good arcades here. Is it one of those retro places with the old-school stuff? Or like futuristic VR pods and whatnot? Oh man, I hope they have Dance Dance Revolution!
I'm a beast at that game—you wouldn't believe it! Back home, my high score was legendary! People used to gather just to watch me groooove!"
His arms flailed with enthusiasm, nearly hitting a passerby, who glared before moving on.
Cain found himself listening.
Really listening.
Leo wasn't waiting for answers.
He wasn't demanding conversation.
He was just… talking.
And in his vibrant, unfiltered voice, there was a strange kind of peace.
A comfort Cain hadn't felt in a long, long time.
---
End of Chapter One