One month later.
The roar of the massive crowd vibrating through the reinforced glass of the VIP family box at the Awakening Stadium on Planet Luprime was deafening.
Dorian stood near the edge of the luxury balcony, looking out over the colossal, sun-drenched arena. A wave of profound nostalgia washed over him. One year ago, he had been standing down there in the dirt, just another desperate participant waiting to touch the fragment of monolithic Awakening Stone.
Looking back on it now from the elevated, comfortable heights of a private suite, his perspective had shifted entirely.
Dorian glanced to his left and right at the neighboring VIP boxes. The people occupying these high-end suites; wealthy corporate executives, high-ranking military officials, and Core World elites were casually sipping sparkling drinks and laughing with each other. To them, this monumental, life-altering ceremony was nothing more than a simple weekend spectacle.
He then cast his gaze downward, toward the massive, crammed regular seating areas that wrapped around the lower tiers of the stadium.
The atmosphere down there was entirely different. He saw parents gripping the railings with white knuckles, their faces etched with a suffocating blend of terror and desperate hope.
These were the people from the lower levels and outer rims. They were here praying for a miracle, hoping against hope that their child would awaken a powerful trait. Because in the brutal machine of the Stellar Accord, becoming a Solar was the absolute, singular way to drag a family out of grinding poverty.
Dorian finally lowered his eyes to the arena floor. He scanned the neat rows of teenagers waiting in their respective academy formations. He quickly spotted the pristine white and blue uniforms of the Astra Nova Academy.
And there she was.
Lyra stood perfectly still in the formation. Unlike the terrified, shivering kids around her, she looked incredibly calm and collected, her eyes focused straight ahead as she waited for her name to be called.
Dorian smiled, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. Seeing her standing there, so strong and grown up, suddenly dragged a very specific, deeply buried memory to the forefront of his mind.
…
Several years ago.
The sunless, artificial air of Nexus Prime's lowest levels felt even more choking and heavy than usual that day.
It had been mere months since their mother, Eline, had packed her things and walked out the door, abandoning them to whatever gods were watching. The cramped apartment was suffocatingly quiet.
Seven-year-old Dorian was slowly climbing down the creaky ladder from the small, dusty attic space. He had just securely locked his mother's pristine violin in an old trunk, pushing it as far back into the darkness as he could.
He was acting on a quiet, childish instinct to protect his family's fragile peace. Just two days prior, his father had erupted in a rare, sorrowful fit of anger when Dorian had tried to play it, shouting that it was a "nasty instrument" that only brought pain.
As Dorian stepped off the ladder, a tiny voice spoke up from the hallway.
"Brother?" four-year-old Lyra asked, clutching a frayed stuffed animal. She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Why are you putting Mommy's violin in the dark room?"
Dorian forced a small, reassuring smile onto his face, masking the heavy ache in his chest. "Brother has no use for it anymore, Lyra. I need to focus on something else now. I need to focus on being a Solar."
He puffed out his small chest, trying to look brave. "I heard from the kids outside that the Accord set up Identifiers in the sector plaza today. Brother is going to go down there and check if I can be a Solar or not!"
Hovering quietly in the corner of the room was Leo. The CP-unit Compadre was much cleaner, significantly newer, and lacked the sarcastic, jailbroken personality it would develop years later.
"Young Master Dorian," Leo chimed in, its optical sensor blinking a cautious yellow. "I must remind you of the legal stipulations regarding the use of an Accord Identifier. If you test positive for Solar traits, you will be legally bound to sign a mandatory conscription contract. You will need to work for the Stellar Accord for fifty years."
Dorian's seven-year-old smile didn't waver. He looked at the peeling wallpaper of their apartment, then at his little sister.
"So be it," Dorian said, his voice carrying a heavy, tragic resolve far beyond his years. "I heard they pay nicely. It will fix everything."
He grabbed his worn-out coat from the hook by the door. "Leo, Lyra, keep an eye on Marcus. He's sleeping in the crib. It will only take thirty minutes, okay?"
As Dorian pulled the heavy metal door open, Lyra took a small step forward. She didn't look excited. She looked terrified.
"Brother..." Lyra said meekly, her tiny voice trembling. "You have to come back after thirty minutes."
Dorian offered her a bright, fearless grin. "Of course I will, silly. I promise."
The door clanged shut.
One hour later, the heavy door slammed open.
"LYRA!!" Dorian shouted, bursting into the apartment in incredibly high spirits, his face flushed from running all the way back from the plaza. "BROTHER GOT IDENTIFIED POSITIVE! I CAN BE A SOLAR!"
He expected her to cheer. He expected her to jump into his arms.
Instead, what greeted him was the sight of little Lyra sitting on the floor, her face red and puffy, tears streaming endlessly down her cheeks. The moment she saw him, she scrambled up and sprinted across the room, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him with terrifying, desperate strength. She buried her face in his coat, sobbing hysterically.
Dorian froze, his triumphant smile vanishing instantly. He dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around her small, shaking frame.
"Hey, hey..." Dorian whispered, panic rising in his chest. "What happened? Is Marcus okay? Are you hurt?"
But Lyra couldn't speak. She just cried harder, her small fists gripping his jacket as if she thought he would disappear if she let go.
"You did not return after thirty minutes, Young Master," Leo's synthesized voice stated quietly from the corner. "Lyra became highly distressed. She believed you had gone away with Mistress Eline."
The words hit Dorian with the force of a physical blow. He felt like his heart had just been pierced by a jagged piece of ice.
In his excitement at the plaza, waiting in the long lines to be tested, he simply hadn't realized that more than thirty minutes had passed. To him, it was just a slight delay. But to a traumatized four-year-old girl whose mother had recently vanished without a word, every passing minute past his promise was agonizing proof that he had abandoned her too.
Dorian couldn't say anything. The guilt was suffocating. He simply closed his eyes, held his little sister as tightly as he could, and let her cry her broken heart out against his shoulder, silently vowing right then and there that he would never, ever leave her behind.
…
Back in the present, Dorian let out a deep, shaky breath, shaking the heavy ghost of the past from his mind.
'What am I thinking?' he scolded himself internally, his grip on the balcony railing loosening. 'Whatever happens down there today, I will make her happy. That is a promise.'
By his side, little Marcus was happily munching on the complimentary VIP snacks provided in the suite.
"Brother," Marcus asked, his mouth full of cracker crumbs, "where is sister at?"
Dorian chuckled softly, pointing down at the vast, meticulously organized formation of students. "Look there. You'll find her."
Just then, the stadium announcer's magically amplified voice boomed across the arena.
"Lyra Elias Kepler!"
John leaned forward against the reinforced glass, his hands clasped tight. "Boys, it's your sister's turn."
Dorian felt a nervous edge radiate from his father as they watched Lyra confidently step out of the Astra Nova formation. Seeing her walk toward the center of the arena instantly triggered the painful memory of his own Awakening day.
Back then, his status as a scholarship aspirant of the Solar major should have made him one hundred percent guaranteed to be a Solar. Yet, it seemed the universe had its own cruel sense of humor, announcing him as the ultimate anomaly: Incompatible.
Down on the stadium floor, the Channeller approached Lyra. With clinical, practiced precision, the official injected a glowing plasma fluid into Lyra's neck using a pneumatic syringe. She then instructed the teenager to lay back onto the cold, metallic diagnostic bed. Finally, the Channeller placed a glowing heliocore directly onto Lyra's forehead, waiting for the stone to react to the plasma and her latent genetics.
The stadium held its breath.
A sharp, flat buzz echoed from the terminal.
"Incompatible!" the Channeller announced.
Lyra didn't flinch. She simply sat up, rubbed her neck, and casually walked toward the designated seating area reserved for the saddened, rejected sixteen-year-olds. But Lyra didn't look sad.
She looked as calm as humanly possible, treating the life-shattering rejection as if it were a minor inconvenience holding up her daily schedule. The moment she sat down, she reached into her uniform pocket, pulled out a learning notebook, and immediately started studying.
Up in the family box, a massive, visible wave of relief washed over John and Dorian. They exhaled simultaneously, the tension leaving their shoulders.
But unbeknownst to Dorian, up in the highest, most exclusive monitoring box of the stadium, a shadowy figure had just zeroed in on the surname Elias Kepler.
It was Tala Felaeon, a human woman with eyes that seemed to burn with a cold, inner power. As one of the most powerful Identifiers in the Accord, she had been the one to sense the terrifying potential in Dorian's body years ago, intending to groom him and present him to the Celestarch as a personal, loyalty-defining gift.
Hearing the familiar surname, Tala's gaze locked onto Lyra, then drifted slowly up toward the Kepler family VIP box. She leaned over and whispered a sharp, quiet directive to her attendant.
"Yes, ma'am," the attendant replied, immediately typing the family's record into a datapad.
Beside Tala sat the absolute elite of the Accord's educational machine, the headmasters of the Ivy League academies that circled Luprime.
Zash Raysi, the newly appointed headmaster of Aethelgard Academy, sat in tense silence.
Mol Tal, the headmistress of Astra Nova, let out a heavy sigh as she watched Lyra open her book. "It seems this year we are getting a pitifully small amount of compatibility among the unidentified student populace."
Armstrong Starlight Academy's headmaster, Rovah Nagir, smiled diplomatically. "It simply highlights the necessity of our specialists. Identifiers are rare, irregular Solars who possess the unique, almost mystical ability to sense the potential of an Awakening in a child. We should all thank Identifiers such as Identifier Felaeon here for maintaining our elite ranks."
Tala Felaeon snarked back without looking at him. "Empty compliments will not get you a larger batch of Solars for your academy next semester, Headmaster Nagir."
Rovah just smiled, unbothered. "You jest. I merely acknowledge the Identifier's unparalleled effort to build the Accord's foundation."
The pleasantries were suddenly shattered by Lipin Taras, the blunt headmaster of The Tsiolkovsky Stellar Institute. He leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Speaking of flawless records, I heard an interesting rumor from the former Aethelgard academy headmaster Jasrun Dovan before his departure. He claimed one of his guaranteed students was an absolute dud. A zero-compatibility."
The temperature in the VIP box seemed to drop. Tala Felaeon shifted slightly in her seat, her expression hardening into an unreadable mask.
"One of our regional identifier administration officers made a regrettable clerical mistake," Tala stated smoothly, lying with terrifying conviction. "But today's occasion proves our accuracy, does it not? One hundred percent of the actual scholarship aspirants tested today were indeed Solars."
Rovah Nagir laughed, expertly defusing the tension. "It was indeed! One historical mistake does not flush away millions of achievements, are we not agreed?"
The headmasters nodded, returning their attention to the arena below. But Tala's cold eyes drifted back toward the Kepler family box.
…
Meanwhile, lightyears away on the capital planet of Ardota Prime, the oppressive weight of absolute power settled over the Celestial Citadel.
Deep within the impenetrable fortress lay the Grand Hall of Stellar Ascend. It was a cavernous chamber shrouded in perpetual twilight, a room where only the absolute apex of the galactic hierarchy was permitted to breathe the air. There was the weight of titles that commanded billions of lives.
Seated around a massive, obsidian circular table were the pillars of the Stellar Accord.
To the left sat the Grand Admiral of the Accord Navy. She wore a pristine white uniform, heavily decorated with twelve gleaming insignia pinned to her right chest. She was a Qerrian Solar, her skin a vibrant, dark crimson hue.
Instead of hair, a collection of thick tendrils cascaded from her scalp. She was completely blind, her upper face permanently sealed behind a sleek featureless metal half-mask, and she lacked external ears entirely. Instead, she perceived the room through her tendrils, which acted as a hyper-sensitive biological sensor array.
Across from her sat the Grand General of the Accord Army. He wore a pitch-black uniform, also bearing twelve insignia on his right chest. He was a towering Neman Solar, easily standing over two and a half meters tall, his massive ape-like frame packed with dense musculature.
His exposed skin was a horrific tapestry of deep, jagged battle scars, a testament to a lifetime spent in the trenches. But his true history was displayed upon his chin; his facial hair was intricately braided and woven with heavy metal rings and carved bone charms, serving as a physical chronicle of his countless victories.
Beside the General sat the Grand Overseer of Accord Intelligence. He managed every shadow, spy, and BSO operative in the galaxy. He wore a crisp grey uniform bearing ten insignia on his right chest. He was a Gunnossian, possessing a slender build, pure white hair, and pale silver eyes that calculated every variable in the room.
He rested his four-digit hands on the obsidian table. The entire left half of his body had been masterfully replaced by gleaming, elegantly integrated cybernetics, a visible display of extreme high status and intellectual perfection within his culture.
To his right sat the Prime Vizier. He was human, his face wrinkled and age-spotted, looking like a man in his late seventies. In truth, prolonged exposure to advanced, highly classified Accord medical technology had kept him breathing for nearly two hundred and fifty years.
And finally, seated at the absolute head of the table, was the supreme ruler of the Stellar Accord. He was the most powerful Solar ever recorded in galactic history, the god-like being who had violently united the warring systems centuries ago: the Celestarch.
Yet, looking at him now, he appeared frail, withered, and half a step past his deathbed. His skin was paper-thin, his eyes sunken, and his breathing was a labored, wet rattle.
"Have any of you..." the Celestarch spoke, his voice coarse and grinding like two stones rubbing together, "...found the remnants of those Sol'ar?"
The Prime Vizier immediately stood and offered a deep, reverent bow. "We have followed the trace of the Sol meteor cluster for years, my liege. We have scoured the outer rims and the dead zones. But it seems none of them wish to reveal themselves. After all this time... I highly doubt they still exist."
The Celestarch did not respond to the Vizier. He slowly raised his trembling, withered hand, holding it up to the dim light of the Grand Hall. He opened his palm, then slowly closed it into a fist.
As he squeezed, a small, jagged crack suddenly spider-webbed across his knuckles.
It was a physical fissure in reality. Blinding, searing, golden-white light bled out from the crack, shining as if a literal, miniature sun was trapped inside the frail shell of his anatomy. The overwhelming, divine energy contained within him was finally tearing the mortal vessel apart from the inside out.
The Celestarch stared at the glowing crack in his own flesh.
"Tch," the Celestarch clicked his tongue in absolute annoyance.
His eyes rolled back into his head. The supreme ruler of the galaxy slumped forward, his face slamming into the obsidian table before his lifeless body tumbled out of his chair and crashed onto the cold stone floor.
Inside the Grand Hall of Stellar Ascend, no alarms blared. No medics were called.
The Grand Admiral, the Grand General, the Grand Overseer, and the Prime Vizier did not flinch, panic, or rush to his aid. They simply sat in chilling, absolute silence.
Minutes bled away.
Then, the heavy, reinforced doors of the chamber swung open. A teenager walked into the room. He had pristine blonde hair and piercing, luminescent golden eyes. Despite his youth, he walked with an overwhelming, terrifying power behind every single step, moving with the absolute authority of a god walking among mortals.
He strode directly toward the obsidian table, making his way to the head seat. The Grand Admiral, the Grand General, the Grand Overseer, and the Prime Vizier did not move to stop him. They simply lowered their heads in absolute deference.
The teenager reached out and casually placed his hand on the withered corpse of the Celestarch.
Instantly, the frail body crumbled, dissolving into a grey ash that scattered into the air.
The teenager brushed the remaining dust from the high-backed obsidian chair and sat down. He leaned over, casually resting his elbow on the armrest, and propped his chin on his knuckles.
"Now," the teenager said. His voice was youthful, yet it echoed with an ancient, crushing weight. "Where were we?"
The Prime Vizier bowed deeply from his waist. "We were discussing the trace of the Sol meteor cluster, my liege."
The Celestarch let out a soft, almost bored sigh. He turned his golden eyes toward the towering Neman. "General. How about those Dagmani down on that quarantined rock? Are they Sol'ar?"
The Grand General's heavily scarred face remained rigid. "Negative, my liege. They are irregulars at best. Recent field reports indicate they possess localized spatial abilities; the power to store and manifest items from thin air. However, a new geological report also states there is an unusually high concentration of solar energy radiating directly from their native minerals."
The Grand Admiral shifted slightly. The fleshy vane twitched as she spoke. "Are we adding Planet Dagma to the priority mining list, then?"
"It is too far," the Prime Vizier interjected smoothly. "They reside deep within the Outer Rim. We have not established proper hyperlanes in that sector yet. The logistical cost to use self-contained hyperdrives for a mass-scale mining operation would vastly outweigh the initial yield."
The Admiral nodded her masked head. "You are correct, Vizier."
The Celestarch tapped his finger rhythmically against the armrest. "And what of the Yustea update?"
The Grand Overseer of Accord Intelligence, folded his four-digit hands together. "There is a small pushback sentiment brewing within the civilian networks, but everything remains entirely under our control. Currently, fifty-five percent of the native Yustean populace has already surrendered their lives to the camps to mine the planetary minerals for you, my liege."
A cold smile touched the Celestarch's youthful face. "So they have finally realized the futility of their mistake. Good."
He leaned back in his chair. "If they are down in the dirt mining, there is no need for them to look up at the sky. There is no need for those Centennial Showers. Clean the cluster out of the system. I authorize the use of the Solar Beam."
The Grand Admiral placed a fist over the twelve insignia on her chest. "Consider it done, my liege."
…
Several weeks later.
In the open void of space, far beyond the orbit of Yustea Prime, a massive, blocky cluster of Accord frigates floated in silent formation. Hanging directly above them was a colossal Judicator-Navy Class Flagship.
On the command deck of the Judicator, the Grand Admiral stood at the primary viewport. Her tendrils flared, perfectly sensing the massive magnetic disturbances of the oncoming celestial bodies. The Centennial meteor cluster was hurdling through the dark, on its thousand-year trajectory toward the Yustea system.
The Admiral gave the silent order.
Below the Judicator, the formation of frigates came alive. In perfect, terrifying synchronization, hundreds of thousands of highly reflective, micro-polished panels unfolded from the hulls of the smaller ships.
They fanned out like the petals of a massive, mechanical flower. The panels shifted, tilted, and locked into place, perfectly catching the raw, blinding radiation of the nearby local sun.
With flawless mathematical alignment, the array focused the reflected starlight into a single, concentrated point.
A beam of pure, endless solar energy erupted from the formation. It struck it with absolute, searing annihilation. The blinding beam swept across the oncoming Centennial Showers, instantly vaporizing the ancient rock and ice.
After a single minute, the beam cut off.
The sky was completely empty. Not a single chunk of meteor remained in sight. The sacred astrological event of the Yustean people had been reduced to a microscopic cloud of drifting, invisible dust.
One by one, the reflective panels snapped shut. Neatly and quietly, the frigates broke formation and drifted upward, parking smoothly inside the cavernous hangar bays of the Judicator.
A/N:
Thank you for your support!
~/SmilinKujo