Far away, in the Southern Continent, commonly known as Fo, the Graves Crew were deep in a sun burnt training yard. Jumpman wiped sweat from his brow, long silver-white hair falling loose around his shoulders, some of it in practical, uneven braids.
A few strands clung to his lightly sun kissed face. Muted brown eyes lifted as he lowered the crystal phone from his ear, Santy's voice still ringing in his head. Dark ink crept up the side of his neck from beneath the collar of an oversized black T-shirt.
Brown cargo pants hung heavy with pockets and reinforced seams, built for movement and long days, while scuffed tan combat boots pressed into the dirt. His gaze flicked upward to the broadcast crystal hanging crooked from a rusted beam. Solace filled the screen, launching King Astrell into the arena wall.
Jumpman grinned, "Yo, Fifty-Fifty," he called, voice half laughing. "You're gonna want to see this."
Across the yard, Fifty-Fifty stood with his back to everyone, filling the space without effort. He inspected the massive curling barbell resting against a training post, thick fingers testing the grip. The 225 pound barbell wasn't for workouts. It was his weapon, perfect for swinging. His build was big and powerful, carried with relaxed authority. Short, heavy locks were pulled upward and outward. A full beard filled his face, and he wore small gold hoop earrings.
He was dim skinned, and he was wearing a dark jacket left open, revealing a beige hoodie stretched slightly across his stomach. Multiple gold chains rested against his chest, with one bold pendant centered in the middle, cultural rather than flashy. He dragged the barbell up with one hand and tossed it casually over his shoulder. The other hand slipped back into his pocket as he walked.
"Better not be another fake prodigy,'" Fifty-Fifty muttered. Jumpman tilted the crystal toward him. Fifty-Fifty glanced at it, and slowly lowered the barbell. "Huh?" A grin creeped across his face. "Add her to the list." Fifty-Fifty stepped toward the screen, eyes locked on Solace like a predator. He spotted something interesting for the first time in years. "Jumpman," Fifty-Fifty said, voice buzzing with excitement, "get everyone ready."
Jumpman cracked his knuckles. "Finally navi!"
Fifty-Fifty's grinned. "When the time comes," he said, "we're gonna show her what a real crew looks like."
Around them, the rest of the Graves Crew stopped lifting, stopped sparring, stopped betting, every head turning toward their leader. They were about to prepare for fun, and Solace had just become a name on that list.
In the Northern Continent, commonly known as Fee. someone else was saying her name too. At the Cross Kingdom Task Force Continental Headquarters, the door to the Continental Marshal's office opened.
A man in a dark, tailored suit stepped in, breathing quick but posture intact. He was a Cross Kingdom Task Force Field Operative who had learned how to run bad news uphill without breaking. Low light washed over walls stacked with case files, maps, and surveillance crystals humming with quiet power.
"Sir," he said quickly. "Major Crimes failed, detectives couldn't contain the situation."
Behind the desk, Sonic Elite did not look over. He stood tall, posture straight despite the years etched into him. Thick silver-white hair and a matching beard fell long and slightly unkempt around a face carved by time.
"They usually don't," Sonic said calmly. "Tell me about the case." The operative swallowed, stepping closer. "The subject's name is Solace, no surname yet. Escalation exceeded projections. Major Crimes lost control early, detectives were deployed but failed to stabilize the situation."
Sonic turned, he had on a dark suit beneath a mantle that draped over his shoulders. A wide brimmed hat put a shadow over his eyes. His hand rested on the ornate handle of a cane. "Do they think this will go all the way?"
The operative tapped the page. "They think so, not only is she strong, but she's quoted as acting and moving… strange, and unusual." He glanced up. "Sounds like a lot of those other cases, sir." Silence stretched, then the operative continued "Are you… taking the case from Major Crimes?"
Sonic's gaze lifted fully now. "No, I'm going to talk to them first, and give them a chance to fix this."
The operative nodded. "Understood. Where should I file her, sir?"
Sonic's hand tightened on the cane. "Put it on my desk Kursik, I'll take care of it. I want to review a few details more carefully."
"Yes sir," Kursik said.
Sonic turned back around as the door closed quietly behind Kursik. He watched the surveillance crystals, eyes dark, already calculating how much the world was about to change. "At least I'm retiring soon."
Deep in the Kingdom of Iskra and tucked into a small region called Goldenwake, a man known as the Ironclad Warden walked alone in the hall. Him and his crew were in FLEX Five, laying low for the time being.
He was lean and muscular beneath the damage, his body a map of violence and discipline. His knuckles were scarred from decades of battle. He was paleo with short, black, spiked hair. An open black robe sat pushed back from his shoulders, exposing his torso. A red sash secured it loosely at his waist, and a sword rested across his shoulder.
The arena broadcast flickered across the wall-sized crystal in front of him. Solace threw guards aside, and lifted children as if they weighed nothing. He exhaled and nodded slowly. "Trouble," he muttered, wiping sweat from his jaw. He sheathed his sword and called for his prime, Roman Kompta.
A moment later, Kompta strolled up to the door with his hands in his pockets. He was dressed in an all black fleece tech suit with POWER stamped in red on the left chest and thigh. A white shirt peeked through where the fleece sat slightly unzipped, and his bright red shoes looked loud against all that black.
He was dim skinned and completely hairless, not even eyebrows."Double the drills, if this girl's starting a storm we won't get caught under it," The Ironclad Warden said. Kompta didn't say a word. He just nodded, then turned and walked out.
In FLEX Ten, in the Kingdom of Dravayne, deep in the Blacktund region, a man known as the War Apostle sat perfectly still on a stone seat, his sword laid across his knees. Outside, the land ran on in empty acres, and homes were spaced miles apart. Sheer physical dominance radiated from him, and big did not begin to describe him.
His body was pale and thick. Massive muscles packed beneath scarred flesh, every mark earned through war. His arms were enormous, veined and marked with red-black patterns. A heavy, rope-like necklace circled his neck, thick as a chain, resting against a chest built to absorb impact. He wore a patterned skirt like garment bound by a thick red rope belt, and had sandals on his feet. His pale face was fierce and animalistic, with a heavy beard and hair pulled back tight.
He did not look angry, he looked ready, as though violence were simply another state of being. Solace appeared on the broadcast jumping, and striking. His expression did not change, but his grip on the sword tightened. He stood slowly, lifting the massive blade with one arm. "A woman?" he scoffed. "Changing the world?"
He rested the sword against his shoulder, eyes narrowing. "No woman will be the symbol of this age," he said coldly. He turned toward the exit. "If the world thinks she'll lead, I'll put an end to that delusion myself." He left the hall with the confidence of a man who had never been tested, and never expected to be.
In FLEX Three, the Merchant King's body was draped in opulence. Layered red robes and thick ceremonial fabrics fell heavy over his massive frame, and was cut to emphasize his size rather than hide it. He was king of the region Willow Run, in the Kingdom of Mirelle, ruling beneath the banner of House Rosethorn.
Gold chains and medallions hung across his chest. The Merchant King sat behind a mountain of gold bars that contrasted against his pale skin. His eyes fixed on the crystal screen as Solace tore through guards. He laughed, the sound echoing through the chamber. "Oh, the chaos," he said, delighted. "The markets are going to dance for me." He snapped his fingers, and his advisors leaned in at once. "Find her, support her, invest in her story."
Back in Asteria Solace hit the ground hard after her jump, way harder than she expected. Her knees buckled, and her vision blurred at the edges. She'd taken hits before, but the second guy's punches weren't normal.
Her ribs throbbed, and her forearm tingled. Solace pressed a hand to her side and exhaled, "why did that hurt so bad...?" Another wave of dizziness rolled through her. She staggered into a low patch of bushes, and dropped to her knees. Then her head tipped forward into the dirt, and she didn't get back up.
Time blurred, minutes, maybe hours. The forest shifted around her unconscious body, then came a faint sway and a shoulder pressing gently into her stomach. Solace cracked her eyes open, and the first thing that filled her blurred vision was a pair of shoes, Arlenna's heavy black northern boots, darkened with mud from the long walk through the forest floor.
A thick camp blanket was wrapped tightly around Solace's body, Arlenna's work around so she could carry her without touching her directly. Solace whispered something that didn't come out right, then slipped back into unconsciousness. When she woke again, soft heat washed over her.
A quiet fire crackled in the corner of the shelter. It was makeshift, fabric stretched over branches, clearly Thiago's work. The shelter was overbuilt on purpose, sturdy enough to hold a storm. Solace's hand twitched, her breath quickened, and she sat up fast, but Arlenna was instantly there.
"Hey, Hey, Relax mode, Relax mode," Arlenna held up both hands, palms out. "Everything's fine."
Solace blinked hard, disoriented and hurting. "What... What happened to the kids?
Arlenna exhaled softly, "Thiago just got back with Miss Motion, he took almost all of them. He said 'I know someone that can take care of this.'" Solace just stared so Arlenna continued, "The last two live way out by FLEX Ten, I've never even heard of their village. We were gonna take them ourselves... but I couldn't find you," Arlenna said quietly. "You always crash hard after using too much energy, and after a fight like that... I couldn't imagine how drained you were."
Solace looked up at her. "You came back for me?"
Arlenna shrugged like it was obvious. "Of course I did."
Solace's eyes softened. "Thank you." Her eyes dropped to the sleeping shapes wrapped near the fire, two small kids curled together.
Arlenna lowered her voice. "We're getting low on supplies." Solace's chest tightened, she tried to sit straighter, but a sharp pain forced her back down."You're hurt worse than you thought huh?"
Solace nodded, "Yeah I don't know why."
Arlenna rubbed her forehead with two fingers. "There's a kingdom in FLEX Ten, the kids said the nearest safe place is called Frostpeak Dwelling. We only need a place to hide, rest, maybe restock, nothing more."
"And DOPO?" Solace asked.
Arlenna rolled her eyes. "They're everywhere. We need a plan, we can't run forever, and we can't get these kids home without one."
Solace stared up at the roof of the makeshift shelter. Frostpeak Dwelling a name the kids whispered when Arlenna carried them, a place the crew had never seen, only a direction on a map they didn't have. A place Solace had no idea would introduce them to someone who would shape their future forever.