Current Time
On a dark and cloudy night, the world was awash in flickering orange light. The crackle of blazing flames echoed through the air. Bits of glowing ember drifted upward, carried into the night sky by the heat.
On the ground below, a house burned with savage ferocity, its frame collapsing under the relentless assault of fire. The inferno lit the area in a haunting glow, casting shadows that danced like spirits fleeing the scene.
A short distance from the blaze, the outline of a young boy lay sprawled on the grass. He couldn't have been older than eight. His black hair clung to his forehead, damp from sweat. His tan skin was smudged with soot, and his small frame shook as he clutched the bloodstained hand of the man beside him.
The man wore an open white dress shirt, now soaked in blood, and black slacks. His longer black hair was disheveled, and his eyes closed. The resemblance between him and the boy was unmistakable.
The boy trembled, his red eyes wide and brimming with tears that spilled freely down his cheeks. His voice cracked as he called out, raw and broken. "Dad..."
The single word was filled with anguish and terror too great for a child to bear. His small fingers curled tighter around the man's hand, as if refusing to let go would somehow undo the horror.
All around them, the night raged on—oblivious to the boy's cries.
To the right of the heart-wrenching scene, half-shrouded in smoke and shadow, stood a man with wild white hair, his figure framed by the burning glow of the ruined home behind him. He wore a long, browned trench coat—singed at the edges, torn from battle. His cruel blue eyes gleamed with a perverse satisfaction, and a twisted grin tugged at his lips as he watched the boy sob beside the fallen man.
"Well, Leo." The man sneered, his voice low and scornful but laced with amusement. "The fight was fun. But I won and you lay here defeated. I'll never have to see your face again. Ha... ha ha ha!"
His laughter echoed through the charred air like a hyena's cackle sharp, unrepentant, and mocking. But up close, the man was far from unscathed. His face was bruised, swollen in places, and a trail of dried blood traced down from a cut above his brow. Burns marked the left side of his jaw and neck, still raw and seeping.
Lower down, his right hand trembled, slick with blood that dripped steadily onto the scorched earth. Each drop was a quiet drumbeat in the silence following his laughter. Despite his victory, his body bore the price of the battle.
"You almost won." He muttered, the amusement draining from his voice. His grin faded into a scowl as his eyes flicked back to the boy cradling his father's hand. "But your son had to get in the way."
He spat the last word with venom, shaking his head.
"So stupid. I told you. These feelings, this... weakness... would be the death of you."
There was no pride in his tone. No satisfaction in surviving. Only bitter disdain that Leo hadn't gone down purely by his own strength.
He stood there a moment longer, watching the flames consume what was left of Leo's home and life, his clenched fist trembling—not from pain, but from the hollow taste of an unearned victory.
Suddenly, the distant wail of sirens pierced the heavy night air, cutting through the crackling of flames and the boy's sobs. From the south, down a dirt road carved along the cliffside, the faint outlines of a small town could be seen.
The white-haired man froze, his ears twitching at the approaching sound. His smirk faded, replaced by a scowl of irritation. He turned away from the smoldering wreckage and started walking briskly toward the trees nearby. Nestled behind two thick trunks, half-concealed by shadows, was a sleek black car, its surface barely visible in the low light.
As the man retreated, the boy stirred.
Something flared inside him—hot, blinding, and foreign. Grief, pain, and helplessness twisted into a single spark of fury.
"Stop!" He cried, his voice cracking through the night, raw and filled with trembling anger.
The man halted mid-step.
The boy's small form stood upright now, swaying, his legs barely able to hold him up. His red eyes were wide with fear, but burning with something deeper. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as tears continued to stream down his cheeks.
"Don't leave!" The boy shouted, louder this time, voice hoarse. "I won't… I can't forgive you!"
The white-haired man slowly turned around, his face illuminated by the fire's glow. His expression was no longer amused, it was cold, tired, and irritated.
"What is it, brat?" He snapped. "You want to end up like your old man too?"
He took a step forward, menace radiating from every motion.
"I suggest you sit down, shut up, and pray those sirens get here before I change my mind."
But the boy didn't flinch. His body shook, legs trembling, breath ragged, but he stood his ground. His grief was still fresh, the wound bleeding wide open… but in this moment, his fear and sorrow became sharper.
The white-haired man stared at him for a second longer, studying him—then scoffed.
"…Tch. Just like him."
He turned his back once more, this time without pause, heading toward the black car as the sirens grew louder, closer.
"You hurt Dad!" The boy screamed, his voice cracking but filled with a burning emotion. "We didn't do anything to you, but you came and hurt him!"
Tears streamed down his cheeks, but he refused to look away. He clenched his fists, forcing his body to stop trembling, willing it to stop.
"You'll see!" He shouted, the words pouring from a place deeper than courage. "One day, I'll make you pay! I swear it!"
He tried to sound strong. He tried to make his words cut like steel. But his body still shook, and his voice though fierce wavered. To anyone else, he was a child throwing threats into the wind. But something else began to stir.
Without realizing it, faint red flames flickered to life along the boy's arms and shoulders, small, delicate, like embers latching onto air. They danced across his skin, reacting to the sheer will behind his words. The boy remained unaware, too consumed by rage and grief.
But the man saw them.
And he stopped.
The white-haired man's head tilted slightly, his cruel blue eyes narrowing. "You… brat," He muttered under his breath.
In the blink of an eye, faster than the boy could track, the man vanished.
And reappeared directly in front of him.
His expression had changed, gone was the mockery and amusement. Now his eyes held the sharp focus of a predator, and his mouth twisted in a scowl of murderous intent.
Before the boy could react, the man's left fist slammed into his stomach.
WHAM!
Air exploded from the boy's lungs as the impact sent him flying back, sliding across the dirt and grass, finally stopping several feet away in a coughing, gasping heap. His small body curled up instinctively, hands clutching at his gut as searing pain pulsed through him.
"Argh!" The boy cried out as pain lanced through his gut, sending him collapsing to his knees. He clutched his stomach, gasping, vision blurring with tears but there was no time to recover.
"Don't bark if you can't bite," The white haired man growled, walking forward a step, voice like frost in the firelight.
The white-haired man expression hardened into something colder, more lethal.
With a swift motion, he pulled back his right arm and from beneath the sleeve of his trench coat, a hidden double-edged blade, nearly a meter long, shot out with a metallic hiss. The steel gleamed in the firelight as it glowed blue, hungry for blood.
He raised the weapon and began walking toward the boy, his footsteps deliberate, like a judge approaching the executioner's block. The boy's eyes widened in horror as the point of the blade leveled with his chest.
Alex drew his arm back further, preparing to end it.
The boy's breath caught in his throat. His legs wouldn't move. His body screamed in fear.
In a voice like death, the white haired man whispered. "Die."
The blade thrust forward.
But—clank!
A hand snapped out of the darkness, catching the blade mid-thrust—barehanded.
Blood splattered as the steel cut into the palm that had stopped it.
"Leave my son alone, Alex," came a ragged, weary voice.
Alex's eyes shot to the side, startled.
Standing between him and the boy, his hand bleeding but firm around the blade's edge, was Leo, his body covered in wounds, shirt torn and soaked in blood, and yet… alive.
The boy stared up, stunned. "Dad...?"
Leo stood like a man dragged from the grave, every breath shallow, every muscle trembling but his eyes were fierce. Defiant.
Alex stepped back, slowly withdrawing his blade from Leo's palm, a slick sound following the motion. He took two steps back, his expression unreadable—then broke into a wicked grin.
"Well, well... Still alive, Leo?" he said with a chuckle. "I'm impressed. Most people don't survive the kind of wounds I gave you."
Leo swayed slightly, his legs barely supporting him, but he didn't fall. He met Alex's gaze with a faint smile, blood dripping from his hand.
"Since when have we ever been normal?" Leo rasped, his voice low, raw with pain but unbroken.
Even Alex hesitated at that answer.
The fire crackled around them, the sirens growing ever closer but in that moment, time stood still as two former comrades, now mortal enemies, faced each other once more.
"True… we are not like regular humans," Alex said, his voice calm, almost reflective as he turned his cold gaze back to Leo. "But even we, those who are Awakened, have limits. Regeneration, long lives… yes, we have those. But death still comes for us all."
Leo's knees buckled slightly, his body clearly failing. Blood soaked through his torn shirt and dripped to the ground in steady rhythm, every breath a labored rasp.
Alex's eyes drifted toward the boy Marco who knelt just behind his father, clutching his stomach, still in shock from both pain and the turn of events. His young face was frozen with disbelief, fear, and the fading sting of hope.
"Fine," Alex muttered, his voice sharp with disinterest. "I'll leave your son alone… for now. He carries your blood, after all."
A cruel smirk played across his lips as he turned his back and walked toward the black car nestled under the trees. "Now that you're gone, Leo... I suppose I'll be bored. No one left worth messing with."
The sound of keys jingling pierced the night air, followed by the metallic clink of a car door opening. A moment later, the engine rumbled to life and began to retreat, the repeated hum of tires fading slowly into the distance as Alex disappeared down the road toward the city lights.
Marco stared after him for only a moment, then turned his attention back to his father.
Leo hadn't moved.
Still standing barely, his hand pressed firmly against his cuts in a vain attempt to stem the bleeding. Blood continued to pour through his fingers, staining the ground. His shoulders rose and fell with strained breaths. His skin had gone pale.
"Dad…!" Marco screamed.
A thump followed—the sound of Leo's body finally collapsing to the ground.
"Dad!!" Marco cried again, scrambling to his feet despite the pain lancing through his gut. He rushed to his father's side, dropping to his knees with a choked sob.
"Please—please stay with me!" He begged, trying to turn Leo over with all the strength he could muster. His small hands trembled as he gently rolled him onto his back. "Help is coming, I know it! We can get a new house… mom, you, and me. Something better than this one."
His voice cracked, his vision blurry with tears as he leaned closer, placing a hand on his father's chest. "So please don't die… You can't. Mom and me, we'll be lost without you."
Leo's blood-streaked face turned slightly, his fading eyes meeting his son's.
A soft smile touched his lips—tired, proud, full of love.
"Marco… that's enough," He whispered. His voice was barely audible now, little more than breath. "I want you to know. I will always love you. Take care of your mom for me."
Marco shook his head violently. "No! No, don't say that!"
"Tell your mother… I'm sorry…" Leo murmured, his voice trailing off like wind in the trees.
His eyes lost their light.
His chest rose once more…
Then never again.
"Please, Dad, no! Don't die, don't die!!" Marco cried, clinging to his father's shirt, sobbing as he shook him desperately. "Come back… please…"
But Leo was still. Unmoving. Gone.
The sirens grew louder until they blared all around the ruined home. Black and white vehicles screeched into the scorched driveway, blue and red lights flashing across the ash-stained night.
And there they saw it.
A house reduced to ruin.
A child kneeling in the ashes.
And the lifeless body of a hero, held in his son's trembling arms.
—---------------------------------------------
10,000 years ago
Deep Space
"To anyone listening, this is a recorded message… This is Ricardo Torrez, captain of the ship Ark Horizon. I've come bringing terrible news. Earth has been lost. I repeat the Earth has been lost."
The voice, crackling through static, carried the weight of unimaginable grief. Calm but strained, the speaker was holding together through sheer duty.
"We are refugees, hoping to find any kind of help. Our ship has sustained heavy damage. We're running out of food... critical systems are failing. There are civilians onboard, children and women many in need of medical attention. To anyone... please... help us."
The message looped, fading briefly before restarting broadcast on every frequency the Ark Horizon could still muster. Yet in the black expanse of space, no one answered.
The massive ship, a colossus of metal, drifted silently through the void. Its once-sleek hull was scorched and pitted, fractured in places where impacts had ruptured its structure. Some sections flickered with failing lights, others had gone dark completely.
Through reinforced windows, hollow-eyed survivors peered out into the stars, unaware if they'd ever see another world again. The Ark Horizon floated like a ghost.
—--------------------------------------
Inside the bridge of the Ark Horizon
Inside a dim command chamber, the sterile light of flickering consoles cast long shadows across cold metal walls. The only sound was the hum of emergency power threatening to die at any moment.
A man stood near the central control interface, hunched over, clutching his head with both hands. His black hair was matted with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead. Despite the pristine white of his once-proud military uniform, he looked drained—haunted by the weight of lives depending on him.
His crimson eyes, though filled with exhaustion, burned with unyielding focus. Captain Ricardo Torrez, the man who once led missions across the solar system, now stood as the last shield between hope and oblivion.
He straightened, composed his trembling shoulders, and stepped forward. "Rho-9," He said, his voice strained. "Report."
The soft glow of blue light flickered above the command console as the ship's advanced AI responded, her tone clinical and clear.
"Captain. Long-range transmissions have received no replies. Our SOS signal continues to repeat, but there has been no response within a ten-lightyear radius."
A pause.
"Ship integrity has decreased to 28% functionality. Life support is stable for now, but with over 10,317 survivors, food and medical supplies are critical. Oxygen recycling systems are degrading."
Ricardo's jaw clenched. "Damn it…"
He slammed his fist against the side of the console. A hollow clang echoed through the bridge.
"There has to be something," He muttered, voice low with desperation. "Options?"
"There is one." Rho-9 replied after a beat. "Initiating cryostasis protocol may preserve the lives of all onboard until aid arrives."
Ricardo looked up sharply. "And the risk?"
"Severe. Power instability across the ship. Probability of complete failure: 62.4%. Likelihood of permanent neural damage among occupants: high."
Ricardo cursed under his breath, pacing. His fingers ran through his hair as the weight pressed on him again.
Then a sudden tone blared from the ship's sensors.
"...What now?" he muttered, snapping to attention.
"One of the recon droids has returned." Rho-9 said. "Data incoming... now displaying visual."
The center screen blinked to life, and static gave way to an image of a lush, alien world. It turned slowly beneath twin moons, its surface dotted with sweeping biomes: jagged mountain ranges, wide crystal plains, vibrant cloud systems. Green valleys and strange colored forests stretched far beyond the camera's frame.
"Atmospheric composition: oxygen-rich, suitable for human respiration," Rho continued. "Radiation levels: minimal. Biodiversity: unknown. Terrain: diverse. Tech presence: undetected. Primary classification: Habitable."
She paused.
"Orders, Captain?"
Ricardo stared at the screen. His face hardened. "...So we've got one shot at a planet we know nothing about."
Another silence passed.
He exhaled, long and slow, then smirked with bitter resolve. "Screw it. We're out of options anyway."
He slammed his fist onto the intercom panel.
"Rho, alert all department heads. Tell them to get to the bridge. We're making planetfall."