Age: 5 Years Old Location: The Rusukaina Wilds of Oakhaven
The island of Oakhaven was not marked on any modern chart. If the Marines did know of it, they dismissed it as an uninhabitable rock too close to the unpredictable currents of the Calm Belt. This isolation was what made it a perfect sanctuary for Elara, but it also meant the fauna here were massive, aggressive, and utterly unconcerned with the rules of polite biology.
Kael called the creatures "Mega-Beasts."
He sat high in the branches of a towering Redwood, his black cowl pulled tight, observing his prey. Below him, a creature that resembled a rhinoceros, only covered in thick, purple, interlocking chitinous plates, was drinking from a small jungle spring. Jarek called it a Stone-Horn Grazer. It weighed easily six tons.
"If you can hunt that," Jarek had told him, "you can survive a pirate ambush."
Kael wasn't hunting it for food. He was hunting it for speed.
He was trying to overcome the core paradox of his race: the Lunarian curse.
His natural state, Flame On (Durability Mode), was a fortress. Yesterday, he'd let the Stone-Horn ram a tree he was hiding behind. The tree snapped like a twig, but Kael, fire blazing, felt nothing more than a light tremor. He was invincible. But he was also slow. His movements were leaden, his reaction time manageable for a normal human, but not nearly fast enough for the New World.
He needed to transition to Flame Off (Speed Mode). But he couldn't control the explosion of velocity that came with shedding the weight of his defense. Every attempt resulted in him rocketing forward uncontrollably, usually ending in a painful impact.
He needed a moving target. A massive, slow-moving target with predictable patterns.
The key is minute control, Kael's internal monologue began, the rational adult mind calculating angles and momentum. The speed boost is exponential, not linear. If I want to move five feet at full speed, I must turn the fire off for 0.001 seconds, accelerate, and then immediately turn the fire back on to create a braking system.
It was a terrifying calculation. If he failed to re-engage the flame, his small, five-year-old body would shatter against the environment.
Kael took a deep, steadying breath. His gaze settled on the Stone-Horn.
He needed to carve his initials into the beast's rear flank and return to the tree before the Stone-Horn finished its gulp of water.
He slowly, agonizingly, reached into his pouch and pulled out the sharpest sliver of flint Jarek had given him. He kept the flame on his back burning steady, ensuring his descent was quiet and measured.
He landed silently on the soft, mossy earth. The Stone-Horn was ten feet away.
Kael tensed his legs, preparing to spring. He focused his mind, visualizing the suppression of the flame. It felt like choking his own soul.
T = 0.00 seconds: The flame on Kael's back vanishes.
T = 0.01 seconds: The Lunarian weight restriction is instantly lifted. Kael's muscles, conditioned for carrying the constant burden of the wings and the durability field, explode with stored power. He doesn't move; he teleports.
He covers the ten feet in an instant, his vision blurring from the sheer acceleration. The air screams past his ears.
T = 0.02 seconds: Kael is already past the Stone-Horn's head. Overshot! his mind screamed in panic. Way too much force!
The Stone-Horn had barely started to move its massive head. It was still mid-sip.
Kael fought the inertia. He pushed his will, demanding the fire return. He clenched his teeth so hard he heard the bones in his jaw protest.
T = 0.03 seconds: The flame blazes back into existence.
The sudden return of the Lunarian defense field acts as a tremendous drag and stabilizer. Kael skids sideways, kicking up a rooster tail of dirt and moss. The inertia sends him spinning, but the durability field prevents his bones from snapping as he grazes a low-hanging tree branch.
He crashed into a bush twenty feet past the Stone-Horn, spitting out leaves.
The Stone-Horn finally lifted its head, its tiny, stupid eyes blinking slowly. It looked around, sensing a minor disturbance in the air, but saw nothing worth worrying about. It went back to drinking.
Kael lay there, heart hammering against his ribs, his body shaking from the sudden G-forces. His entire system was protesting the whiplash.
Total travel time: 0.03 seconds. Distance: 30 feet (10 feet forward, 20 feet overshoot). Success Rate: 0%. Durability Status: Saved by the fire re-engaging.
"Pathetic," Kael muttered, climbing to his feet.
He was fast, yes. But he was essentially turning himself into a barely-aimed ballistic missile. He needed refinement.
He spent the rest of the day in that clearing, repeating the exercise.
Attempt 2: Managed to turn the fire off for 0.005 seconds. The acceleration was slightly less violent, but he launched himself directly into the Stone-Horn's massive, impervious flank. The beast noticed him this time, giving a bored grunt before shaking him off like a fly.
Attempt 8: He was improving. He managed a clean, five-foot arc around the beast's legs. He even scraped the flint against the Stone-Horn's shell, leaving a faint scratch. He was immediately launched into a small, rocky stream.
Attempt 15: Dusk was falling. The air was getting heavy. Kael was physically exhausted. His muscles ached, not from strength training, but from the constant, unnatural struggle against gravity and inertia.
He had to get one clean run. One successful carving.
He took his position on a low branch, waiting for the Stone-Horn to move to its usual scratching post.
Kael closed his eyes. He didn't think about acceleration; he thought about the stop. He visualized the flame engaging like an emergency parachute, right at the moment of impact. He focused on the duration of suppression.
The fire is not my defense. It is my brake.
The Stone-Horn shuffled, its flank now exposed to the setting sun.
T = 0.00 seconds: Flame Off.
Kael lunged. He moved forward, his velocity terrifying. He felt the pure, weightless freedom of the Lunarian without its heavy defense—it was addictive, an adrenaline rush unlike anything he had ever felt in his past life.
T = 0.01 seconds: He covered the distance. He was perfectly positioned next to the creature's back leg.
T = 0.015 seconds: He dug the flint into the chitin. He made a shallow, but clean, slash mark.
T = 0.02 seconds: He commanded the flame back. Flame On.
The fire burst back. The sudden addition of weight and defense created instant drag. Kael's forward momentum was brutally killed. He stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body shuddering, but his feet stayed planted firmly on the ground.
He stood perfectly still, breathing hard. He looked at the Stone-Horn's leg. There was a definitive, inch-long scorch mark where he had carved a capital 'K'.
Success.
The Stone-Horn finally noticed him. It turned its huge head, its eyes registering the tiny, black-hooded figure standing next to its ankle. It let out a low, guttural roar—a sound that could shatter glass.
Kael knew he had seconds before the creature charged. He had his win, now he needed to escape.
"Time for the retreat," he whispered.
He toggled his fire to Off one last time. He focused on a giant, moss-covered oak tree sixty feet away.
WHOOSH.
Kael accelerated like a cannon shell, this time slightly better aimed. He covered the sixty feet in 0.05 seconds, barely registering the blurred landscape. He slammed back into the thick trunk of the oak, catching the wood with his hands, letting the impact rattle him.
The Stone-Horn, having charged a straight line, found nothing but the empty space where Kael had been standing a heartbeat before. It slammed its horn into the dirt in frustration.
Kael stood panting against the oak, his flame blazing hot now, ready for defense. His forehead was throbbing. But he had done it. He had achieved controlled, close-range speed.
Kael made his way back to the cabin, the sun now fully set. The air was thick with the chirps and howls of night creatures.
As he approached the clearing where the cabin sat, he suddenly stopped dead.
He didn't hear anything. He didn't smell anything out of the ordinary. But every nerve in his body, every innate sense of the Lunarian, screamed danger.
He ducked behind a thick patch of ferns and pulled his cowl further over his face.
"What is that?" he whispered.
It wasn't a sound or a sight, but a feeling. A pervasive, heavy presence that made the air feel sticky and slow. It felt like the island itself was holding its breath.
He crept forward until he could see the cabin. The lights were on. Everything looked normal.
Then he saw Jarek.
Jarek was sitting on the front porch, cleaning his long sword. But his posture was wrong. He was rigid, his gaze locked on the treeline.
Standing just beyond the fence, in the shadow of the tall pines, was a man.
The man was wearing a dark, double-breasted suit that looked far too pristine for a remote island. He was tall, thin, and had a small, neat mustache. He wasn't yelling, he wasn't aggressive. He was simply there.
"Jarek of the North Blue," the man's voice was smooth, almost musical, yet carried a chilling authority. "We haven't seen you since you forfeited your bounty license seven years ago."
Jarek didn't look up from his sword. "Lost the taste for chasing shadows, Agent. Go home."
"Oh, we aren't here for you, Jarek. Not officially. Your file is closed. We are here for the rumors." The agent slowly stepped into the light, revealing the telltale dark glasses and sharp, predatory eyes.
CP Agent.
Kael's blood ran cold. He knew the uniform. He knew the name. This wasn't a Marine patrol. This was the World Government's shadow.
"The rumors of the White Wings," the agent continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "A fire in the night. A species that should be extinct. The Gods of the Red Line."
Inside the cabin, Kael could see Elara moving. She was standing behind the window, her white hair stark against the dark glass. She looked like a ghost.
Jarek finally lifted his head. "You came all the way out here for a tall tale?"
"We are thorough, Jarek. Thorough enough to know that you are not capable of defending your family against a squad." The agent paused, a cruel smile touching his lips. "And thorough enough to know that your wife is trying to raise the next King."
Kael gripped his wooden sword so hard the wood groaned. His flame raged, but he dared not make a sound. He was five. He couldn't fight CP agents. He had to stay hidden.
The slow burn of his childhood had just reached its first, deadly inferno.