Star City throbbed with restless energy, half-lit by neon signs and half-haunted by the scars of the Cataclysm Gate Disaster—a calamity that tore the world open a decade before. Crumbling towers clung beside fresh skyscrapers, while magic-imbued graffiti pulsed between shimmering holo-ads. In narrow alleys, shards of stone from the old Gate wall glimmered with stubborn traces of runes, the city's wounds still visible ten years on.
Tian Qiren was just another ghost in this maze. Seventeen, lean and ragged, he'd long since learned to keep his head down and his pockets empty. Admiring the evening's commotion from a rain-soaked fire escape, he planned his way into the Night Market's infamous black auction. Relics from past Gate incursions drew both fortune-seekers and syndicate bosses, and tonight, the rumor was that something bigger than an enchanted trinket was up for grabs.
Qiren blended into the crowd—a dash of luck, a handful of street grit—and waited until the bouncers looked elsewhere. Inside, the air vibrated with excitement and barely contained danger. The black market auction wasn't just commerce; it was survival, power, and all the whispered promises that came with stolen magic.
Above the crowd, shimmering in midair, hovered the crystalline orb; it pulsed with swirling blue and red light. The light danced within like captive storms trapped in glass. The plinth was lit by flickering glyphs projecting an eerie glow:
"LOT #77: Gate Relic – Sinwave System Seed. Unbound. WARNING: HIGH RISK. HANDLING REQUIRES GREAT CAUTION."
No one in their right mind wanted this; the warnings were louder than any roar of greed. But desperation had strange ways of twisting minds.
The auctioneer's voice cut sharp. "Listen well—one winner, one relic, no withdrawals. The price is blood if that's what it takes. Start your bids!"
Crowds murmured and shouted, throwing out numbers elevated beyond reason. Credits, precious items, promises of service in the dark syndicates competed over possession of the relic.
Qiren watched, tense as the numbers spiraled upward. No way was he going to win a bidding war against the city's biggest gangs or mercenaries. His plan was simpler: wait.
A blue-haired figure in stiff academy attire stood nearby, tense but focused. Not a bidder, but an intern researcher by her badge—she held a small device scanning the relic's magical signals, fingers tracing invisible glyphs. Yan Yue wasn't here for auction thrills; she was here for study and science.
Qiren made a mental note of her—her absence from the chaos oddly calming.
Tian Qiren's muscles coiled with every murmur in the auction house. The air was thick—not just with heat and sweat, but with a tangible crackle of raw power and brewing violence. His worn boots barely made a sound against the cracked stone floor as he edged closer to the plinth, heart thumping like a low drumbeat.
Around him, mercenaries flicked knives, syndicate brats whispered deals in half-lies and deadly glances, and desperate souls clung to every word the auctioneer barked.
The Sinwave system seed pulsed in the air, glowing almost tidally, like a breathing thing waiting to be claimed.
Qiren caught snippets of conversations: "Did you hear? That system seed activated an area-wide Gate bloom once before... total destruction."
"Whoever wins that seed can either make the whole city bow or burn it to ash."
He swallowed thickly, the weight of what he was about to do settling in like a lead shroud. No one wanted to admit it, but this relic was dangerous. Not just to life but to the fragile balance between magic, tech, and the city's fragile peace.
A flash of blue hair caught his eye—Yan Yue—her fingers danced lightly over a device humming softly, reading layers of arcane code and energy spikes invisible to all others. Unlike the others thirsting for power, she seemed to hunger for knowledge.
Then the usual unpredictable happened. Lights flickered. The hall's air thickened, harp strings of tension humming against unseen danger.
The auctioneer's voice cut again, sharp as a whip. "Final call! Who dares claim the Sinwave Seed? Place your last bids!"
Gestures flew—sums that made Qiren's stomach twist in envy and despair. He wasn't a bidder. He was something far less conspicuous—a thief waiting for salvation in chaos.
Suddenly, the doors burst open. Masked raiders charged in, knives glowing with eldritch runes and guns crackling with volt energy. Chaos exploded as sirens blared and people ducked or attacked.
The energy field shielding the orb wavered. Qiren's chance had come. Without a second thought, he dashed forward, muscles burning, heart racing.
With a desperate leap, he hauled himself onto the elevated platform. The crystalline orb was cold and trembling in his hands—the glow beyond anything he'd ever felt.
A shock flared through his arm, fierce as wildfire. Pain like hot iron seared the veins; runes and fractured code embossed themselves onto his skin.
[SYSTEM SEED ACTIVATED: HOST RECOGNIZED...ERROR—GATE CORRUPTION DETECTED]
[Sinwave Protocol: Bound]
[Power Unlocked: Steal & Gate Influence]
[Warning: User Marked. All Gate Entities and Syndicates Alerted]
He gasped, staggering as the glowing sigil burned into his palm—the sinuous crimson wave, fragmented by glowing runes, pulsed wildly.
The orb shattered into mist, vanishing. A shout pierced the chaos: "He's stolen the relic! Stop him!"
No time to hesitate; Qiren bolted. Instinct and the new system in his veins flooded his senses—energy trails, enemy heartbeat rhythms, escape angles.
The murmurs of confusion rose, quickly turning to roars. "The seed has bonded!" "Stop him!" "He's marked a target on all our backs!"
With no invitation, a flood of deadly eyes converged. Qiren didn't hesitate.
He sprinted, senses wild but keyed sharp. His vision flickered with data streams—enemy heartbeats, escape glimpses, faint magical trails.
He stumbled, then steadied—an accidental collision nearly brought him down. But then, that blue-haired figure stepped in.
Eyes bright, hand steady, Yan Yue moved with precision and calm, pulling him into tunnels embroidered with ancient spells and high-tech locks.
Her voice was stark against the chaos: "That mark isn't just a curse—it's a beacon. The old powers know you now. Survive, or die remembered only as another failed soul."
Qiren tried to find humor in the madness: "If you get me killed, make sure it's spectacular. Nobody remembers quiet deaths."
Together, they slipped into the dark, weaving through the city's fractured heart, the glowing sigil on Qiren's palm a pulse of danger and hope.
The Gates were waking.
And Qiren's life would never be the same.