Time was no enemy, until it became the essence of longing pain. Barzo saw it as the trials of peace.
One he slowly learned to embrace.
He stared through the windows. The trees had eyes and mouths if you looked close enough. They too had passed the trials of peace, their wooden tears resembling the souls of the living. Yet, some say they belonged to the dead.
And if that were true… was this the price of peace?
Barzo sighed as he sat opposite Yosen and Volena inside the moving Royal Kiancle, its kinetic engines rolling over rocky trails. Pulling them forward was a Loraine, a wheel-shaped machine with a mind of its own.
"All I'm saying is," Volena said, "this could all be over if you just used your bracelet to pull off their metal outfits."
Yosen chuckled. "It's not that simple."
"Yes, it is," she said, motioning her arms back and forth. "Just like that."
"I'd thank the Gods if it were that easy." Yosen smirked. "You always were one with brave ideas."
Volena frowned. "So why can't you do it?"
"Worry less about it—"
"Because," Barzo said, facing them, "their armour and weapons are made of Traxa Steel."
Yosen's brows rose. "How did you know that?"
"I… saw it while you were doing a briefing—I'm sorry, I couldn't help it."
"Well," Yosen shook his head. "Yes. It's true."
"And that is?" Volena asked.
"It's a material that acts like metal, but it isn't. Some say it's a type of rock. Others say it's the bones of a creature from their nations."
"Creature?" the Freshgents said, eyes wide.
"Be calm." Yosen looked away as the Kiancle came to a halt. "It's only a rumor."
He turned back. "We are here."
They had arrived. The Londro Mountains loomed before them. After exiting the Kiancle, they strode toward the entrance. Barzo counted ten guards stationed. But as they moved closer, more figures emerged from the distance. By the time they stopped, fifty armored sentinels surrounded them.
Their armour was different, not of the Kizen.
The Royal Guards.
They stood rigid, their stares sharp and unyielding.
Barzo and Volena were behind Yosen as he spoke to them.
"Leader Sift," one of the guards said. "How may the royal guards be of service?"
"Take us to the artifact," Yosen said.
Artifact? Barzo thought.
As they descended into the depths, words failed him. Every step into the dark sanctuary seemed to ignite the cave, as if it were merging with the energy itself. The tall gate stood ahead, and within it, a pulsing light.
The Echo Amplifier.
A myth given form. Barzo's heart drummed faster as if the Expansional whispered to him.
"Take a good look," Yosen said. His gaze swept over the Freshgents, letting the silence stretch. "The Kizen rule is absolute. No Expansional is ever to be touched."
Barzo swallowed, his breath catching. He knew the rules, every Agent did. But seeing it, standing this close to something that could control minds? That was different.
No wonder the Kizen Institution were strict about it. There were seven of these Expansionals across the continent of Rarica, but only six existed in Tophora. Barzo could not recall their names of its abilities, that too was a secret. What he did know was that four of them were truly under the Kizen's dominion. As for the last two… no one knew.
"If the Vexo Wielders ever get their hands on this… this power to command souls," Yosen paused, "they won't just win battles. They'll own them."
He nodded, eyes hardening. "And that's why we protect it. Not just with skill, but with our lives."
Yosen took out a pocket knife and walked to the walls of the cave, cutting beneath the surface until a pink root shimmered into view.
Barzo's eyes widened. "I saw that during the mission. What is it?"
Yosen tapped it with his blade. Electrical currents sparked against the metal. "These are Raxtens. When an Expansional grows too powerful, its energy spreads in the form of roots like this. Everywhere we stand, there's Raxten underneath."
He turned, eyes narrowing. "It's what powers the Vexo Wielders' weapons. Without it, their danger fades. But with it… they gain power unlike any other. And unfortunately, we can't stop them from gaining access. But we can control and prevent them from reaching the Raxtens first."
The Freshgents gulped.
The weight of the truth settled in their minds, a silence that wasn't just heavy anymore, it was sacred.
From the mountains to the interior of the Lyriax Flight, Barzo's mind stayed fixed on the Echo Amplifier and Raxtens. Everything had become clear. This journey Yosen was leading them on, by the end of it, he would find it.
Find his reason.
A reason better than revenge for father.
But what could be better than that?
❂ ❂ ❂
Barzo caught the subtle way Volena's fingers scraped the edge of her Reja Gear, and he understood.
The skies of Planet Qaden were never a smooth ride.
All because of the Cloudway.
A vast stretch of swirling clouds that wrapped around Qaden like an eternal current. It carried air-riders across the world, a passage larger than the oceans, grand enough to hold entire floating cities.
Barzo turned to the window, taking in the sight, the bright, open world. This view would be the last of its kind for the Freshgents, because after their Ascension, the only skies they would know were the storms of the Vexo Wielders.
"We have arrived to New Plagon," the Operation Guild announced.
The Lyriax touched down smoothly, its hatch opening to the glare of the twin suns. Barzo squinted as he took in the wilderness stretching before them.
"Stay close," Yosen said, leading them into the abandoned landmark.
Time had worn this land down. Buildings stood in ruins, their walls scarred with ancient wounds, sword slashes that spoke of battles long past. No sign of life entered these parts, not even the ghosts.
The path ahead was tangled with overgrown trees, nature reclaiming what once belonged to man.
No direct route. No clear way forward. And yet, somehow, they arrived at a large field. It looked like a garden, at first.
Barzo tilted his head, uncertain.
"Why here?" he asked.
The Freshgents stood in silence as Yosen turned.
"For all your lives," he said, "you've known only the notes of Tophoran history in pieces."
He pulled out a holo-drive from his pocket. Its metallic surface shone beneath the blazing suns.
With his other hand, he took out something small—a glass prism filled with shifting colors.
A Vron.
"Holo-drives are often used to project classified documents. But when inserted with a Vron, there are other ways. It's not only to witness history…but to feel it."
This was an art made possible by Kevilans, individuals loyal to the craft of evolution. Using a Vron to code the visual life of chronicles written in stone. Once merged with a holo-drive, it became a vessel, one that revealed either the darkest secrets or the brightest of truths.
Barzo watched as Yosen was about to do just that. He stepped into the centre of the clearing and placed the holo-drive on the ground. A low hum echoed as it activated. The world around them shimmered.
"We know this land as New Plagon."
The garden vanished. Shadows curled across the space, replaced by a glow not of the suns, but memory.
"But not when it was called Old Plagon."
Holographic ruins gave way to glory. A black castle emerged before their eyes. Towering spires clawed at the sky, crowned by a fluttering red star.
Barzo blinked. The detail was overwhelming. This wasn't a story anymore. This was real.
"Belonging to the seat of the Rarnin Supreme. Protectors of the Plagish people. Respected. Trusted. Feared. And for many centuries, it was well."
Projected warriors of the Rarnin Supreme clashed. Their strength unlike anything Barzo had ever seen. He watched in awe, the past unfolding before him like a legend come to life.
"But for every attempt of peace, a dark force rises to challenge it."
The castle faded. A throne room took shape, rich with velvet and maroon. At its centre sat a man. Broad shoulders. Sharp features. Eyes that lacked mercy.
"Hucava Rarnin."
Barzo tensed. Seeing the Hucava's projection sent a chill through his spine.
"A Tophoran by blood, yet greed made him a tyrant."
Hucava held hands with a figure cloaked in black.
Another symbol appeared, foreign and blurry, marked with the seal of the Domeinus Union. Behind Hucava, Vexo Wielders bowed. Not allies. Not protectors. As weapons.
The sky within the projection darkened. War erupted. Screams echoed as flames devoured crops, soldiers fell, children scattered.
"And for forty-four years, Tophora suffered."
Barzo watched the evolution of havoc. His chest tightened. He reached for a lone child, desperate to pull them to safety. But his hand passed through. A glitch. He exhaled, grounding himself. He had forgotten that these were only holographic projections of the past.
"And the worst of them…wasn't Hucava."
A new figure emerged in the hologram. A hooded warrior, blade soaked in stormlight.
"Demonus Drade. Former Tophoran commander. His oath had never bound him."
Barzo stepped forward. Demonus swung his blade, cutting through soldiers with unnatural speed. The carnage felt too real. Then, he saw her. A woman on her knees, bloodied, yet defiant. Her brown eyes locked onto her attacker. A beauty scar behind her ears.
"Ureya Vieldem," Yosen confirmed. "Our founder."
Barzo stood frozen. His great-grandmother.
From only witnessing her statue to now seeing the moving record of her legacy. The rawness in her eyes, he felt it. A connection far stronger than before.
Ureya now towered over Demonus' unconscious body, victory at her will.
"She didn't just survive. She ensured the Mercial Stance was a creation that ended Demonus, and all enemies alike."
Barzo gulped. Centuries of legacy rested upon his shoulders. The final image appeared—six brave warriors—blades touching together.
"Then from the ashes, came the Kizen Institution and its five Associations."
The holo-drive shut off. Reality returned. As did the blazing twin suns. They stood in awe, now at the edge of a cliff. Below them, the Kizen Palace teemed with life. Its glowing rooftops swirled with enchanted green clouds, and its walls curved in glass.
"If history teaches us anything," Yosen turned to them, "it's how easily we harm our own. Hucava never knew restraint. Tophoran blood meant nothing to him. So selling it to the Domeinus Union was simple. Even now, the descendants of Old Plagon bear his sins. And unfortunately, Agents use that history to justify chaos among them or others alike."
He stared at Barzo, allowing the wind to make space for the moment to dwell deep in his mind.
"All in the hopes of catching Vexons." His voice dropped as the breeze picked up. "But that is wrong. Very wrong. It is not the Marble way. Your father and I made an oath, and it held until his last breath. Never to kill a Tophoran. Never to put them in harm's way."
He paused. "Swear to me. Swear that you'll live by this oath."
Barzo's throat tightened. A moment passed.
"What if it's hard to…" he said. "What if they're too far gone?"
Yosen leaned in. "We're not executioners of our people. We're protectors. Even to the bad ones. So, save them. Save them all."
Volena and Barzo exchanged glances, the weight of the choice settling in. Then they nodded.
"We swear it," they said.
Barzo's fists clenched as he turned back to the Kizen. He'd found his reason. He would protect the people of Tophora.
Every single one of them.
❂ ❂ ❂
The day of Ascension arrived.
The Kizen Institution's hallway buzzed with chatter, voices threading through the haunted stone walls. Amber-framed faces watched from above, thousands of years of judgment. The Marble Freshgents moved in step with the Agents, their signature dark purple uniforms blending into the sea of bodies.
Conversations drifted past Barzo's ears, fading into the background. He stayed in his head, lost in memories of his Freshgent days. It was almost over.
He flinched as a firm hand gripped his shoulder. Sweat crawled down his spine. He turned to find Vidiax giving him a nod of confidence. He steadied himself, and the sight before him sharpened. Agents and Freshgents from other Associations turned their eyes toward them, whispers rising like smoke through the air.
Is that him? Look… it is him. Oh my. He's here.
Barzo followed their gazes, searching for the one who commanded such attention. Yosen. His long, torn cape swept across the stone, presence undeniable. The awe in their eyes was the mark of his title as the Elexant.
Everything Barzo aspired to be.
For a moment, he had forgotten the privilege of being mentored by Yosen. Now, he could only appreciate it.
"Always wanted to be a celebrity," Fortune said.
"And all you do is act a fool," Bayla said, making Barzo smirk. The nerves faded.
Minutes stretched into eternity. Or at least, that's how the walk felt to Barzo. Ahead, Buron Geraco's statue loomed.
The Ninetieth President of Tophora.
The founder of the Kizen Institution.
Time had not stained his stone eyes. History lived here.
Geraco's victory over the Rarnin Supreme had made the Kizen possible. Made Agents possible.
A circular doorway yawned open the chamber within.
The Volume of Foundations.
Barzo's breath caught in his throat.
The ceiling stretched beyond limit, and chandeliers pulsed brighter with every step.
Royal Guards lined the perimeter. Barzo and Volena followed their instructions. All Freshgents were to form five lines—five factions. Above them, Marble Agents took their seats along the balconies, leaving the Freshgents to stand alone.
As for Yosen, Barzo saw him standing near the chamber's edge, in front of the Marble purple banner. Only the Association Leaders stood in formation. He muttered their names and titles under his breath, testing his memory.
Berua Layna of DOSS, the Agent of Splinter, dominated the blue banners. Cameo Li of Werawere, the Agent of Shades, stood beneath the yellow. Then Siran Jaco of Tikaye, the Agent of Thunder, held the black.
Barzo knew little of them, only their names echoed with weight. But then his eyes fell on the final figure, the one before the white banner.
Cuja Varnix of PARN. The Agent of Souls.
Those who encountered her said the same thing, she struck fear into many. Some went as far as claiming she was the Elexant that should have been. And even Yosen, once, had agreed.
A bell echoed, silencing the chamber.
Barzo followed the sound to the front of the hall.
The Yonakri.
The successor of Buron.
Seated on her throne, her half-mask and piercing grey eyes ruled the moment. An iron grip, wrapped in ceremonial grace, which all of the Kizen and its five Associations answered to. Thousands of years of order rested in her grasp, made possible by the magic of GuluSoup, a mysterious liquid that granted not immortality, but a lifespan far beyond the average. It was how Buron and the Association founders endured. But now, only the Yonakri holds that power within Tophora.
She answered to no one but the Royal House of Tophora.
The crystal glow of her gaze locked onto his, and the nerves hit hard. Barzo swallowed. With a single nod, she summoned the Nameless Council, their gold masks an extension of her power.
Then, the Yonakri raised her hand.
"Protectors of Tophora," she said. "In the year six thousand, our founders united to defend our lands."
Her voice wasn't loud, it echoed through spine.
"Ureya Vieldem of Marble."
Names held power. A deep hum rippled through the hall as the Marble Association paid tribute. Barzo joined in, though doubt crept in. Ureya's spirit lingered in history, watching, perhaps. Would she have approved of him?
Each founder's name that followed pressed heavier.
Until the final name.
"Buron Geraco of Kizen."
The last echo faded into the air above as the Yonakri's gaze swept the room.
"We honour their legacy as guardians of the Expansionals. And on this day of Ascension, a new generation of protectors will arise, to ensure the cycle of Agents remains, to live by the essence of the Kizen. Our final say."
"And of forever!" the Agents chanted.
The Yonakri rose from her throne.
And drums echoed off the walls, the notes struck with her footsteps. A path cleared as she moved toward the group of cloaked figures—the Crade Masters.
Creators of the Technaxs, and the many systems of the Kizen. These gifted craftsmen endured forty-four years of torture. The Rarnin Supreme knew no mercy. Now, their creations served not the destroyers of Tophora, but its protectors. And it began with the Reja Gear.
The Yonakri halted.
The Crade Masters stood by a large curtain. One of them pulled a lever, and as the fabric parted, what lay behind it stole Barzo's attention.
The Aral.
A Technax wall that shimmered, and at its centre, a magical gate unlike anything Barzo had ever seen.
He had heard the stories, but nothing had prepared him for this. The Aral wasn't just a tool. It was sentient energy, humming with power, pulsing like it could feel him watching.
The Yonakri placed her hand upon it.
"It is time," she said. "Come forth, Aral. Your Yonakri calls. This forge sees beyond what you are."
The Aral sung, and a low electronic hum spread through the walls.
"It reveals what you will become. Your soul will be measured." Her voice vibrated through the ground. "Your combat style judged. And upon its blessing, your Waypnary and Secondary are gifted."
One by one, the Freshgents stepped forward, hands trembling as they touched the Aral.
And when it was Volena's turn, Barzo strained to see through the guards. She pressed her palm against the wall. A rush of light followed. Then, a black axe emerged—its body embedded with her Secondary, four blue spheres of concentrated energy. Barzo heard a name whispered among the Freshgents: Piercer, her Waypnary. And with it, her title—the Agent of Pain.
As she stepped back to stand beside Yosen, her eyes flicked toward Barzo with a subtle smirk.
He was the only one left.
His last step echoed under the Yonakri's gaze.
"State your name and style," she said.
"Barzo Vieldem," he said. "The Ronan Star."
The Yonakri's eyes narrowed, a faint smile tugging at her lips. The Aral's hum deepened as Barzo raised his hand. He touched its surface. Instantly, light surged.
Symbols raced across the wall.
Energy pulsed into his chest.
Then, the Aral gate split open. A bracelet—his Secondary—slithered across the platform and fastened itself around his forearm. Beside it, a red blade descended. The Waypnary shimmered. It didn't feel new. It felt like it had been waiting for him.
The Aral's light pulsed again, louder this time. And from the swirling gate, a scroll dropped. The Yonakri caught it, opening it without a word.
Barzo stood frozen.
What had the Aral foreseen?
The Yonakri raised the symbol of Gold Ocean. "By the unified spirits of our founders. Barzo Vieldem, Sire of Vone, Style of the Ronan Star, and the Agent of Death. I ascend you as a servant of this institution. May the Kizen be of your peace."
"The Kizen is of my peace," Barzo said, bowing, his grip firm on Vone. And the title burned in his mind.
A curse. A calling. And now his.
He stood near Yosen, who gave a nod of pride.
"And now we have it," the Yonakri announced. "It is written in stone. For the new protectors of Tophora have risen. Our final say."
"And of forever!" the room chanted, followed by the rising chatter of Agents as the Yonakri exited the Volume of Foundations.
Yosen's hands clapped above the noise. Vidiax cheered next. Then the others followed. Barzo smirked, looking down at Vone, then reached for the locket in his pocket.
He did it. For his father. For Tophora.
He was no longer just a shadow.
No longer a Freshgent.
And Now His Story Began.