In the beginning, there was nothing. No stars, no planets, no sky, not even darkness—just an endless emptiness stretching in every direction, silent and still. There was no time, no movement, no life. Yet, even in this nothingness, something existed—a vast and boundless energy, hidden within the void, waiting to be set free.
For what felt like forever, nothing changed. But then—something happened.
A sudden explosion ripped through the silence, a burst of energy so immense that it created everything—the first particles, the first flashes of light, the very building blocks of the universe. It was a moment of pure chaos and creation, later known as the Big Bang.
In an instant, the universe began to expand, stretching out in every direction. Tiny particles slammed together, fusing into the first atoms. These atoms formed clouds of gas, and from those gas clouds, the first stars were born—massive, burning infernos that lit up the once-empty void. Galaxies took shape, swirling like great celestial storms, their gravity pulling in stars, planets, and moons. The cosmos was no longer empty; it was alive with motion and energy.
But among all this creation, something unexpected happened.
Deep within the swirling chaos, at the very edge of reality, a single strange atom came into existence. Unlike the others, it did not obey the normal rules of space and time. It was caught in a fractured place, a boundary where time was twisted, and space bent in impossible ways.
For billions of years, this lonely atom drifted through the void, trapped between dimensions. It was small, unnoticed, and forgotten by the universe. But even in its isolation, it wasn't truly lifeless. Slowly, as the echoes of creation continued to ripple across existence, the atom absorbed energy—pulling in fragments of power from the very birth of reality itself.
And then, ever so slowly… it began to change.
As time passed, it grew, slowly but relentlessly. It absorbed cosmic radiation, pulling in bits of energy from exploding stars and distant supernovae. The tiny speck became a cluster of matter, then a rock, then a gigantic asteroid, unlike any other object in existence.
It was a sight both mesmerizing and terrifying. Brilliant streaks of blue, purple, and fiery orange trailed behind it like a celestial wildfire, leaving behind glowing embers of raw energy. Its surface was jagged, cracked, and ever-shifting, as if alive with untamed power. At its heart, a blinding burst of white and golden light pulsed, like the core of a dying star struggling to contain its own might.
This was no ordinary asteroid.
It carried something ancient, something beyond time itself—the raw essence of both creation and destruction. It was a relic of a reality that had existed before the universe took shape, a harbinger of forces no living being could ever understand.
For countless millennia, it drifted silently through the void. It passed through colossal nebulae, swirling clouds of gas and dust that painted the darkness with vibrant colors. It skimmed the edges of distant star systems, absorbing the energy of pulsars, gamma-ray bursts, and even the pull of black holes. With every encounter, it grew larger, denser, and more volatile, its core flickering with a strange, otherworldly glow.
To the untrained eye, it might have looked like just another piece of space debris—a wandering rock, lost among the stars. But to those who could sense the pulse of the universe, it was something far more profound. It was a living remnant of the battle between chaos and order, a reminder that even in a universe bound by laws, some things still existed beyond understanding.
For eons, it remained a silent observer, waiting. Drifting. Watching.
But then, something changed.
Its path—once random, aimless—began to shift. Slowly, as if pulled by an unseen force, the asteroid started moving with purpose. It was no longer just wandering. It was being drawn toward something.
A small, vibrant planet—teeming with life—had unknowingly become its destination.
The asteroid, this ancient harbinger of power, was now on a collision course with Earth.
The year is 2015, and humanity is at its peak. After thousands of years of struggle, war, and hardship, civilization has finally entered a golden age. Technology, medicine, and science have advanced beyond what people a century ago could have even dreamed of.
Hospitals are curing diseases that once wiped out entire populations. New medicines and treatments have extended human lifespans, making once-deadly illnesses nothing more than distant memories. The quality of life for billions has improved, with people living longer, healthier lives than ever before.
Travel is easier and faster than ever. High-speed trains, energy-efficient cars, and advanced planes have made the world more connected. Even the most remote villages now have access to modern conveniences. Planes that once took hours now take minutes, and trips across the world feel shorter than ever.
The internet has changed everything. People from different countries, backgrounds, and cultures can now communicate instantly. Barriers that once divided nations—language, distance, misunderstanding—are disappearing. Knowledge is shared faster than ever, and information is at everyone's fingertips.
Food is no longer scarce. Advances in agriculture have created farms that produce more food than the world has ever seen. Crops that once took months to grow can now be harvested in weeks. Hunger is no longer an unavoidable fate—it's a problem that humanity is finally solving.
And beyond Earth, humanity is reaching for the stars. Space exploration has taken its first great steps. Satellites explore the solar system, astronauts live on space stations, and for the first time in history, Mars is within reach. The dream of exploring beyond Earth no longer seems impossible.
A sense of hope and unity spreads across the globe. There is a real feeling that, for the first time, war, famine, and disease might one day be left in the past. Humanity is standing at the edge of something extraordinary, on the brink of a future without suffering.
The world shines brightly, a beacon of progress and endless potential.
But far beyond Earth, something is coming.
At the outer edges of the solar system, hidden in the vast darkness of space, the ancient asteroid drifts closer. A hulking mass of energy and destruction, its presence goes unnoticed—just a faint blip on the radars of a few observatories.
At first, no one was worried. The asteroid—initially nothing more than a distant speck in the void—wasn't anything unusual. Astronomers have spotted countless space rocks over the years, most of which either burn up in the atmosphere or drift safely past Earth.
But this one is different.
Scientists begin to notice strange readings. The asteroid's size and movement don't match anything recorded before. It doesn't behave like a normal space rock—its path shifts unpredictably, its surface absorbs energy instead of reflecting it, and its density defies logic.
At first, it's dismissed—just another rare but harmless anomaly floating through the endless void of space.
But then—the calculations come in.
The asteroid is headed directly for Earth.
Panic spreads among the scientific community. Telescopes across the world turn their focus to the sky, tracking its every movement. Supercomputers run simulation after simulation, but the answer is always the same:
Impact is inevitable.
The object is given a name—Genesis. A name that should symbolize creation, but instead now foretells destruction.
Its size alone is terrifying. A direct impact would be worse than anything the Earth has ever seen—worse than the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs. But what's even more disturbing is its energy signature.
Genesis isn't just a rock. It's something else. Something unknown. And nobody knows what will happen when it enters Earth's atmosphere.
Governments across the planet mobilize. Nations that were once enemies now share information, resources, and technology. The brightest minds on Earth work together, desperate to find a way to stop Genesis before it's too late.
The world watches as rockets launch into the sky, carrying humanity's last hope. Some missions send nuclear warheads, hoping to shatter the asteroid into harmless debris. Others launch experimental gravitational technology, designed to pull it off course.
Explosions light up the sky, bursting like dying stars against the blackness of space. News stations broadcast the operations live, and billions of people hold their breath as each attempt is made.
Then—silence. The dust clears. The flames flicker out. And Genesis is still there. Unaffected. Larger. Closer. More menacing than ever.
The world, for the first time in modern history, collectively realizes one horrifying truth:
Nothing can stop it.
Before everything changed…
Five months before the coming of Genesis, the golden rays of the afternoon sun spread across the white sands of Okinawa's coastline, turning the ocean into a giant, glittering jewel. The waves rolled lazily onto the shore, humming a quiet, endless song that a boy named Hayato Amari had heard every day of his life. To him, it was the sound of home.
At just seven years old, Hayato already knew this place was special. He stood barefoot on the back porch of his grandparents' beach house, the wooden planks warm against his feet. His white-blond hair caught the sunlight, creating a soft halo that contrasted with his dark brown skin. The salty ocean breeze ruffled his hair, making it stick up in messy spikes, but he didn't mind. He liked the way the wind felt against his skin—it made him feel light, fast, free. The crisp white collared shirt he wore fluttered slightly in the breeze, the small patch on the sleeve—bearing the insignia of his grandfather's old fishing union—standing out like a badge of pride.
His bright blue eyes locked onto the horizon, watching as the sky slowly melted into the ocean. He had seen it a million times before, but still, every evening, he liked to come outside and just… watch.
Behind him, the sound of tiny footsteps and laughter filled the house.
"Careful, Hikari," their grandmother called from the kitchen, her voice warm yet firm.
"Got it!" Hikari chirped, pulling the ball out triumphantly before hurrying to her brother's side.
"Nii-chan! Catch!"
Hayato turned just as Hikari—his five-year-old little sister—came racing onto the porch, her small hands cupped around a shiny blue ball. Her long, snowy white hair swayed behind her, catching the last rays of sunlight that contrasted with her dark brown skin. She was dressed in a simple white long-sleeved dress, which only made her bright blue eyes seem more striking as they darted about, filled with childish delight.
"Why are you yelling?" Hayato frowned, raising an eyebrow. "It's just a ball."
"It's not just a ball," Hikari huffed, holding it up to him with wide, excited eyes. "Look! It's sparkly!"
Hayato squinted. "It's just plastic."
"No, it's magic."
Hayato sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. "Magic? You think a shiny ball has powers?"
Hikari nodded very seriously. "Mhm. I bet if we throw it in the ocean, a sea dragon will come out and give us treasure!"
Hayato couldn't help but laugh. "There are no sea dragons, Hikari-chan."
"Maybe not for you," she said, cradling the ball like it was the most important thing in the world.
Before Hayato could tease her more, their grandfather stepped onto the porch, stretching his arms after a long day in the shop. He was tall and lean, his tanned skin weathered from years of working under the sun. His short gray hair was neatly combed back, and he wore his usual olive-green fishing jacket over a plain white shirt.
"Hayato," Grandpa said, adjusting the old watch on his wrist. "Did you finish stacking the new souvenir boxes?"
"Yes, Grandpa," Hayato answered quickly, though his attention drifted back to the sky.
Grandpa followed his gaze, smiling softly. "Waiting for your dad's plane again?"
Hayato flinched. He hadn't even realized he had been staring at the sky hoping for something.
"…No," he muttered.
Grandpa didn't push him. Instead, he patted Hayato's head before walking back into the shop.
The souvenir store was small, but it was full of life. Shelves lined with colorful seashell necklaces, hand-carved figurines, and tiny bottles of sand made the whole place feel warm and familiar. Tourists would visit often, drawn in by the inviting glow of lanterns strung outside and the friendly chatter of their grandmother as she welcomed each customer.
For Hayato and Hikari, this was home.
Hayato and Hikari had been living with their grandparents for as long as they could remember. Their mother had passed away when they were too little to fully understand why. The details were blurry, but the sadness lingered in the quiet moments—like when Grandma would suddenly stop humming while cooking, her eyes distant, or when Grandpa would sit alone on the porch at night, staring out at the sea as if waiting for something that would never come back.
Their father, Colonel Amari, a high-ranking officer in the U.S. Air Force, was previously stationed at Kadena Air Base in Okinawa, as part of a top-secret collaboration with the U.S. Space Force. His work was classified, shrouded in secrecy, and though he sent letters when he could, his presence in their lives had become more of a shadow than a reality.
But to Hayato…
It just meant he wasn't here.
Dad used to promise he'd visit more often, that he'd find a way to bring them to the base someday. But those promises always fell through, lost in the never-ending calls of duty and responsibility.
And so, their grandparents took them in, raising them in the small, sun-kissed village by the sea. While their grandparents managed the shop, Hayato and Hikari often helped in small ways—Hayato by organizing and stacking inventory, and Hikari by greeting customers with her radiant smile. They gave them a safe home, a warm family, and a childhood by the sea.
Hikari didn't seem to mind much—as long as she had her toys and Hayato, she was happy. But Hayato, even at seven, knew better.
Sometimes, when he looked at the sky for too long, he couldn't help but wonder—
If Dad works with the Space Force, does that mean he sees the stars?
Does he ever wonder if we're looking at the same ones?
Hayato let out a small sigh, shaking off the thought. Right now, things are peaceful. And even if it wasn't perfect, this is our home.
Hikari sat beside him, still turning her "magic" ball over in her hands.
She hummed softly to herself, completely lost in thought.
Hayato watched her out of the corner of his eye before nudging her lightly with his elbow. "What are you thinking about?"
Hikari blinked and looked up at him. "Mmm… nothing."
Hayato smirked. "Liar."
She huffed, puffing out her cheeks in protest. "I'm not lying!"
"Then tell me."
Hikari tapped her chin dramatically, as if she were deciding whether or not to share some deep, world-changing secret. Then, she grinned. "Okay, but only if you promise not to laugh."
Hayato held up a hand in mock seriousness. "I promise."
She held up her ball again, eyes shimmering with excitement. "I was thinking… what if this really is magic?"
Hayato rolled his eyes. "Hikari…"
"No, listen! What if—" she scooted closer, lowering her voice as if she were about to tell him something top secret, "—if I make a wish on it, something amazing will happen?"
Hayato smirked, leaning back on his hands. "Like what? A sea dragon giving us treasure?"
Hikari gasped, nodding rapidly. "Yes! Or maybe—maybe it can make us fly! Or turn invisible!"
Hayato chuckled. "You've been watching too many movies, Hikari-chan."
She pouted. "You don't know! It could work."
He shook his head playfully. "Alright, fine. What are you gonna wish for then?"
Hikari opened her mouth to answer but suddenly paused, her excited expression softening into something more thoughtful. She lowered the ball onto her lap, tracing small circles over its surface with her tiny fingers.
A few seconds passed before she finally spoke.
"For Dad to come home."
An awkward silence filled the room for a brief moment as Hayato poured into his thoughts to find the right response.
"Nii-chan?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think Dad will be here for my birthday?"
Hayato hesitated. Then, forcing a smile, he ruffled her hair. "Of course."
And for now, that was enough.
That afternoon, Hayato and Hikari set off on their familiar walk down the shoreline, a ritual they rarely missed. The beach stretched wide before them, sunlit and gleaming, the waves lapping gently against the sand as if welcoming them back.
Hayato walked a few steps ahead, his hands shoved casually into his pockets. The warm sand pressed between his toes before giving way, leaving faint footprints that the tide would soon erase. Hikari skipped behind him, humming softly, her small hand occasionally tugging the hem of his shirt whenever she wanted to slow him down.
The sea breeze carried the smell of salt and the faint cry of gulls circling overhead. Tide pools glistened in the light, tiny ecosystems of crabs, starfish, and darting fish. Hikari squealed suddenly, dropping to her knees at the sight of a group of crabs scuttling sideways near the edge of the water.
"Look, Nii-chan!" she called, her voice full of excitement.
"You'll scare them off," Hayato said with mild disinterest, though he lingered to watch her.
Undeterred, she extended a small hand. To his surprise, one of the crabs climbed onto her finger. She giggled as its legs tickled her skin.
"You're good with animals," Hayato admitted quietly.
Hikari flashed him a mischievous grin. "And you're not?"
He shrugged, but the moment softened him. The world always seemed quieter when it was just the two of them by the sea. No teachers, no whispering classmates, no disapproving eyes. Just the surf, the sky, and Hikari's laughter.
As the sun dipped lower, streaking the horizon with orange and violet, they followed the sandy trail back home. Palm fronds swayed above them, rustling in the breeze that carried the promise of evening rain. Their grandparents' home came into view—a sturdy wooden house weathered by years of salt and wind. Golden light glowed through its windows, flickering as the curtains shifted.
Grandmother stood in the doorway, small in frame but commanding in presence, her gray hair pulled into a bun with loose strands framing sharp, perceptive eyes. Her hands, strong and worn from decades of work, rested on her hips.
"You're late," she said, her tone balancing firmness with care. "Your food's getting cold."
The siblings stiffened, then broke into smiles when she added, "I made katsudon."
"Katsudon!" they shouted in unison, racing inside.
The house smelled of soy sauce, rice, and fried cutlets. Their grandfather was already seated at the table, carefully pouring tea into ceramic cups. His weathered face carried years of wisdom, but his grin was boyish as he gestured for them to sit.
"Before your grandmother thinks I ate all the food without you," he teased.
"I wouldn't be wrong," Grandmother replied dryly as she set down a pot of hot broth.
Dinner was served. The katsudon—crispy pork simmered with egg and onions in savory-sweet broth—steamed in bowls that seemed to radiate comfort. The four of them joined hands briefly before eating.
Conversation flowed easily. Grandfather launched into a story about a tourist who tried to haggle over a keychain. Hikari burst into laughter at his dramatic reenactments, while Grandmother shook her head, hiding a smile.
"Did he buy it in the end?" Hikari asked eagerly.
"Of course!" Grandfather puffed out his chest. "I might've given him a tiny discount, but only because he looked pitiful."
"You're too soft," Hikari teased, sipping her juice.
"Don't tell anyone," Grandfather whispered conspiratorially. "It'll ruin my reputation."
The warmth of the scene filled Hayato's chest, but his mind wandered back to the endless sky and sea. He barely noticed himself staring off until his grandmother's voice pulled him back.
"Hayato, eat," she said gently. "A wandering mind won't fill your stomach."
He nodded, but she watched him carefully.
"You've been quiet lately," she continued, softer now. "What's on your mind?"
He hesitated, chopsticks frozen in his hand. "The sky… it's so big. Makes everything else feel small."
The table fell silent. Grandmother reached across and took his hand. "That's the gift of the sky. It reminds us how vast the world is, and how small our problems are in comparison. And no matter how big it feels, you'll never be lost—as long as you know where your heart and family are."
Hikari, mouth still full of rice, added earnestly, "Besides, you're the biggest thing in my world, Nii-chan."
The moment passed with laughter and teasing, but Hayato carried her words with him long after.
Later that night, the house grew quiet. Hikari's giggles drifted faintly from her futon, where Grandfather spun another of his endless stories. Hayato stepped outside, drawn by the sea.
The night air was cool, carrying the scent of salt and hibiscus. Moonlight turned the waves silver as they crashed in their steady rhythm. Leaning on the porch railing, Hayato tilted his head back to watch the stars scatter across the sky like lanterns.
His thoughts turned unbidden to his parents. His father—Colonel Amari—was far away, sending only stiff, distant letters. His mother's memory was even fainter, lost to him since her death when he was four. He clung to fragments: a smile, a lullaby, the gentle touch of her hand. Would she be proud of how he cared for Hikari? Would she think he was enough?
The ache in his chest pressed heavy, but his grandmother's words echoed back: You'll never be lost if you know where your family is. He exhaled slowly, letting the sound of the waves ground him.
"The world is big," he whispered to the night. "But as long as we stick together, we'll be okay."
Life in Okinawa followed a rhythm of simplicity. Mornings began with grilled fish and rice, the scent of tea drifting through the house as Grandfather read his newspaper. Hikari filled the home with laughter, her toys scattered across the tatami.
The souvenir shop kept them busy through late morning. Shelves of seashell necklaces, wooden carvings, and jars of beach sand lined the walls. Hayato arranged everything neatly while Hikari greeted customers with bright energy. He felt proud when the shop looked inviting, though he preferred the quiet of afternoons.
That was his time to slip away to the beach. Sometimes Hikari followed, bounding along behind him. Other times, she stayed home, leaving Hayato alone with the tide. He often perched on a rock, staring at the horizon, wondering about the lands beyond it.
Would he ever see them one day?
Evenings painted the village in gold and violet. Fishermen returned, mothers called their children home, and the smell of cooking seafood filled the air. To Hayato, it all felt safe. Unchanging. Permanent.
But change was coming. He didn't know it yet.
One evening, while scouring the beach for trinkets to sell at the shop, Hikari darted toward the water's edge.
"Nii-chan, look!" she gasped, cradling something in her hands.
It was a seashell, smooth and pearlescent, shimmering with hues of pink and violet.
"Do you think this belonged to a mermaid?" she whispered reverently.
"Maybe she lost it while swimming too fast," Hayato mused.
"Then I have to keep it safe!" she declared.
Back home, their grandfather examined the shell with practiced eyes. "A treasure worth protecting," he agreed. With careful hands, he crafted it into a necklace for her. Hikari beamed, clutching it proudly as if she truly bore a mermaid's secret.
That night, she chattered endlessly about her future adventures as a treasure hunter. Hayato sat quietly, smiling at her excitement, though his gaze kept drifting back toward the endless night sky.
Later, on the porch with his grandfather, Hayato asked softly, "Do you think the sea ever gets tired?"
Grandfather chuckled, puffing his pipe. "No, boy. The sea never rests. It just keeps moving, no matter what happens."
Hayato stared at the waves, then admitted, "I feel out of place sometimes. Here, I'm safe. But at school… people stare. Whisper. Like I don't belong."
Grandfather studied him with a thoughtful look. "Your mother used to feel the opposite. She loved this island, but it was too small for her heart. She always looked at the ocean like it was calling her. She was a wanderer."
Hayato swallowed. "But I don't feel called anywhere. I just feel… stuck."
His grandfather rested a steady hand on his shoulder. "The wind doesn't push—it guides. Sometimes you don't know where it's leading you until you get there. Your mother's spirit is in you too. You carry it, even if you don't realize it yet."
The breeze stirred the lantern above them. For a moment, Hayato thought he could almost feel something familiar in the air—like a presence, warm and unseen.
Before the weight of it grew too heavy, his grandmother's voice called from inside. "Hayato! You'll catch a cold sitting out there."
He turned back to the glow spilling from the doorway, where Hikari hummed softly as she arranged flowers in a vase. The warmth of the home tugged him back from the edge of his unease.
Grandfather rose with a grunt. "Don't worry too much about where you belong. Like the wind, we go where we must. What matters most is sharing the journey with the people we love."
Hayato nodded, stepping inside. The scent of tea and the sound of Hikari's laughter wrapped around him. Maybe Grandfather was right. Maybe home wasn't about where he fit in—it was about who he shared it with.
For now, at least, that was enough.