In between all of this chaos there is a village that is nestled in a valley, a hidden sanctuary untouched by the larger battles of the world. Sunlight bathed its modest homes, each structure built with Solarpunk ingenuity—sleek yet sustainable, adorned with solar panels, wind turbines, and lush rooftop gardens. Vines curled around the wooden beams, and flowers bloomed in colorful bursts along cobblestone pathways. Despite the fractured world beyond, here, life persisted.
The villagers lived simply but with purpose. They worked from dawn until dusk, tending to sprawling green fields and thriving orchards, their crops nurtured by irrigation systems powered by the very land itself. The air was rich with the scent of freshly tilled soil, ripening fruit, and the faint aroma of herbs drying in the warm breeze. Chickens pecked at the dirt, cows grazed lazily in fenced pastures, and the rhythmic clatter of wooden wheels echoed as carts rolled along well-worn paths.
At the heart of the village stood a stone well, its weathered edges smooth from years of use. It was more than just a water source—it was a gathering place, a heartbeat of the community. Children laughed as they played nearby, their bare feet kicking up soft dust, while elders sat in the shade of an ancient oak tree, their voices weaving tales of the past. In the evenings, the villagers would come together, their homes lit by soft, renewable energy, sharing meals beneath the glow of lanterns strung between wooden posts. It was a rare glimpse of harmony in a world that had long forgotten peace.
But that peace was fragile. And the villagers knew it.
Because every few weeks, the Nocturnals would come.
The mere mention of his name was enough to send a hush over the village. A shadow that stretched across their small world, a reminder that even in the most untouched corners, fear still thrived.
The Nocturnals are no ordinary raiders—they are a force of chaos wrapped in human forms. A gang whose cruel laughs carried through the village like the sound of distant thunder. They're a band of marauders descended upon them like a storm, leaving ruin in their wake. They came for food, for medicine, for supplies—but more than anything, they came because they could. Because power was an addiction, and they fed on the fear in the villagers' eyes.
They would smash windows, overturn carts, rip apart homes searching for anything of value. Those who resisted were met with swift, merciless punishment—a sharp strike, a broken rib, a bruised face. They never killed—they're leader wasn't interested in corpses. He wanted them alive to suffer. To remember.
And so, the villagers endured. Helpless. Silent.
Every time they left, the village was a little more broken, a little more hollow.
And every time, they feared he would return and take even more.
Early morning – dim light filters through broken shutters
On the island a small village was made from all the chaos. West of the village was a forest and in the dense forest is a small cabin where me and my family lived.
The first thing I heard as I woke up was the rustle of leaves. Wind moving through the trees again, soft and constant—like the island was still breathing. For now.
I blinked against the dim gray light creeping through the cracks in the wooden shutters. My body ached from another night on the stiff cot, and the blanket—patched a dozen times over—had slipped halfway off. I pulled it aside and sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
The cabin was quiet. Uncle Kenji was probably already out at sea, fishing again. Hikari, if she was up, hadn't made a sound.
I sat there for a moment, listening. No sirens. No screams. Just the forest, alive but watching.
Another day. I swung my legs off the bed and reached for my shirt, getting ready to start my day.
I stood up, my boots planted into the cold, hard floor—scuffed and buckled tight from too many miles, too many fights. The fabric of my short jacket was coarse, worn in the right places, shaped to me like a second skin. It doesn't keep the chill out, but I didn't need it to. Not anymore.
My fingers flexed inside fingerless gloves, callused and cracked. I could feel the roughness of the air, the weight of the silence around me. One hand rested near my hip, close to the strap I'd looped there—useless now, but I kept it. Maybe out of habit. Maybe because it reminded me of someone I used to be.
I catch my reflection in a broken mirror, and see the mess of white hair, wild and tangled like my thoughts. There, a seventeen year old with a certain sharpness on his face now—narrow eyes that have forgotten how to soften, a mouth that's learned not to smile unless I mean it. Which isn't often. I've got these dark circles under my eyes that never leave, even after a few hours of sleep.
The symbols on my face still brighten sometimes, especially when I'm angry—or scared, though I don't like to admit the difference. I still don't know what they mean exactly. Just that they're part of me now, like the scars I stopped counting.
Everything I've got on me was chosen because it had to be. Reinforced boots, cargo pants with deep pockets, layers that hold knives, lockpicks, memories. I don't carry much else.
I don't remember the last time I let myself just stand like this, not moving, not running. It feels strange. Exposed. Like the air's watching me back.
But I'm not afraid. Not anymore.
I'm just… waiting.
I step outside to get some fresh air and to try to get those thoughts out of my head.
The sky stretched endlessly before them, a masterpiece of swirling oranges, soft pinks, and deep purples as the sun dipped below the horizon. A cool breeze whispered through the village, rustling the vines that curled around their rooftop.
"I must have slept all day," said Hayato.
As he takes in the scenery, he hears a voice. "Nii-chan! Up Here!" yelled Hikari.
Hayato looks up and sees Hikari on top of the roof. "What are you doing up there?" said Hayato.
"You get a better view of the sky from up here. Come up and join me" said Hikari with a smile.
With a small sigh and the hint of a smile, Hayato climbs up after her. They sit together on the edge of the roof, high above the quiet village.
Hayato sat with one knee drawn up, his forearm resting against it as he gazed at the fading light.
Beside him, Hikari, who is now fifteen sat cross-legged, her hands gripping the edge of the rooftop. Though her large eyes still carried the curiosity of childhood. But beneath that curiosity, there was something else—a shadow of worry.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The moment stretched between them, filled only by the quiet rustling of leaves and the distant crackling of a fire somewhere in the village.
Finally, Hikari broke the silence.
"You're worried, aren't you?" Her voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the sharp intuition behind it.
Hayato let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck before tilting his head toward her. "It's hard not to be." His eyes flickered toward the horizon, where the last sliver of the sun was disappearing beyond the hills. "The Nocturnals are overdue for one of their 'visits.'"
Hikari frowned, her fingers tightening against the rough surface of the roof. "They always come when we least expect it. It's like they enjoy keeping us on edge."
A bitter smirk tugged at Hayato's lips, but there was no humor in it. "That's exactly what they enjoy." His voice darkened, the air around him seeming to shift as his markings pulsed brighter. "They don't just want food or supplies. They want us to be afraid. To see us break."
Hikari turned to face him fully now, her expression hardening. "But we won't break." Her voice was firm, unwavering. "Right, Nii-chan?"
Hayato blinked, startled by the intensity in her gaze. For a moment, he saw the little sister who used to hide behind him when strangers passed through their village. But that little girl wasn't there anymore.
She had grown.
A small smile found its way onto his lips, and he reached out, ruffling her hair. "Yeah. We won't break."
But deep down, a gnawing feeling twisted in his gut.
Because he knew—The Nocturnals are more than just brutes. Their leader is calculated. And he was never late without a reason.
That evening, as the sky burned crimson, Hayato and Hikari sat near a small fire, its glow flickering in their tired eyes. The world around them was eerily quiet—too quiet. Even the wind had died down, leaving only the soft crackling of the flames to fill the emptiness.
Hikari stared into the fire, her once-bright eyes shadowed by the weight of loss.
"Nii-chan," she murmured, hugging her knees to her chest. "Do you think the war will ever end?"
Hayato's gaze remained fixed on the flames, watching the embers dance in the air before vanishing into the night. For a long time, he said nothing.
Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head. "I don't know." The words felt heavy on his tongue, but he wouldn't lie to her. Not about this.
Hikari's fingers dug into her sleeves, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing grounding her.
"Then what's the point of all this?" she whispered. "Fighting, surviving… If it never ends, then—"
Before she could finish, Hayato reached over, gently placing a hand on her head. His touch was warm, steady.
"As long as we're together, we'll be fine." His voice was quiet, but unshakable.
Hikari looked up at him, searching his face for any hint of doubt. But there was none.
And for now, that was enough.
The world was broken, shattered beyond recognition. But amidst the ruin, the fire of hope still burned.
And as long as that fire remained, humanity would endure.
The village marketplace was alive with movement, a vibrant contrast to the quiet outskirts where Hayato and Hikari spent most of their time. Stalls lined the narrow, winding streets, their wooden and metal frames held together by years of makeshift repairs. The scent of grilled fish and roasted vegetables mingled with the salty breeze drifting in from the distant sea, while the air buzzed with voices—merchants calling out their wares, customers haggling over prices, and children laughing as they darted through the crowd.
The dirt path beneath Hayato and Hikari's feet was well-trodden, worn smooth by countless footsteps. As they moved between the bustling stalls, the colors of the market—**deep blues, fiery reds, shimmering golds—**reflected in their eyes, creating an almost surreal atmosphere.
Hayato cast a sidelong glance at his younger sister, noticing how closely she walked beside him.
"You don't have to stick so close, you know," he teased, raising an eyebrow.
Hikari smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "You'd get lost without me."
Hayato chuckled, shaking his head. It was a rare moment of lightness, one that made him momentarily forget everything weighing on his shoulders—the looming threat of the Aberrants, the war between the Transcendents and the Hyperions, and the uncertain future that awaited them.
For now, it was just them.
They moved deeper into the market, their attention shifting to the colorful displays of goods. Fabric vendors showcased intricately woven scarves dyed in rich indigo and sunset crimson, metalworkers displayed handcrafted jewelry and charms, and spice traders from distant settlements laid out parchment-wrapped bundles of fragrant herbs and dried roots.
The village had always been a place of resilience, a sanctuary for those who had survived the horrors of war and the Aberrants. Nestled between rolling green hills, it was small but full of life, its homes built from sturdy wood and reinforced scrap metal—a testament to the people who refused to let the world's collapse crush them.
Vines curled around the sides of homes, their lush green leaves thriving under the warm sun. Solar panels gleamed atop rooftops, shimmering like golden mirrors as they caught the morning light. The streets, uneven and well-worn, wound lazily through the settlement, where villagers bustled about, tending to daily chores.
The air was rich with the scent of cooked rice and grilled fish, mingling with the faint aroma of burning incense drifting from a small shrine near the village entrance. Vendors had set up makeshift stalls, displaying everything from fresh produce to handmade trinkets, while laughter rang out from the children playing in the open square.
Hayato's sharp eyes scanned the stalls ahead. "We should trade for food first," he said, adjusting the strap of the small bag slung over his shoulder.
Hikari hummed in agreement, but before he could take another step, something caught his eye.
A small, nearly hidden stand nestled between two larger stalls.
Unlike the surrounding booths, this one had no bright banners or loud merchants calling for attention. Instead, a simple wooden table displayed an assortment of delicate hairpieces, each one handcrafted with intricate engravings and polished stones.
But there was one piece that stood out.
A snowflake-shaped ornament, carved from pure white stone, its edges delicately outlined with faintly glowing blue filigree. The craftsmanship was impeccable—lightning frozen in time, delicate yet undeniably powerful.
Something about it reminded Hayato of Hikari.
Without thinking, he reached out, brushing his fingers against its cool surface.
"I think this would suit you," Hayato murmured, his voice softer than before.
Hikari, caught off guard, blinked. A faint pink dusted her cheeks, but she quickly turned her head away. "Worry about food first," she muttered, though the corners of her lips twitched into a small smile.
Unbeknownst to Hayato, Hikari's gaze had already wandered elsewhere.
Across from them, another stand caught her eye. Unlike the delicate trinkets Hayato had been admiring, this one displayed a collection of watches and accessories, their metallic surfaces gleaming under the sunlight.
Among them, one stood out.
A sleek silver watch, its sturdy yet elegant band polished to perfection. The glowing blue numbers etched into its face **reminded her of Hayato's luminescent markings—**the same markings that pulsed along his arms whenever he called upon his powers.
She hesitated for a moment, fingers lightly touching the edge of the display. Then, she made up her mind. If Hayato was thinking of her, she wanted to do the same.
The village had been peaceful lately—but there was always that unshakable tension, the lingering fear of the Nocturnal's return.
After shopping, the siblings then head to Rootwatch Square to visit the Gearbox shop for Hayato's invention he is making. The village chief's house is in the center, but no one is allowed in or near unless you are family or if you have permission. But around his house is the Rootwatch Square where people can roam freely and there are also homes and stores.
Though the villagers went about their daily business, an unspoken tension lingered in the air. Despite the ever-present unease, Hayato and Hikari moved through the market with purpose. Their attention was fixed on gathering materials—supplies for an invention Hayato had been painstakingly working on for weeks.
Hikari peered over his shoulder, her curiosity barely contained as she watched Hayato examine a small, polished copper coil in the merchant's stall. "So, are you finally gonna tell me what you're making?" she asked, her voice laced with playful suspicion.
Hayato smirked, rolling the coil between his fingers. "It's a surprise."
Hikari crossed her arms, huffing. "Come on, Nii-chan! You've been working on this for weeks, and you're still keeping secrets?"
Hayato chuckled, handing the coil to the merchant in exchange for a bundle of reinforced wires. "It's not a secret, just… not ready yet."
Hikari squinted at him, unconvinced. "You know that makes me even more curious, right?"
Shaking his head, Hayato reached into his bag, pulling out a small, half-assembled device. The metallic frame gleamed in the sunlight, its inner components a maze of delicate wiring and carefully arranged energy circuits. The design was sleek but sturdy, built with precision and careful engineering.
Hikari's eyes widened as she took in the unfamiliar structure. "Wait… is this—?"
"A compression gauntlet," Hayato confirmed, rotating the device in his palm. "I've been experimenting with kinetic storage. If I get it working properly, I'll be able to store energy in short bursts and release it when I need to. Think of it like… a shockwave amplifier. If you link the output to your elemental flow, it will automatically adjust to my power levels."
Hikari's mouth parted slightly in awe before a grin spread across her face. "Okay, now that's cool."
Hayato gave a modest shrug, but there was a glint of excitement in his eyes. "If I can stabilize the output, I could use it to enhance my wind strikes. Maybe even boost my agility in a fight."
Hikari reached out, tracing the intricate filigree along the gauntlet's frame. "You always were the tinkerer."
Hayato puffed up proudly "You know it's because I'm a genius."
Hikari rolled her eyes, then noticed with a glance their intended destination. "There's the Gearbox, I wonder if Rex is there today." Hikari said. She ran ahead leaving Hayato behind.
"Hey, wait up!" Hayato yelled, then gave a kind smile.
But then Hayato felt a sense of unease—the kind of instinctive, gut-wrenching feeling that twisted his stomach before his brain could even process why. His sharp, glowing eyes flicked toward the disturbance, and his jaw tightened.
And then, as if the very thought had summoned him, a distant rumble echoed through the valley.
The atmosphere of the rootwatch square shifted like a sudden gust before a storm. The once-lively hum of merchants calling out deals and children laughing between stalls dulled into hushed murmurs and wary glances. A tense, creeping unease slithered through the crowd, infecting everyone like an unspoken warning.
The faint vibration in the ground grew stronger, a rhythmic pounding, like the footsteps of an approaching giant.
Then came the dust. A thick cloud of dirt rose on the horizon, swirling violently like an omen. A cold, trembling voice broke the silence. "They're here."
The sound grew louder—the snarling roar of engines, the metallic growl of machinery, tearing through the once-tranquil valley like a pack of ravenous wolves.
Panic erupted.
Mothers grabbed their children and rushed them into homes, slamming doors shut. Vendors shoved their goods into bags with frantic movements. Some of the younger men, those bold enough to fight, stepped forward, gripping makeshift weapons—wooden bats, metal pipes, anything they could find. But deep down, everyone knew it wouldn't be enough.
Then, they arrived.
The Nocturnal's stormed into the village square like a conquering force. Their motorcycles and rugged, battle-worn vehicles skidded to a stop, kicking up dirt and debris, shaking the very ground beneath them. Their black coats flapped like tattered banners, their dark clothing blending together, a wave of shadow sweeping through the settlement.
The gang sat on their bikes, silent but imposing. Men and women clad in black coats or jackets, their uniforms hinting at something beyond mere loyalty—something almost cult-like.
As the dust settled, one member swung his leg over his motorcycle and stepped onto the dirt road, his boots crunching against the earth.
For a moment, he simply stood there, surveying the village, taking in the fear radiating from every corner. A slow smirk curled his lips, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Come on out, village chief!" he called out, his voice effortlessly slicing through the crackling tension. "We want to have a word with you!"
The air grew heavier, the villagers shrinking further into themselves. Whispers spread like wildfire, hushed voices filled with dread.
The village chief came out of his house. He was old—far too old to be standing against the Nocturnals. His frail body trembled, but his dark eyes held firm, the unshakable resolve of a leader unwilling to abandon his people.
"Please" he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his bones. "We have nothing left to give. You've already taken so much."
The gang member tilted his head, his smirk deepening. He took a slow step forward, then another, his boots pressing into the dirt with deliberate weight.
"Nothing left, you say?" he mused, his tone dripping with false sympathy. "Well, that's just not acceptable for our boss."
Then, with lightning-fast precision, he grabbed the old man by the collar.
A gasp rippled through the crowd as the chief's frail body was yanked upward, his feet barely touching the ground. His breath hitched, his fingers scrambling against the gang members' iron grip.
The gang member's expression twisted—his smirk stretching into something more sinister, his eyes gleaming with unspoken cruelty.
"Maybe I'll take your life instead."
Upon seeing this, Hikari sternly whispered to Hayato. "This is awful... we can't just watch this happen again!"
The village would tremble under the weight of the gang member's presence, the rest of the gang spreading like a plague through the settlement. The once-lively streets, where shops had haggled and children had played just moments ago, were now overrun with chaos and fear. The rest of the gang kick down doors with sickening cracks, storming into homes with no regard for the people inside.
Villagers who resisted were shoved aside, their desperate pleas ignored as the gang looted whatever they could—food, tools, handmade crafts, even sentimental trinkets that had no value beyond the memories they held.
"Hikari, no. If we jump in now, we'll only make things worse." said Hayato with a firm, low voice.
"But they're suffering. We can't keep running away forever. They'll take everything!" said Hikari
Hikari's teeth ground together, her nails digging into her palms as she trembled with anger. She had seen this too many times. She had felt the helplessness, the frustration, the sheer unfairness of it all.
Hayato's gaze was locked onto the scene in front of them, his sharp eyes analyzing every movement, every opportunity. His breath was slow and measured, but his body was tense, his glowing markings flickering erratically as his emotions surged.
"I know," he muttered, his jaw tight. "But we need to be smart about this."
He tore his eyes away from the chaos for a moment, looking directly at Hikari. "If we rush in without a plan, people will get hurt."
Hayato clenched his fists. His heart pounded. Every instinct screamed at him to protect her.
"I know it sucks, but if we get in the middle of this, it will be dangerous. And I won't put you—" said Hayato
Suddenly, the gang member then pulls out a knife and raises it toward the chief, readying to strike him down. Without a moment of hesitation, Hikari shot a flash of lighting towards him before Hayato could stop her, knocking the knife out of his hand.
"That's enough!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The gang member slowly turned, his eyes narrowing.
His smirk deepened, twisting with amusement, but behind his dark eyes, there was something else—recognition.
Hayato groaned "Damn it, Hikari...".
"Fine. Guess we're doing this."
The air crackled with tension as Hayato planted his feet firmly between the gangsters and the village chief, his glowing eyes burning like twin embers in the fading light. The dust swirled violently around him, caught in the invisible current of his power. The air itself felt charged, thick with an unseen energy, making it difficult to breathe.
Hayato didn't flinch. His voice was calm, controlled—but each word carried the weight of a storm waiting to break.
"Let the chief go. Now."
The gang member's sharp gaze cut through the shifting bodies like a blade, locking onto Hayato with deadly precision. A slow, cruel smirk curled across his lips—a hunter catching sight of his prey.
"Well, well. If it isn't our favorite deserter."
Hayato stopped mid-step, his grip on Hikari's arm tightening instinctively.
"I'm not interested in a reunion." Hayato said coolly, his voice level but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut.
The gang member raised his hands in mock surrender, amusement dancing in his black eyes. "Relax, Hayato. I just wanted to talk to the dear old chief."
"Knowing what you guys are, don't 'just talk,' Hayato shot back, his gaze unwavering.
The gangster chuckled, motioning for the others to step forward. "You were one of the best—reliable, strong, clever… but then you had to go and play hero."
Hayato's fists curled at his sides. Hero. The word felt like a sneer coming from his mouth.
He hadn't always been the village's protector. Once, in another life, he had been part of Nocturnals—a reckless, angry kid looking for belonging. Their leader had given him that. Had fed his resentment, shaped his bitterness into strength. For a while, Hayato had believed in it. Believed that power was survival, that loyalty meant standing by the strongest.
But the illusion had shattered the moment he saw innocent people suffer under The Nocturnals rule.
The moment he realized he had become what he used to hate.
"I left because you all turned into thugs," Hayato said, his voice cutting through the tense air like a blade.
For a split second, the gangster's smirk faltered. But then, just as quickly, it returned, slick and unreadable. "Call it what you want. But you've got talent kid, and talent shouldn't be wasted in this…" he gestured lazily to the marketplace, "pitiful village." His lips curled in thinly veiled disgust.
Hikari stepped forward before Hayato could respond, her eyes flashing. "Leave him alone. He doesn't want anything to do with you guys."
The gangster's smirk deepened, his gaze flicking to her like a predator spotting a new target. "Your sister's got some fire. He'll like that."
A sharp CRACKLE filled the air as electricity snapped across Hikari's arms, her power responding to the anger curling in her chest. She raised a hand, sparks dancing between her fingertips like restless lightning. "Say something like that again," she warned, her voice dangerously steady, "and I'll make sure you regret it."
The gangster tensed, his hands twitching toward their weapons, but then they merely laughed—a slow, condescending sound. "Relax, princess. I'm just offering your brother an opportunity. But I see that things are a little tense right now, so we'll leave for today." He turned back to Hayato, tilting his head. "When rest assured we will come, and we will have the boss with us. And when that time comes, we'll expect an answer from you."
Hayato's glowing facial markings flaring brighter, the wind around him stirring ominously as he stared down the Nocturnals.
"You can't escape who you are, Hayato." His voice was quieter now, but the weight of the words sank deep. "You'll see, He'll make you."