\"Divine spark?\" Ray whispered, the words feeling like sandpaper against his throat. The status panel in his mind didn't just flicker; it burned with a celestial intensity that seemed to illuminate the very grey matter of his brain. It was the same sound he'd heard in the void—that mechanical chime that signaled his rebirth. He remembered his father's stories of the Great Kings of old, but even in those tales, no one had ever spoken of a spark that carried the rank of 'Divine'.
\"How can there be a divine spark? Teacher Ignis said there were only five ranks... Bearer, Ruler, King, Monarch, and Saint. This... this isn't on the list.\" He focused on the shimmering golden text, reading the description with a mix of awe and a rising, cold terror.
Spark Description: Divine Spark of the Galaxy Master (The spark of a being called Master by the whole divine realm. He was respected despite being hated by the gods.)
This spark grants the host innate control over ultimate space, time, darkness, and soul, with partial control over all other elements. It is the core of a creator, a seed of the universe itself.
Body Description: Type-Galaxy Body (A body of an unknown being whose existence was erased from the annals of time by those who feared its potential.)
Once, it was the body of an entity who stood above the heavens. The wielder has an innate connection to the threads of fate and possesses their own gravitational pull, both literally and metaphorically. This body has no upper limit to evolution due to its affinity for the primordial darkness; at its peak, the wielder can manifest multiple galaxies within their own spirit, using them as batteries for unfathomable power.
Artifact: Divine Wings of the Galaxy Whale (The wings of Shinlong, the first creature created by the Galaxy Master, designed to carry the weight of a cosmos and navigate the currents of eternity.)
These wings grant the wielder infinite storage space within the folds of their starlight feathers and the ability to fly through any medium, including the airless vacuum of the void.
Inheritance: The Seed of the Galaxy contains the entire legacy left by the last Galaxy Master. It is not a mere repository of power; it is a catalyst for fate, a guide through the labyrinth of the multiverse.
Ray processed the information, his mind reeling. Status panels in Aethelgard weren't supposed to be this detailed. They were usually simple—Name, Rank, Element. Inheritances were supposed to be gifts, not burdens of destiny.
\"No... this has to be a mistake,\" he whispered into the swirling starlight of the realm. \"I'm just six. I'm just a boy from the hostel.\"
\"For now, you are not the only one here.\"
Ray jumped, his eyes scanning the swirling darkness of the vortex that was still collapsing around him. \"Who's there? Show yourself!\"
\"I am the whale that sacrificed its essence so that the Master's light would not be extinguished from this cycle,\" the voice responded. It was the same voice as the great whale, but now it sounded like a thousand chimes ringing in harmony.
\"Shinlong?\"
\"Yes, little Master. As a divine beast created by the Master's own hand, a fragment of my consciousness remains tied to the wings I have given you. But I cannot stay forever. The laws of this realm are already beginning to reject my presence. I have only minutes left before I fade into the silence of the void. Listen carefully, for your life depends on it.\"
The voice grew faint, like a distant echo across a vast canyon.
\"There are four other beasts like me—the Solar Phoenix, the Abyssal Turtle, the Void Tiger, and the Star Dragon. They are scattered across the higher realms, waiting for the return of the Master. You must find them and show them your wings; only then will they recognize you. The Seed in your spirit contains all the techniques and memories of my Master, which will unlock as your body grows strong enough to contain them. Never trust the gods of Aethelgard, Ray. They are the ones who sought to erase the Master. And protect the one who resonates with your fate... her light is the only thing that can balance your darkness. Strength alone will never be enough; you must grow until you are beyond the reach of their petty laws and their jealous eyes.\"
\"Wait! I have so many questions! Who is my father? Why did the government say it was human error? What is the Void?\"
\"Take care, little Master... the stars are watching...\"
As the voice faded into nothingness, a tearing, agonizing pain erupted from Ray's back. It felt as if two molten iron bars were being driven through his shoulder blades. He screamed, but no sound came out in the vacuum of the realm. His standard-issue uniform shredded as muscles were forcibly rewoven and bones were hollowed out and filled with liquid starlight. Two magnificent, star-forged wings—each twice the length of his body—sprouted from his back, unfurling with a shower of nebular sparks. The pain was so intense, so total, that his consciousness finally shattered, and his vision went black.
Ray awoke to the sterile, cloying scent of antiseptic and the soft, rhythmic hum of medical machinery. The ceiling above was a dull, off-white, covered in a network of fine cracks that looked like a map of a forgotten city. The lighting was too bright, stabbing at his eyes.
His body felt impossibly heavy, as if he were being crushed by the atmosphere itself. He tried to move his hand, but it felt like it was made of lead. The wings—those impossible, divine appendages—were gone, or rather, they had folded themselves into a pocket of space within his back, leaving only two faint, glowing scars along his shoulder blades that throbbed with a dull heat.
He was in a hospital. This was the real world, the grey world of Aethelgard.
His gaze drifted to the side and locked onto a woman sitting in a plastic chair beside his bed. It was his mother, Mariya. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, her face pale and drawn. Her hands were trembling as she clutched a half-empty thermos of tea, her knuckles white.
\"Mom?\" he croaked, his voice sounding like it belonged to a much older man.
Her head snapped up, and for a second, a flash of pure, unadulterated relief flooded her face. She dropped the thermos, the plastic clattering on the linoleum floor. \"Ray... oh, thank the stars... you're awake.\"
He tried to sit up, but a searing jolt of electricity shot through his spine, originating from the scars on his back. \"Don't move,\" she said, her voice cracking as she gently pressing his shoulders back down. \"The school staff... Master Ignis... they brought you here. They said you were injured during the distortion. They said your resonance was so high it nearly burnt out your nervous system.\"
\"But Mom... why are you here? You should be at the hospital with Dad. You have a shift, don't you?\"
The silence that followed was suffocated by the hum of the heart monitor. His mother's lips trembled, and she looked away, her gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling. A single tear escaped and ran down her cheek, disappearing into the collar of her worn uniform.
\"Ray... your father... he passed away last night,\" she whispered, her voice so small it was almost lost in the room. \"There was a surge in his life-support system. The doctors said his heart just... stopped. I was with him, Ray. I was holding his hand. I didn't even know you had been admitted here until the school called this morning.\"
The weight of the grief was more crushing than the gravity of the Galaxy Whale. Ray stared at the ceiling, the white cracks blurring as tears filled his eyes. He felt a cold, hollow void opening in his chest, a darkness that even the Divine Spark couldn't fill. It was a cruel irony—he had gained the power of a creator, the inheritance of a god, but he had lost the one man who had taught him how to be a person.
Guided by his raw, unbridled grief, the shimmering blue wings suddenly unfurled from his back. They ripped through the thin hospital gown and filled the small, cramped room with a brilliant nebular glow. Each feather was a translucent fragment of starlight, pulsing with the sorrow of a dying sun. The air in the room grew cold, and the smell of ozone replaced the scent of antiseptic.
A nurse, entering the room with a tray of medication, froze in the doorway. She didn't scream; she simply stood there in a trance-like state, her eyes wide and glassy as the divine energy washed over her. The tray tilted in her hands, the plastic cups of pills sliding toward the edge.
\"Ray, stop! Put them away!\" his mother whispered, her voice filled with a sharp, desperate panic. She stood up and tried to shield him with her body, looking toward the door. \"You have to hide them! If the officials see this... if the Den family finds out... they'll take you away!\"
Ray's wings flickered, sensing his mother's fear. They dimmed and retracted, folding back into the scars on his skin with a faint, shimmering hiss. The room felt suddenly dark and small again, the divine energy retreating into the depths of his soul.
The nurse blinked, shaking her head as if waking from a long, confusing dream. She looked down at her tray, then at Ray, who was now lying still, his face buried in the pillow. \"I... I think the lights flickered,\" she muttered, her voice shaky. \"You're burning up, little one. You've been unconscious for nearly forty-eight hours. You need rest. Your mother needs rest too—she's been through more than any woman should have to bear in a single day.\"
As the nurse hurried to the bedside to check his vitals, a series of loud, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. They weren't the hurried steps of medical staff; they were the deliberate, rhythmic thuds of someone who owned the ground they walked on.
The door swung open with a bang, hitting the rubber stopper on the wall. An old man stood in the doorway, his presence so commanding that the very air in the room seemed to drop several degrees. He was tall, dressed in a sharp, charcoal-grey suit that screamed of old money and power. His hair was the color of a deep, stormy ocean, framing a face that was a mask of cold arrogance. His eyes, however, were what drew Ray's attention—they were as dark as the abyss, filled with a weight that felt strangely similar to the whale's aura.
\"Father,\" Mariya said, her voice turning cold and hard, all the warmth for Ray vanishing as she faced the newcomer. \"You are late. He is gone. Your family's pride, your precious legacy... it couldn't save him. It couldn't even keep him alive long enough for his son to say goodbye.\"
The old man didn't even look at her. His gaze was locked onto Ray, his dark eyes widening slightly as he scanned the boy's form. He breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring as if he were catching the scent of something ancient and forbidden.
\"The boy...\" the old man whispered, his voice a low, dangerous growl. \"Mariya, what in the name of the ancestors have you brought into this world? That resonance... it's not from our bloodline. It's something... else.\"
He stepped toward the bed, his aura flaring—a dark, oppressive force that felt like being submerged in deep water. Ray felt the Divine Spark in his chest pulse in response, a golden fire meeting the abyss-dark waves.
\"Stay away from him, Father,\" Mariya hissed, stepping between them. \"He's just a boy. A boy who just lost his father.\"
\"He is a Den,\" the old man said, his voice echoing in the small room. \"And if what I sense is true, he is the only thing that matters now.\"
Ray looked at the old man, his grandfather, and felt a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the hospital's air conditioning. To his mother, he was a son. To this man, he was 'the only thing that mattered'—a tool, a variable, a weapon. He felt the invisible strings of fate tightening around his wrists, pulling him away from the hostel and into a world where he was no longer a person, but a legacy.