"When the heavens wept and the stars dimmed their flame,
A golden tear fell upon the dying Earth.
From its glow rose the first dawn — the Mother Oil,
Essence of all, womb of worlds, breath of time."
"Six lights were born from her sacred heart —
Fire to awaken, Water to soothe, Earth to endure,
Air to carry, Ice to preserve, and Lightning to reveal.
Thus, life found its rhythm anew, and the void was hushed."
"But balance is fragile, and greed is eternal.
The stars remember what mortals forget —
That every spark burns a shadow."
The teacher's voice echoed softly through the classroom — a tone both melodic and weary, like someone reciting a truth too old to still hurt, yet somehow it still did.
Holographic runes shimmered in the air above the students' desks, replaying the poem in glowing amber letters. Each verse pulsed faintly with a heartbeat of light — the language of Eryndor, half-translated, half-mysterious.
"Now class," said Professor Vaylen, adjusting her chromatic scarf, "that is the Verse of Dawn, the first record of the Essentia Prime. Every child learns it before they learn their alphabet."
A few students nodded lazily. One yawned. Another whispered, "Old fairy tales."
But Kael didn't.
He leaned forward, amber eyes fixed on the floating verse, his expression unreadable.
"Professor," he said quietly, raising a hand.
"Yes, Kael?"
"If the Mother Oil saved Earth… why did the stars stop shining that night?"
The class went still.
The teacher blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Well… the legends say the stars dimmed because they mourned the death of Eryndor — the home of the Aurelians and the Noctyrae. They gave their light so we could have ours."
Kael frowned slightly. "So, someone died for us to live?"
A long pause.
The question hung in the air like static — honest, heavy, and far too deep for a child his age. Even the runes flickered, as though the poem itself hesitated.
From behind, a familiar chuckle broke the silence.
"Leave it to Kael to ruin the mood," Rykas muttered, his tone half-teasing.
Eryndor, sitting beside him, elbowed him lightly. "Hey, at least he's thinking. Not like you, lightning-head."
"Lightning-head? That's your hair glowing blue, genius."
A ripple of laughter rolled through the class. Even the teacher smiled faintly.
"Curiosity is good," she finally said, looking at Kael with a soft, knowing gaze. "But some answers… are meant to find you when the time is right."
Outside, thunder murmured faintly in the distance — though the sky was clear.
Years Later…
The hum of a floating tram glided overhead, painting streaks of light across the wet pavement.
Kael — taller now, broad-shouldered, his expression still calm and distant — stepped out of a grocery kiosk, the plastic bag humming faintly from built-in nanoseals.
The city of Voltixol Prime was alive around him: neon vines curling up skyscrapers, drones weaving through the evening air, people walking with wrist-bands glowing in soft hues of their elemental signatures.
He paused for a moment beneath a flickering street lamp.
The glow made his shadow stretch long and lonely across the pavement.
"The stars remember what mortals forget…"
The line echoed in his head — the same line from the old verse.
He hadn't thought about that class in years, but tonight it wouldn't leave him.
A soft beep from his wrist-comm broke the silence.
He glanced down.
A message pulsed on the holographic screen:
RYKAS: "You see Eryndor today?"
KAEL: "No. Why?"
RYKAS: "He didn't show up at HQ. His beacon's off. No signal since last night."
Kael's grip tightened slightly on the grocery bag.
The faintest spark of electricity flickered across his fingertips — unnoticed, but real.
KAEL: "Meet me at his place."
RYKAS: "On my way."
Kael's eyes lifted to the skyline — a swirl of clouds and digital light. Somewhere out there, the stars watched quietly, just like the teacher said.
And in their silence, Kael felt something stir — a whisper deep inside, the same pulse that hummed through the poem long ago.
The stars remember…
…and the forgotten verse is beginning to awaken.