Long ago, the planet once called Terrosia bore resemblance to Earth—lush valleys, sprawling cities, towering clouds that kissed gentle peaks. But that was before it fell.
Now the land is cracked and wild, teetering between rebirth and ruin. Its skies shimmer with fractures—veins of cosmic energy laced across the clouds like scars that never healed. The air hums with the ghost of something greater, something divine, and angry.
And still, people live here. Somehow.
The planet remains a cradle of lingering cosmic energy, its atmosphere pulsing with remnants of a cataclysmic force. Legends whisper of other realms—of entire universes just beyond reach, as plentiful as the stars above. Some roam these stars in pursuit of wealth, power, or knowledge.
But others… others seek something rarer: freedom.
One truth, however, binds them all.
The gods rule everything.
They claim dominion over the multiverse, veiled in so-called "divine justice," delivering wrath where they see fit—with no questions asked. Beings of such terrifying magnitude that to even curse their name is to invite oblivion.
Terrosia had learned this the hard way.
Roughly a decade ago, when three boys were still infants, the sky cracked. Nobody knew why. No war. No crime. Just divine fury descending like a plague. Cities burned. Oceans screamed. Fragments of orbiting moons rained down in silence. In mere hours, entire nations vanished.
When it ended, what remained was a fractured world—with broken skies, fraying time, and survivors too stubborn to die.
Among them, in the crumbled city-district of Braetan, was a group shelter crammed with those left behind. And in that shelter—amidst soot-stained walls and sleeping mats made from salvaged insulation—three boys grew up.
Not by blood. But by bond.
They were orphans of the divine wrath. No one remembered their parents—if they had any. Their names were scribbled on frayed wristbands found among rubble.
• Onyx, age 4 at the time, already protective and quiet.
• Luto and Ryu, twin-age boys at 2. Luto spoke almost fluently as he had incredible intellect. Ryu couldn't stop giggling.
The caretakers at the shelter were overwhelmed. Food was rationed. Sleep came with the sound of howling beasts outside the zone perimeter. But somehow… the three boys survived.
Onyx took the hits.
Luto made the plans.
Ryu kept them laughing.
As they got older, they earned a reputation in the outer district as the "Devilspawn Daredevils"—breaking curfew, sneaking out, salvaging old tech and sometimes bringing back food that "mysteriously" ended up on other kids' mats.
And now, years later, with no laws strong enough to contain their curiosity, they still wandered. Still got into trouble.
⸻
That morning started like any other.
"Don't get caught," Luto (now 10) muttered as he adjusted the strap on his scavpack.
"Don't start fires," Onyx (now 12) added, slinging a carbon-hammer across his back.
"No promises," Ryu (now 10) said with a grin, tying back his dreadlocks with the same bandana he'd worn since he was a kid.
They moved through the shattered city like wind through bones—past fallen spires, through breach-gates welded from ship hulls, into the open ruins of the western deadlands.
Their goal?
Salvage old circuits. Maybe trade them for better boots. Probably fight something stupid along the way.
⸻
They didn't expect to find a corpse.
"Uh… is it just me or did we find a dead man's piñata?" Ryu said, crouching beside the body.
The figure lay motionless in the sun-scorched grass, blood pooling beneath black-and-silver armor, one arm twisted unnaturally. Strange glyphs glowed faintly along his skin—alien, ethereal.
"He's not dead," Onyx said, kneeling to check his pulse. His voice was flat, but his grip was careful.
Luto crouched and sniffed. "Smells like space metal and regret. Definitely not from Terrosia."
Ryu blinked. "Should we poke him?"
"Don't poke him," both Onyx and Luto snapped in unison.
Still, despite the banter, they moved fast. Onyx lifted the man onto his back. Luto wrapped him in cloakcloth. Ryu kept watch, palms lit faintly with heat from his embedded capacitor chip.
They carried him to the shade of a cracked sky-dome—once used for weather regulation, now just another piece of scenery.
Whoever this man was… he'd been through hell.
His armor bore the molten marks of divine weaponry. His veins shimmered with stardust corruption, an infection said to come from direct exposure to multiversal radiation.
He wasn't just wounded.
He was running.
From something—or someone.
Ryu squatted beside him, eyes narrowed.
"Hey, stranger. You owe us. Medical fees, time, snacks… Luto's food is expensive."
The man stirred. His eyes opened—bloodshot, flickering, barely focused. But conscious.
"You… don't know what you've done," he rasped.
Luto tilted his head. "Saved you?"
The man coughed—spitting up light. Not blood. Actual radiant light. He winced.
"You've drawn the gaze… of gods."
A silence fell over them.
Ryu scratched his head.
"Well, shit."