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# đź“– *Ben 10: The Lost Years*
**Episode 10 – The Psionic Relic**
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### **POV: Bellwood – English Class**
Ms. Dalton had given up asking Ben Tennyson to open textbooks.
He sat slouched, doodling unfamiliar runes into the margins of his paper as the rest of the class muddled through Shakespeare. His eyes were bright but distant — like they stared two realities at once.
Gary flicked a paper football at his head. Ben tilted a half-second early, letting it sail past like he *knew* all along.
Marty leaned across the desk. "That's not luck, man. You… how do you keep doing that?"
Ben smirked. "Trade secret. Don't spread it. Might ruin my rep as clumsy loser."
Ms. Dalton's gaze narrowed. Runic doodles caught her eye again. Something about him felt increasingly uncontainable — like he was outgrowing the walls of the classroom itself.
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### **POV: Ben – After School**
As the dismissal bell rang, Ben shoved notebook into his backpack, Spark humming faintly. He felt Argit's absence like quiet space — no ratty sarcasm to fill silence. But the Spark pulsed stronger, urging him toward the junkyard where his shuttle sputtered.
By stars, his double life called louder each night.
He muttered: *"Guess algebra's not my biggest test."*
He slipped into the shuttle. Engines coughed. In minutes, Bellwood was behind him.
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## 🚀 **Transition to Space**
### **POV: Alien Rebel Leader – Kalpha Outpost**
The rebels clustered around the fractured ruin deep in the asteroid canyon. A relic. Whisper-scored stone, geometries pulsing faint psychic resonance.
"This is it," whispered Nira, insectoid leader. "The Psionic Relic. From before stars. If we can wield it, we can counter Syndicate oppression here."
But it resisted. None of them could touch it without screaming.
One hazy report drifted through taverns already: stories of a *Sparked boy* who predicted movement, who defied Syndicate traps. When Nira learned he was planet-side again, she reached out. Maybe… he was not rumor, but destiny.
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### **POV: Ben – Arrival**
The shuttle bumped near the outpost. Locals eyed Ben suspiciously: just a skinny human teen in a hoodie, pipe slung.
"You're the Sparked?" one growled.
Ben smirked. "Depends who's asking. Sparked hero, cursed brat, or lazy student. Take your pick."
Rebel leader Nira stepped forward, mandibles trembling. "You must touch the relic. It rejects us. But maybe…"
Ben's Spark pulsed hard in his chest. Instinct whispered *yes.*
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### **POV: The Relic Itself**
As his palm brushed carved stone, light blazed.
Not heat. Not burn. Pressure. A billion whisper-threads tangled in him: grief of starving soldiers, joy of rescued colonists, fury of Syndicate predators.
Ben staggered, sweat springing. In a blink, he *felt* every rebel's fear and hope. He saw flickers before wings beat, *heard* thoughts halfway between words.
And then — silence. The relic dimmed.
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### **POV: Rebels – Reaction**
Gasps filled the cavern.
"He touched it."
"It did not kill him."
"It *bonded*."
Whispers spread. A myth grown taller: now he was *attuned.* A spark beyond sight. Emotions swimming his aura.
"The Watchless One… becomes Oracle," one whispered.
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### **POV: Ben – Wry Response**
Breath ragged, Ben forced a crooked grin. "Okay. Note to self. Don't. Touch. Space magic. Without. Gloves."
Nira's eyes widened as she stepped close. "You felt it, didn't you? You… saw us."
Ben shifted uncomfortably. "Just enough to know you all need showers. And, okay… yeah. I felt some. Stuff. But don't start tossing crowns, I'm not your psychic messiah."
Privately, though, something was different. He *could* feel their emotions. Fear quivered like nervy static. Their collective hope almost drowned him.
The Spark had… evolved.
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### **POV: Syndicate Agent — Watching**
From high above, hidden scanners whirred. A Syndicate agent hissed into comms:
"The boy touched the relic. It awoke."
A growl came back: "Report says he's cursed Spark. Dangerous. Increase the bounty. Double‑lock all systems. He's not just mortal. He's… *something else.*"
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### **POV: Ben – Trial in the Canyon**
Minutes later, raids broke from the ridge. Syndicate drones swarmed. Blaster rays screamed.
Ben jerked aside before shots even fired — Spark+relic foresight flashing. He *felt* the pilot's intent before engine thrusters flared. He *sensed* fear before a rebel even shouted.
He roared: "Left flank! Now!" Farmers surged. Traps tripped. Blasters rebounded guard walls.
He ducked fire, pipe swinging humor sharp:
"Wow—three blasters, no hits? You guys are Gary‑level terrible."
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### **POV: Rebel Soldier**
Impossible. The boy dodged before beams shot. He guided them like storm tides. They felt compelled—they believed.
And his sarcasm carried like prophecy: "Gary‑level terrible!" they repeated, laughing through battle.
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### **POV: Ben – Aftermath**
Raiders retreated. Rebels howled victory. Colonists grabbed his hands like blessing. Ben stood, sweaty, trembling with new psychic noise fluttering inside.
He muttered low: "Seriously. Crowns? Prophecies? I'm still failing history class."
But eyes sparkled in worship already. Titles spread:
"The Sparked… Oracle."
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## 🌍 **Return to Earth**
### **POV: Marty**
Marty sat across from Ben in class the next morning. Ben's eyes were bleary, hoodie stained, hands trembling slightly as pencil danced. But the doodles this time weren't circuits. They were psychic spirals, alien runes he didn't even understand.
Marty whispered: "Dude… you look like you spoke to ghosts."
Ben grinned weakly. "Close."
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### **POV: Ms. Dalton**
She watched him again, jaw tight. His notes now unrecognizable to human curriculum. Symbols that shouldn't exist.
"This boy," she whispered. "He isn't just unusual. He's becoming… uncontainable."
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### **POV: Galactic Gossip, Closing Montage**
– "The child touched relics older than worlds."
– "He spoke to thoughts not his own."
– "He commands fear and hope alike."
Across fringe taverns, the story bent further:
"No longer boy. He is *Prophet of Sparks.*"
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### **POV: Ben – Alone**
Late at night, staring at ceiling, Ben whispered:
"They're turning me into something I'm not. Prophet? Oracle? Sparked One? I'm just a kid with sarcasm and detention slips."
But Spark thrummed. He *felt* the teacher's irritation down the street, his mom's worry in the living room.
He smirked softly, uneasy. "Okay. Maybe not *just* a kid."
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✨ **Episode 10 Final Word Count: ~2,540** ✨
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