The descent was brutal. Blaze's body tumbled through the air like a comet torn from its orbit, streaking downward toward the sprawling city below. The night sky was ablaze with neon lights and towering skyscrapers, casting fractured reflections across the metallic landscape. For a brief moment, as wind howled in his ears and his stomach lurched with the force of gravity, fragments of memory flashed before his eyes—Boboiboy's calm face as he let go, the tearing of their elemental essence, the sense of finality as seven powers were scattered across worlds.
Then the ground rushed up to meet him.
He struck a corrugated metal roof, bounced, and crashed down into a narrow alley choked with trash and broken machinery. Pain flared through his limbs—not enough to incapacitate him, but enough to remind him that his body, while powerful, was no longer bolstered by the collective balance of the unified being. He groaned, rolled over, and lay still for a moment, letting his breathing steady.
"Still alive," he muttered to himself, voice rough. A faint flicker of red flame danced at his fingertips, responding instinctively to his irritation. The power of Nova—the crimson blaze that had once been one fragment of a vast cosmic force—still burned within him. It was a comforting, dangerous warmth.
The alley was dimly lit by flickering holo-signs overhead, advertising cheap food and illegal modifications. Sounds of distant traffic and bustling night markets echoed through the city, mingled with the hum of drones overhead. This world was alive in a way that was different from anything he had known. Technological, advanced… and yet, at ground level, grimy and harsh.
When he tried to stand, his knees buckled. A figure appeared at the end of the alley: a hunched old woman wrapped in layers of patchwork fabric, her face obscured by a hood. She approached slowly, with the cautious steps of someone who had lived long in dangerous places.
"You're not from around here," she rasped, eyeing him with sharp suspicion.
Blaze, still regaining his balance, didn't answer. She sighed. "Doesn't matter. If you lie there much longer, the scavengers will strip you of everything—including your skin."
She offered him a gnarled hand. He hesitated, then took it. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone her age. She half-dragged, half-guided him through a labyrinth of slum alleys until they reached a small shack built into the skeleton of an old transport hub. Inside, the air smelled faintly of herbs and machine oil.
For the next few days, Blaze stayed with her as his body adjusted to the strange gravity and atmosphere of this world. She asked few questions, and he gave fewer answers. In return for shelter, he helped fix broken household systems, using small controlled bursts of heat to solder pipes and circuits. She introduced herself as Maela, a long-time resident of the slums. She had seen many lost souls fall from the sky—sometimes literally, like him.
Through her, he began piecing together the nature of this world.
Humanity here had advanced far beyond the confines of one planet. They had mastered space travel centuries ago, colonizing moons, planets, and orbital stations. Massive cruiser fleets patrolled the solar highways, ferrying goods and people across vast distances. Research stations floated among planetary rings, pushing the limits of black science—technologies so advanced and dangerous they blurred the line between miracle and catastrophe. And yet, despite this grandeur, there were whispers of unnamed horrors lurking in the dark between the stars. Expeditions sometimes vanished without a trace. Signals came from places no one should have reached.
Blaze listened intently, memorizing every detail. This world was both magnificent and fragile. Humanity had built a towering empire on the edge of an abyss.
During sleepless nights, he would sit outside Maela's shack, staring at the stars through the smog, remembering. He thought of the unified being he had once been part of—of Boboiboy's unyielding will, the burning desire to protect the universe even as his body tore apart. He remembered the final message: Live your own lives.
He clenched his fist, feeling the pulse of Nova's crimson flame. "Then this is where my story begins," he whispered.
He needed purpose. And in this technologically advanced world, one name kept surfacing in conversations: The Academy of Space Exploring Officers. It was the heart of humanity's exploratory force—a place where new generations were trained to brave the dangers of space, to expand human knowledge, and to protect civilization from the darkness beyond.
Something in him stirred at the thought. Blaze had fought countless battles, survived wars that shattered worlds, and carried inside him knowledge and skills no one here could imagine. A role as an instructor would let him carve his own path, while shaping the future of this world.
He decided to adopt a new name, as the others surely had in their distant worlds. He whispered it into the night like a promise: "Ignis." A name of fire.
The entrance examinations for the academy were rigorous, spread over multiple phases. Ignis signed up under a falsified identity—something laughably easy to do once he understood the digital systems of this world. Solar's knowledge of data manipulation flowed back to him naturally, as if no time had passed.
On the day of the examination, the academy grounds were bustling with thousands of candidates. Tall glass towers and sleek shuttle bays framed the skyline. Holographic banners fluttered in the air, welcoming the new aspirants.
Ignis breezed through the written knowledge test. While others struggled with the complex astrophysics equations and galactic navigation problems, he typed calmly, almost bored. The computer systems here were child's play compared to the cognitive battles he had once fought.
The physical and skills tests were next. These were designed to filter out anyone who couldn't handle the rigors of space missions: zero-gravity maneuvers, survival drills, combat simulations, environmental adaptation. Ignis completed each task with unsettling ease.
He ran faster than the machines could record. He solved survival puzzles in minutes that were meant to take hours. In combat simulations, his reflexes and precision were inhumanly sharp. The examiners exchanged baffled looks as they watched him. How could someone so young possess the skills and experience of a veteran explorer?
By the time he reached the waiting area for the final test, Ignis felt almost… tired. He stretched his arms and sighed loudly. "Honestly," he muttered to no one in particular, "these tests weren't as hard as I thought."
The nearby candidates turned to stare at him. Some snickered. Others frowned. But one girl—sitting a few seats away—stood up abruptly. She had fiery red hair tied back in a sharp ponytail and eyes that glowed faintly with inner heat. She walked toward him, every step radiating confidence.
"What did you say?" she demanded. Her voice cut through the ambient noise like a blade.
Ignis blinked, mildly surprised. "I said the tests weren't that hard."
Her lips curled into a smirk that didn't reach her eyes. "Arrogant, aren't you? You think because you breezed through the preliminaries, you're something special?"
Ignis tilted his head. "I don't think I'm special. I just am good at what I do."
A murmur ran through the other candidates. The girl stared at him for a long moment, as if weighing something, then scoffed and turned away. The atmosphere she left behind was tense; people looked at Ignis like he was insane for picking a fight with her. He didn't particularly care.
Moments later, his name was called for the final test. A proctor explained that this would involve a sparring match against a member of the academy's test support team. He was to choose an opponent from a list. He was just about to make his selection when the door behind him opened.
The girl walked in.
"I'll fight him," she said clearly, pointing straight at Ignis.
The room fell silent. The proctors stared. The examinees gawked.
"Flamme," one of the instructors said sharply, "this is highly irregular. You are not—"
"I am," she interrupted. "He seems so confident. I'd like to test that confidence myself."
Ignis blinked. Flamme? The name rippled through the room like a shockwave. Whispers erupted among the candidates.
"That's Flamme!""She's the headmaster's adopted daughter!""She's a lecturer, too! What is she doing here?""She's a prodigy. They say no one her age can match her flame combat techniques."
The other lecturers exchanged concerned looks. One of them stepped forward, trying to dissuade her. "Flamme, this is unnecessary. He's just a candidate. You don't need to lower yourself—"
"I've made my choice," Flamme said coldly.
Ignis stepped forward, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Are you sure?"
She turned to him, her expression fierce. "I'll use my full strength. That should be enough to crush your arrogance."
Something inside Ignis stirred—a familiar, thrilling heat. The crimson flames of Nova power responded eagerly, swirling faintly around his hands. A slow smile crept onto his face. "Then I accept."
Gasps filled the room. The instructors were stunned. The candidates whispered excitedly, unable to believe what they were seeing. Flamme, the academy's prodigy, challenging an unknown newcomer. And that newcomer, instead of backing down, accepting without hesitation.
Flamme smirked, turned on her heel, and strode toward the arena. Ignis followed, his heart beating with a rare excitement.
The crowd parted as they entered. All eyes were on them. Shock, disbelief, and anticipation hung thick in the air.
The battle hadn't even begun, but already, the academy was buzzing with the start of something extraordinary.