The storm had passed, but Aetheron never truly slept. Even in dawn's pale light, the city's ruins hummed with leftover energy from the night before. Every screen, every metal shard still pulsed faintly, as if the world itself remembered what had happened. Arin sat by the broken window of the hideout, staring at the skyline. Smoke rose from the central towers where lightning had struck. He didn't know what he had awakened, only that it was something the world wasn't meant to touch. "You didn't sleep," Lira said, appearing behind him. Her voice was quiet, steady, but there was a sharpness to it—like she was always half ready for danger. "Couldn't," Arin replied. "Every time I close my eyes, I see… that place. The field of stars." "That wasn't a dream," she said. "You saw the Source. It's the core of all Aether. Most people would be burned alive just stepping near that much energy." Arin turned to face her. "So why didn't I?" Lira studied him for a moment. The early light caught her face—young, but eyes far older than they should've been. "Because you're not like the rest of us. The relic chose you." "You said that before," Arin said, frustrated. "What does it mean? Why me?" "I don't know yet," Lira said, fastening the strap on her cloak. "But someone else might." She tossed him a small data chip. "What's this?" "Coordinates. Deep east of the city, near the old research zone. There's a man there who studies things like you." "Things?" Arin raised a brow. "Not people?" "Right now, you're both," she said. "Get ready. We move in ten." She turned toward the tunnel entrance, her boots splashing through shallow puddles. Arin followed, pocketing the chip. His hand still faintly glowed beneath his sleeve. He could feel the Aether inside him—alive, shifting, breathing. It was terrifying and beautiful all at once. As they walked through the underground tracks, the silence was broken only by the hum of dormant trains and the distant drip of water. Lira moved with practiced precision. Arin, still half-limping from exhaustion, struggled to keep up. "You talk like you've been doing this for years," he said. "How old are you?" "Seventeen," she replied. "Same as you, probably." "You don't sound seventeen." "The world stopped counting birthdays when the Collapse happened," she said. "I was born into what was left." "Collapse?" Arin asked. "Two centuries ago, humanity tried to control Aether through science. It backfired. Entire continents vanished. Magic became myth, and technology became law. The world you grew up in? It's just the ashes." Arin tried to imagine that kind of destruction but couldn't. To him, the ruins were just… normal. He had never known anything else. After a long stretch of silence, he asked, "And you? How do you know so much?" Lira hesitated, then said softly, "Because I was born different too." She raised her hand. Threads of light coiled around her fingers, weaving into delicate shapes—a bird, a star, a circle—then fading back into nothing. "Light threads," Arin whispered. "That's beautiful." "It's dangerous," she corrected. "These powers… they always ask for something in return." Arin looked down at his palm, where the golden mark glowed faintly through his skin. "Then what will mine ask for?" "We'll find out soon enough," she said.
By the time they emerged from the tunnels, the sun had fully risen. The eastern district stretched before them—once a technological hub, now a wasteland of shattered labs and silent towers. Signs still hung over the ruins: AETHERON RESEARCH DIVISION, their letters half melted by heat. "We're close," Lira said, checking the chip on her wrist interface. "The man we're meeting is called Eryndor. Some say he's been alive since before the Collapse." "That's not possible." "Neither is you," she replied.
They crossed a bridge half-collapsed into a canal. The water below shimmered faintly blue with Aether residue. The air felt heavier here, thicker. Arin's pulse matched the hum in the air, as if something beneath the surface recognized him. Suddenly, Lira froze. "Get down." They ducked behind a fallen beam. Through the haze ahead, figures in black armor marched—Wardens. At least a dozen of them. Their visors swept the ruins with scanning beams. "They found us," Arin whispered. "No," Lira said, eyes narrowing. "They found the signal." "What signal?" "The relic's energy signature. It's still linked to you." She pulled out a small metallic shard and pressed it to his neck. It stung, then a faint pulse of static. "That'll mask you for a few minutes. We move when they pass." The Wardens' voices echoed faintly through the fog. "Sweep the perimeter. The anomaly was detected near here. Authorization for lethal response approved." Lira clenched her jaw. "Kael's men." "Who's Kael?" Arin asked. "The man who built the machines that destroyed half this world. And the one who wants to finish the job."
The Wardens moved past. As soon as their footsteps faded, Lira pulled Arin to his feet. They ran, weaving through the wreckage. At the far end of the district, they reached a massive dome buried under debris. Its steel doors were sealed shut, but faint blue veins of light still ran through the surface. "This is it," Lira said. "The old Aether Chamber." Arin placed his hand against the metal. The golden mark on his skin pulsed once—and the doors groaned open. Inside, the air was warm and bright. The walls were covered in floating symbols, and in the center stood a tall figure, draped in silver robes that shimmered like smoke. His hair was white, his eyes a deep, endless gray. "You brought him," the man said. His voice echoed like distant thunder. Lira bowed slightly. "Eryndor. He's the one." Eryndor's gaze fixed on Arin. For a moment, he said nothing, just studied the boy as if reading a language written in his soul. "So the Void has chosen again," he murmured. "What does that mean?" Arin asked. "It means," Eryndor said, "you are the second life of Infinity."
Arin frowned. "I don't understand." "You will," Eryndor replied. "But you must listen. The Aether is not merely energy—it is consciousness. It remembers. It chooses. And it never forgets its purpose." "What purpose?" "To restore what was lost," Eryndor said. "Before time, there was balance between creation and oblivion. When mankind tried to command it, they broke that balance. The Infinity Core was sealed… until now." He stepped closer. "Your existence means the seal is breaking." Arin felt a chill run through him. "So what happens if it breaks?" "Then the universe resets," Eryndor said. "All life, all worlds—reborn or erased. Depending on who controls it."
Lira spoke up. "Kael's already hunting him. He wants the Core." "Of course he does," Eryndor said bitterly. "He believes he can fuse the Aether into machine form. A god made of code and light. He tried once before and failed. Millions died." "Then how do we stop him?" Arin asked. Eryndor looked at him. "You don't stop him. You surpass him." He raised his hand, and a sphere of light appeared between them. Inside it swirled a miniature galaxy. "This is the First Fragment of Infinity. It will show you your path. But every fragment you awaken will awaken its opposite—darkness born from your own power." Arin stared at the swirling light, mesmerized. "And if I refuse?" "You can't," Eryndor said softly. "The moment you touched the relic, your fate was sealed."
The sphere drifted toward Arin, dissolving into his chest. A flash of warmth spread through him, followed by a flood of visions—worlds burning, oceans rising, a woman's voice calling his name from across time. Then silence. When he opened his eyes, Lira and Eryndor were staring at him. "What did you see?" Lira asked. Arin's voice was quiet. "A city floating in the sky. A woman standing at its center. She looked like me." Eryndor nodded grimly. "Then it has begun. The first memory of the Infinite Cycle." "Who was she?" Arin asked. "Your sister," Eryndor said.
The room fell silent. "That's impossible," Arin said. "I don't have a sister." "You did," Eryndor said. "And she carries the Shadow Core—the opposite of your light. Two halves of the same whole. The world will not survive if you meet too soon." "Then what do I do?" Arin asked. "You learn," Eryndor said. "And you choose. Every step you take will shape the next age of existence. There is no right path—only consequence."
Before Arin could respond, the chamber lights flickered. A low hum filled the air, followed by a mechanical roar. Lira's eyes widened. "They've found us." The dome shuddered as explosions echoed outside. Dust rained from the ceiling. Eryndor turned toward the entrance, his voice calm but urgent. "Go. I'll hold them off." "You'll die," Lira protested. "I already have," he said, smiling faintly. "Twice." He raised his hand, and a wave of energy rippled through the room, forming a glowing barrier over the doors. "Run, children of light. The next dawn is yours to make."
Lira grabbed Arin's arm, pulling him toward a back tunnel. The roar outside grew louder—metal clashing, gunfire, voices shouting commands. As they disappeared into the dark corridor, Arin looked back one last time. Through the barrier, he saw Eryndor standing tall, light blazing around him as the Wardens broke through. His final words echoed in Arin's mind: Infinity begins where fear ends.
They ran until the light of the dome was gone, until the sound of battle faded into distant thunder. When they finally stopped, Arin fell to his knees, gasping for breath. "He stayed behind for me," he said quietly. "He believed you're worth the risk," Lira replied. Arin looked at his hands—still glowing faintly, trembling. "Then I can't waste it." Lira nodded. "Good. Because from here on, there's no going back."
Far above, the sky darkened again. The ring of light that had appeared the night before shimmered faintly behind the clouds, unseen by most—but not forgotten. The world had started to move, and nothing could stop it now. The boy once called Zero had taken his first step toward Infinity.