Chapter 1:Forged Soul
The morning air in the Iron District was a gritty cocktail of coal smoke, machine oil, and condensed steam. It was the smell of industry, and to Reiyo, it was simply the smell of home. Electricity, were buried deep, quiet whispers that had long ago faded to nothing. He was just Reiyo, a man trying to earn enough scrap coin to keep himself and Kenji fed.
"Come on, slow-burn. The dockmaster waits for no one," Kenji grumbled, shoving a lukewarm potato into his mouth. Kenji was slight, perpetually nervous, and his eyes always darted, scanning the alleyways for trouble.
Reiyo shrugged into his heavy, patched coat. The brass and steel of the tenement building hummed with the city's power, a sound Reiyo's ears had long filtered out—all except for one small, internal sound. He touched the worn wooden handle of the cheap hunting knife tucked into his waistband. It was unsettling, but Reiyo had learned to live with far stranger sensations in this world.
They descended the narrow, exterior staircase, emerging onto the main avenue. This part of the city was a labyrinth of black-brick warehouses and churning steam machinery. Above, massive, rickety sky-cranes creaked, lifting cargo from the rail lines to the docks.
They were halfway to the shipyard when Kenji froze, his hand snapping out to grab Reiyo's arm.
"Stop. Shut up," Kenji hissed.
Reiyo followed Kenji's terrified gaze. Moving through the dense crowd, cutting a path with sharp, indifferent violence, was a patrol. These were not the usual city watch. They were clad in dark, functional armor, their faces hidden behind polished black visors, and their rifles were too clean, too advanced, and hummed with a different, predatory energy. This was the Aetherium.
The hunters weren't looking for trouble; they were looking for something specific, and they didn't care who they broke in the process.
One of the armored figures slammed the butt of his rifle into the chest of a dock worker who had simply gotten too close. The worker crumpled without a sound. The brutality was routine, but the air around the patrol felt heavy, focused.
As the patrol moved closer, Reiyo's vision sharpened, the individual gears grinding inside a nearby steam-powered cart suddenly becoming distinct, and the slow, heavy footfalls of the armored men seemed to stretch and slow. It was a terrifying moment of clarity.
"They're sweeping the district," Kenji stammered, his eyes wide with a terror that wasn't just fear of authority. "We need to turn back."
But it was too late. The lead Aetherium officer stopped dead. The officer didn't look at Reiyo, but scanned the air, his visor reflecting the smoke-filled sky. Then, he raised a gauntleted hand, pointing directly at Reiyo.
"Him. The source is fluctuating," the officer's synthesized voice boomed, cutting through the steam and street noise like a steel cable. "Secure him."
Reiyo didn't think. The hum in his knife felt like a breaking bone, and suddenly, he moved. Not with the strength of a grown man, but with a terrifying, instantaneous speed that slammed him into Kenji, shoving them both into the narrow gap between a warehouse wall and a stack of rusting cargo containers.
The world blurred. The Aetherium soldiers moved, but they were too slow. Reiyo's heart hammered against the cold steel of the knife handle. The normal day was over. The hunt had begun.
"Run, Reiyo! Run!" Kenji screamed, scrambling forward into the darkness of the service alley.
Reiyo didn't need the order. He was already running, the cold, alien energy of the knife—the hidden Jioa—lending him unnatural speed, forcing him into a life he never knew he was destined to live.