Kael Voss's eyes widened, staring fixedly at the rusted metal roof of their hut—patched haphazardly with synthetic sealant that cracked in the harsh radiation of the twin suns. The faded synthetic fiber blanket draped over him was stained a dingy yellow, its original color long lost, and reeked of faint machine oil and accumulated dust.
Pressed close beside him was his second brother, Tobias Voss, snoring deeply and rhythmically, his breath rattling through the thin air of the arid settlement.
About a meter from the cot stood a wall of corrugated metal sheets, warped and pitted by years of cosmic debris. Through the narrow gaps between the panels, Kael could hear his mother's perpetual muttering—half complaint, half worry—interrupted occasionally by the soft crackle of his father's ancient energy pipe, the ionized gas hissing as it burned.
Kael slowly closed his dry eyes, forcing himself into a deep sleep. He knew well that if he didn't rest, he'd be too sluggish to rise before dawn, and too late to join the other village boys in scavenging discarded energy shards in the abandoned mining sector.
Kael Voss—his proper name, not one his parents could have conjured. His father had traded two nutrient rations to Old Uncle Jax, the village's only literate resident, for the name. Old Jax had once served as a scribe's apprentice for a wealthy interstellar merchant, and had named nearly half the village's children.
The villagers called Kael "Dimwit Jr." Not because he was foolish—far from it. He was the sharpest child in the settlement, with a mind far more mature than his ten years. But like the other kids, who answered to names like "Pup" or "Runt," he rarely heard his given name outside his family. The nickname had stuck simply because there was already a boy named "Dimwit" in the village.
Kael didn't mind much. Those other names were no better, and he'd learned to brush off the teasing.
Physically, Kael was unremarkable—dark-skinned from years under the twin suns, scrawny like all children who grew up on the edge of poverty. But in his heart, he harbored a longing no other village child shared: a hunger to see the outside world. Old Jax spoke often of gleaming space stations, starships that crossed nebulae, and civilizations where energy and technology flowed freely. Kael dreamed of leaving this tiny settlement, of escaping the endless cycle of scavenging and scarcity.
He'd never dared voice this wish. The villagers would have mocked him—a mere child, dreaming of stars when he could barely scrape enough energy shards to keep the hut's life support running. Other boys his age spent their days chasing mechanical vermin or brawling; the thought of leaving their homeworld never crossed their minds.
The Voss family had seven members: two older brothers, one sister, a baby sister, and his parents. Kael was the fourth, and life was a constant struggle. Nutrient rations were scarce, protein supplements a rare luxury, and the family teetered perpetually on the brink of energy deprivation.
As Kael drifted between wakefulness and sleep, one thought lingered: tomorrow, he'd scavenge extra gene-enhanced berries—ruby-hued, nutrient-rich fruits his baby sister Lila adored.
By midday the next day, Kael trudged back from the mining sector, his small frame bent under a pile of salvaged energy crystals twice his height. A pouch of berries pressed against his chest, still cool from being tucked close. He had no idea that a visitor had arrived at his home—one who would alter the course of his life forever.
The visitor was his Uncle Gideon, a distant relative but the family's only connection to the "civilized" parts of the system. Gideon managed a catering hub at Nova City Spaceport, a position that made him a "great man" in Kael's parents' eyes—the first Voss in a century to hold any sort of status beyond the village.
Kael had met Gideon only a handful of times as an infant. It was Gideon who'd secured his oldest brother Elias an apprenticeship with a starship mechanic in Nova City—an opportunity that provided the family with regular nutrient shipments and a small stipend of credits. For that, Kael held a quiet admiration for the man.
Elias was the family's pride. As an apprentice, he received room, board, and thirty credits a month—enough to keep the Voss family from starving. When his parents spoke of Elias, their faces lit up with hope. Kael, too, dreamed of such a future: being taken as an apprentice by a skilled technician, escaping the village to become a respected member of interstellar society.
So when Kael saw Gideon standing in their hut—dressed in a crisp synthetic uniform, his round face framed by a neatly trimmed beard, his boots polished to a shine—his heart raced with excitement.
After stowing the energy crystals in the hut's storage locker, Kael approached shyly, bowing slightly. "Uncle Gideon," he said softly, then stood silently by the door as his parents conversed with their guest.
Gideon smiled, studying Kael carefully. "A fine, obedient boy," he said, nodding at Kael's parents before turning to his reason for coming.
Kael couldn't follow every word, but the gist was clear. The catering hub Gideon managed was owned by the Seven Luminaries Tech Conglomerate—a powerful organization with a hierarchical structure: peripheral members (like Gideon) and core operatives. Recently, Gideon had been promoted to peripheral status, granting him the right to nominate children between seven and twelve for the Conglomerate's Gene Awakening Candidate Selection.
The selection, held once every five years, was set to begin next month. Childless himself, Gideon had thought immediately of Kael—his bright, resilient nephew who fit the age requirement perfectly.
Kael's father, a quiet man who rarely ventured beyond the village, hesitated at the mention of the Seven Luminaries. He'd heard tales of such mega-corporations—vast, impersonal entities that dealt in gene technology and interstellar trade. He lit his energy pipe, the crackle of ionized gas filling the silence as he weighed the decision.
Gideon painted a tempting picture. If Kael was selected as a core operative, he'd receive free gene optimization treatments, unlimited nutrient rations, and a monthly stipend of fifty credits. Even if he failed the selection, he could join Gideon as a peripheral member, managing the Conglomerate's trade outposts on frontier worlds.
The mention of fifty credits—a fortune for the Voss family—sealed the deal. Kael's father nodded firmly, extinguishing his pipe. "We'll let him go," he said.
Gideon grinned, leaving three credit chips on the metal table. "I'll return in a month to fetch him," he said. "Feed him well—build up his stamina for the tests." He ruffled Kael's hair, then departed, his boots clanging against the village's metal walkways.
Kael didn't fully understand the details, but he grasped the essentials: he was going to Nova City, and he'd earn enough credits to save his family. His lifelong dream of leaving the village was finally coming true. For weeks, he lay awake at night, too excited to sleep.
A month later, Gideon returned as promised. Kael's mother pressed a pouch of dried berries into his hand, tears in her eyes as she urged him to stay safe. His father, gruff as ever, simply said, "Be honest. Avoid trouble."
On the small shuttle bound for Nova City, Kael pressed his face against the viewport, watching the village shrink into a tiny dot on the arid planet's surface. He bit his lip, holding back tears. For all his maturity, he was still a ten-year-old boy leaving home for the first time—afraid, uncertain, but burning with hope.
He made a silent vow: he'd earn his credits, make his family proud, and one day return to never leave them again.
Kael Voss had no idea that credits would soon become meaningless to him. That this journey would set him on a path far greater than he could imagine—a path of gene ascension, of mastering cosmic energy, of becoming something beyond a mere mortal.