Year 2109: The Veryn Estate
Moonlight spilled across the bedroom of the Veryn estate, illuminating the soft curves of the furniture and the pale, smooth skin of the infant swaddled in a blanket. Alia Veryn, only two months old, cooed softly, her tiny hands curling and uncurling. Her mother, Serena Veryn, lay propped against a pile of cushions, her body weak from childbirth and the slow recovery of her strength.
Her hands trembled as she brushed a strand of hair from her face. The air was heavy with the scent of ozone and burnt synthetics. A faint draft stirred, and Serena's sharp instincts pricked. She felt it—a disturbance in the Orak, a strange presence moving through the house.
K-ZZZRT!
[SYSTEM ALERT: MULTIPLE HIGH-ORAK SIGNATURES DETECTED. PERIMETER COMPROMISED.]
Then they appeared. Figures—six in total—moving with silent precision, stepping into the room with lethal intent. Their eyes glowed with the vertical slits of Dragon worshippers.
One carried a jagged blade that scraped the floor with a whispering sound. Another hovered, throwing small projectiles that glinted in the ambient light. One crouched, sending strands of hard, invisible energy across the room like snares.
Serena's hand went to the small dagger beside her, but instinct and training told her it would not be enough. Weak from giving birth, she focused on the strange force within her, letting it swirl faintly around her muscles. A golden light snapped into place over her skin, aligning with her bones.
WONG!
[Vorx Activation: Spirit Skeleton.]
In response, a gleaming katana formed in her hand, pulsing with a subtle red glow. Simultaneously, a ghostly, translucent image of a nine-tailed white fox manifested briefly behind her, its eyes gleaming with fierce Will before settling down as a cloak of pure energy over her form.
The first attacker lunged, low and fast. Serena rolled backward, her body barely recovering, and swung the katana in a smooth arc. The edge met the jagged blade, sparks flying as the force of her spirit energy amplified the strike. She ducked under a follow-up slash, rolling to the side, and slashed upward, the tip of her katana grazing the intruder's shoulder. He stumbled back, cursing.
From the shadows, a figure appeared, moving fluidly. Steam rose from his skin, his muscles shifting with unnatural density. It was someone trained and skilled, one she trusted: Galen Thorne, protector of her family.
The third attacker flicked their hands, tracing violet geometric patterns in the air. WZZZZT! Whiplike tendrils of hard light snapped toward Galen. He ducked, rolling aside as the tendrils struck the wall and floor with sharp, snapping impacts. Galen's fists blurred, striking back with shockwaves of pure kinetic force that sent the intruders staggering.
Serena pushed herself up, her katana flashing as she lunged at the first assassin. Her legs burned from weakness, but her focus was absolute. She spun, letting the spirit-blade cleave through the air. One attacker tried to strike her from the side; she twisted, letting the edge cut the tip of his weapon, throwing him off balance.
The second attacker circled, low and cautious, hurling daggers that seemed to move unnaturally fast. Serena's eyes narrowed. She flicked the katana, deflecting each blade with precise movements. A flip over the attacker sent her landing behind him, katana slicing through the hilt of his weapon in one swift motion.
But then came the final attacker.
The room seemed to bend around him, the air vibrating slightly as complex formulas of light illuminated his hands. With a sudden motion, he released four lances of pure, white light, each forming a perfect cross and shooting toward Serena with unerring accuracy.
Time slowed. Serena's body, still weak, reacted instinctively. She raised the katana, the spectral ribcage around her torso flaring faintly. The lances struck her chest and shoulders, piercing through the defense with searing pain.
She stumbled to her knees, cradling Alia in her arms, shielding her from the attack as best she could.
Galen lunged forward, his skin turning iron-grey as he channeled his inner power. He struck the final attacker with a punch that cracked the air itself. The assailant flew back, crashing through the wall, but Serena had already been mortally wounded. Her breaths came in short, ragged gasps as she looked down at her daughter.
"Live… Alia…" she whispered, voice trembling, lips quivering. "Survive… always…"
The room erupted in chaos as the fire started at the far end of the hall, spreading quickly. Curtains ignited, flames crawling along the walls, smoke choking the space. Serena's strength gave out. She sank to the floor, the katana dissolving into motes of light, and her body went still.
Galen scooped Alia into his arms, dodging the remaining attackers with swift, precise movements. He forced them back with heavy, bone-breaking kicks, sending two crashing into the burning furniture before fleeing into the night.
Galen's boots pounded against the wet forest floor, mud and fallen leaves slipping underfoot. Alia, swaddled in his arms, whimpered softly, sensing the urgency and fear in the air. The night was thick, every shadow seeming to twist, hiding unseen dangers.
Behind them, a faint crackle of light warned of pursuit that one of the attackers from the estate had not fled. Galen didn't glance back; his focus was on moving as fast as possible.
Branches clawed at his cloak and face. His breath came ragged, lungs burning from sprinting through uneven terrain. The forest opened suddenly into a small clearing. The attacker waited.
A whip of thin, razor-sharp light shot toward him. Galen twisted, but it caught his left arm, tearing through flesh and bone. Pain exploded up his shoulder. He fell to a knee, clutching Alia tightly, but his resolve did not falter.
The attacker moved to finish the job, eyes cold, precise. But a blinding flash of light split the darkness. At the edge of the clearing appeared a tall man in the pristine white uniform of the Aegis Corp. A heavy cape hung from his shoulders, and the insignia of a Grand Marshal gleamed on his chest.
Galen's jaw tightened. "So… they sent someone of this rank," he muttered under his breath. He adjusted his grip on Alia. "Stay back. I'll protect her."
With a fluid, practiced motion, the uniformed soldier struck. He didn't use formulas or spirit forms; he simply moved with overwhelming speed, striking the attacker with a palm thrust that shattered the assassin's chest instantly.
Galen lowered Alia carefully but kept himself between the infant and the stranger. "I am Galen Thorne, protector of the Veryn household," he said, voice steady, though pained. "Serena Veryn was High Aegis. I… I carry her child safely tonight. No one else matters."
The Grand Marshal's piercing gaze swept over them. "I see. So you are the one responsible for ensuring the Architect's bloodline lives." His voice was calm, yet every word carried authority. "You have done well, though you are wounded. That whip would have killed most others instantly."
The Grand Marshal surveyed the infant with a deep, authoritative gaze. "The dragons will hunt this bloodline relentlessly. She needs protection, not just from the followers, but from the greater threats that are stirring."
Galen's teeth clenched, eyes narrowing. "I swore I would protect them. And I will—no matter what it costs me."
The Grand Marshal's expression softened slightly before hardening again. "Then let me help you keep that promise. You will raise her far from the center, deep in the sectors. Follow my lead, and do not fall behind."
They traveled for hours, the Grand Marshal setting a relentless pace that pushed Galen's wounded body past its limits.
The fortress of the Ravaryn Clan loomed like a slab of midnight stone, its walls layered with runic lights that pulsed faintly against the dark. Focused lumen panels hummed in the cold wind. Two armored guards stood like statues at the iron gate, phased-metal staves crossed.
The Grand Marshal, now known as Commander Ardan Hale, approached—his boots crunching the gravel, his heavy white cape whipping behind him like a stormy banner.
"Stop there!" one guard barked, lowering his staff so sharply the metal hummed. "No one steps into the Ravaryn grounds without summons."
Ardan didn't flinch. His voice cut through the cold, echoing with the authority of the highest ranks of the Aegis Corp.
"Send a message to your Patriarch. Tell him Commander Hale seeks audience. It is urgent. He will answer."
The guards stiffened at the name. Commander Hale was famous for never asking favors—the fact he was here now raised the tension like static in the air.
"We still can't—"
"Send. The. Message."
His tone left no room for negotiation.
The guards exchanged a frantic look, then one sprinted toward the inner courtyard while the other remained, glaring but clearly shaken. Galen stood behind Ardan, clutching Alia tightly against his chest, his mangled left arm tightly bandaged, his breathing thin and ragged from pain and exhaustion.
Minutes later, heavy steps thundered within the fortress walls.
A deep voice boomed, chilling the air:
"Let them through."
The remaining guard swallowed hard and stepped aside, the massive iron gates swinging inward with a groan.
Hall of the Patriarch
The clan's main hall was carved of black marble that gleamed like wet obsidian. Pillars lined the walkway, engraved with spiraling Orak patterns that seemed to shift when looked at too long. Ambient energy lights cast towering shadows across the polished floor.
At the far end sat Patriarch Ravaryn, broad-shouldered, silver-eyed, terrifying even in stillness. He was draped in layered ceremonial cloth—dark red and ivory—and an aura of restrained Will radiated off him like heat from a furnace.
Ardan and Galen bowed deeply, Galen struggling to manage the salute while keeping the infant safe.
Before a single word was exchanged, the Patriarch's gaze fell on Ardan. His eyes narrowed with clear displeasure.
"You stride into my domain unannounced, Commander Hale," he said, his voice low and deep, yet filling the massive chamber. "Explain yourself."
Ardan opened his mouth to speak—
—when the Patriarch's Will slammed down.
It wasn't physical force, but pure pressure that choked the Orak in the air. The marble floor seemed to distort slightly under the invisible weight. Ardan's knees buckled under the psychic assault.
Galen immediately dropped to one knee, gasping, clutching Alia tightly to shield her from the reverberation.
"You presume," the Patriarch continued, each word heavy with controlled, ice-cold anger, "that I will bend simply because you bear a title."
Ardan forced himself upright, face strained, every breath a conscious effort.
"This is not for me."
"Then for whom?" the Patriarch demanded, his gaze unwavering.
Ardan gestured weakly toward Galen, who was hunched over the infant.
"For them."
The Patriarch's eyes flicked briefly to the infant, but his expression did not soften.
Ardan inhaled sharply, bracing himself against the crushing Will.
"They are being hunted. The woman protecting this child Serena Veryn," He hesitated, choosing each word carefully. "was killed by a group whose strength eclipses anything I can handle alone."
Galen's jaw tightened, the grief of hearing Serena's death confirmed in this brutal hall tearing at his resolve.
The Patriarch leaned back a fraction, the pressure dimming slightly but still pervasive.
"Why bring them here? Why Ravaryn?"
"Because," Ardan said, his voice regaining strength, "you owe me one favor."
The hall stilled. The only sound was the hum of the energy conduits.
Even Galen looked up in confusion.
The Patriarch's silver eyes sharpened dangerously.
"Do not test me, Commander."
"I'm invoking it," Ardan said, completely unwavering. "The favor you accepted when I saved your second son during the northern incursion."
Silence. Thick and cold, laced with old, forgotten oaths.
The pressure vanished entirely. Ardan gasped, as if pulled from deep water back into clean air. Galen wiped sweat from his brow, trembling with residual strain.
Patriarch Ravaryn slowly rose from his seat. His presence was enormous, shadow stretching across half the hall, a figure of terrifying power.
"You dare remind me," he said quietly, dangerously, "of a debt I intended to bury."
Ardan met his gaze without flinching.
"I dare, because this child will die without shelter. Someone wants her erased. And whoever they are—they were powerful enough to kill her Aegis guardian." A beat. "You know what that implies, Patriarch."
The Patriarch's jaw tightened. He knew.
Ardan continued, laying out the terms: "Hide her here. Let her live as a servant—nothing more. No one will question a child growing up in the quarters of your estate. No need to reveal her origins. Just keep her alive… until she is fifteen."
"Why fifteen?" the Patriarch asked.
Ardan's expression darkened faintly.
"Because if her enemies still hunt her after that age… she deserves to choose her own path. That is when her Will must awaken."
The Patriarch walked slowly down the stairs toward them, his footsteps echoing like a slow countdown.
He stopped directly before Galen, staring down at the infant. Alia's tiny fingers curled around the edge of her blanket, peaceful amidst the tension.
"What is her name?" he asked.
"Alia," Galen said, voice shaking. "Alia Veryn."
A flicker—just a flicker—passed across the Patriarch's eyes at the last name. But he dismissed it quickly.
"A coincidence," he muttered.
Then he turned back to Ardan.
"Very well. I will accept the child and her caretaker. They will serve in the household. They will have food, shelter, and anonymity." His voice lowered, laced with a warning colder than the marble floor. "But if your story is false… if danger follows them here… it will be your head, Commander Hale."
Ardan bowed deeply.
"You have my word. And my gratitude."
The Patriarch waved a hand in dismissal.
"Leave before I change my mind."
Ardan straightened, saluted sharply, and turned away. Galen followed, holding Alia close, relief and crushing sorrow mixing in his wounded eyes.