Chapter 1:
The Celestial Spark
Space.
To the human eye, it is a void—an endless, suffocating blanket of velvet black. It is a place of such profound mystery that even the most brilliant minds of Earth cannot grasp its true scale. They calculate light-years and measure parsecs, but they are merely ants trying to map an ocean. They do not know what hides in the silence between the stars. They do not know that the vacuum is not empty; it is waiting.
In the deepest reaches of the unobservable universe, the silence broke.
A spark ignited. At first, it was no larger than a grain of sand, but it possessed a luminosity that defied the laws of physics. It pulsed once, twice, and then it screamed—not with sound, but with energy. Within seconds, the light expanded, swelling until it was as massive as a galaxy. It was a blinding, iridescent white that bled into hues of violet and gold, a celestial firestorm consuming the darkness.
Then, it shattered.
The singular, massive light divided into countless fragments—trillions of glowing embers. Like a cosmic shower of dandelion seeds, these lights caught the unseen currents of the universe. They moved with intent. They moved with gravity. They moved toward a small, blue-green marble spinning in the corner of a minor solar system.
The Genesis was coming. And the world was not ready.
The Weight of the World
Year: 2013
The city of Oakhaven was a place of sharp contrasts. In the center, the spires of industry rose like jagged glass teeth, catching the setting sun and glowing with a mocking, golden wealth. But on the fringes, where the shadows of those towers fell, the air was thick with the smell of damp concrete and desperation.
Henry Clarus, sixteen years old, adjusted the strap of his worn bag. His shoulders ached with a fatigue that no teenager should know. While other kids his age were worrying about exams or the upcoming school dance, Henry was calculating the cost of bread and the price of the blue-tinted medicine sitting on his father's nightstand.
He stopped at the edge of the slums, looking up at the Big Towers. From here, they looked like ladders to heaven.
One day, Henry thought, his jaw tightening as he felt the grit of the city on his skin. One day, I will make my Dad proud. I'll get us out of the shadow. I'll put us in the light.
But for now, the light was fading, and he had a long walk home.
The House of Broken Echoes
The front door of the Clarus apartment groaned on its hinges. It was a small, cramped space that smelled of antiseptic and old memories.
"I'm home," Henry called out, his voice low.
He walked into the main bedroom. There, lying beneath a thin, grey blanket, was Oliver Clarus. Once, Oliver had been a man of iron—a construction worker who could carry three times his weight. Now, he was a hollowed-out version of himself, his skin pale and his eyes clouded with a constant, simmering pain.
Henry set his bag down and began the ritual of checking the vitals. As he looked at his father, his mind drifted back to the moment the world broke for them.
Five Years Ago.
The memory was always vivid, tinted with the orange glow of streetlights. His mother, Elena, had been laughing. She was in the driver's seat of their modest sedan, humming a tune Henry couldn't quite remember anymore. He had been in the back seat, looking out the window.
Then came the screech. The sound of metal screaming against metal.
A black SUV, moving far too fast, had drifted across the center line. The impact was a roar of thunder. Henry remembered the glass shattering like diamonds in the air. He remembered the silence that followed. He had crawled out, bruised and bleeding, calling for her. But Elena was gone before the sirens even started.
Present Day.
Henry shook the memory away. He couldn't afford the luxury of grief; he had to work.
"I lost Mom," Henry whispered to the quiet room, his voice cracking slightly. "I won't lose you too, Dad. I'm the man of the house now. I'll take care of Bruce. I'll take care of everything."
The Question of Equality
"Big Brother?"
Henry turned to see a small figure standing in the doorway. Bruce Clarus, eleven years old, looked even smaller than his age suggested. His eyes were wide and filled with the kind of heavy questions that children in the slums learned far too early.
"You're back late," Bruce said, walking over to sit on the edge of the couch.
"Work ran long," Henry lied easily. He didn't want to tell Bruce he had spent an extra two hours scrubbing floors at the train station for a few extra cents.
Bruce looked out the window at the distant, glowing towers. "Henry... why did God make some people rich and so many people poor? If He's so powerful, why didn't He just make everyone equal?"
Henry paused, his hand on a stack of unpaid bills. He looked at his little brother—so innocent, yet so burdened. "You wouldn't understand, Bruce. The world isn't about what's fair. It's about what you can take and what you can keep."
Bruce shook his head, a sudden spark of fire in his eyes. "Maybe it'll change. Tomorrow is the Testing. The school is bringing in the doctors to check us for Mutant Abilities. The news says 10% of us are changing. If I get a powerful ability... if I'm a Beta or even an Alpha... I'll take care of you. You won't have to scrub floors anymore. Dad will get the best doctors."
Henry felt a lump in his throat. He reached out and ruffled Bruce's hair, forcing a smile. "I hope you awaken your power, Bruce. Just... don't get your hopes too high. Most people are just 9th Grades. Their powers are small."
"Not me," Bruce whispered. "I feel it. Like there's a storm inside me."
The Long Night
The next day was a blur of exhaustion. Henry went to work at 8:00 PM. His job was the kind of labor that was invisible to the rest of the world. He was a "Ghost Cleaner"—the person who arrived when the office buildings were empty to erase the footprints of the wealthy.
He scrubbed toilets in marble bathrooms. He polished mahogany desks. He emptied trash cans filled with more money in discarded lunch receipts than he made in a month.
Every hour felt like a year. His back burned. His hands were raw from the chemicals. But every time he felt like quitting, he pictured his father's pale face and Bruce's hopeful eyes.
Twelve hours later, as the sun began to peek over the horizon, Henry finally trudged back toward the slums. His legs felt like lead. He expected to find the house quiet, Bruce asleep before school.
Instead, the door was wide open.
Henry's heart hammered against his ribs. "Bruce? Dad?"
He burst inside and stopped dead. Bruce was standing in the middle of the living room. But he wasn't standing on the floor.
Bruce was hovering six inches above the carpet. Around him, kitchen knives, forks, and a heavy glass vase were swirling in a slow, rhythmic circle. Small embers of fire danced between his fingertips, and for a split second, his face flickered, his features shifting into a perfect likeness of Henry before snapping back to his own.
"Henry!" Bruce shouted, his voice vibrating with a strange, metallic resonance. He dropped to the floor, the objects clattering down around him. He looked ecstatic.
"What... what happened?" Henry gasped, leaning against the doorframe for support.
"The teachers... they brought the Rank-Scanner," Bruce chirped, running over to his brother. "They said I'm a Psychic! But not just a normal one. I have Telekinesis, Pyrokinesis, Shapeshifting, and Levitation! The teacher said I haven't even been ranked yet, but I might be a Gamma or higher once I learn to control it!"
Henry stared at his brother. The "storm" Bruce had mentioned wasn't a metaphor. It was real. His little brother was no longer just a poor kid from the slums. He was a Mutant. He was a weapon.
"That's... that's incredible, Bruce," Henry said, a wave of relief washing over him, followed quickly by a cold shiver of fear. "But you have to listen to me. You have to control this. People... they'll be scared of you. Or they'll want to use you."
Bruce laughed, a sound that was a bit too confident for an eleven-year-old. "Let them try. I'm the one with the power now. I think you're just jealous, Brother. You're still just a human."
Henry's eyes narrowed, but he couldn't hide the small, tired smirk. "Shut up, you little dog. Go practice your 'Levitation' before you break something we can't afford to fix."
As Bruce ran back to the center of the room to make the forks fly again, Henry looked at his own calloused, dirty hands.
The Light had fallen.
[End of Chapter 1]