Pain.
It was the kind of agony that didn't just tear at flesh but unraveled the very threads of the soul.
Elian Thorne's eyes snapped open.
Instead of the sterile white ceiling and the hum of the particle accelerator's cooling systems he knew so well, he was greeted by a sickly, violet-red sky. Around him lay the skeletal remains of a world broken by time—crumbling stone monoliths and twisted metal structures that looked like the bones of ancient beasts.
"Where... is this?"
Memories, not his own yet somehow fully integrated, flooded his mind like a rushing torrent. He was Elian Thorne, formerly the youngest Doctor of Quantum Physics on Earth and the lead architect of the Tiangong fusion drive. He remembered the blinding light, the screaming alarms of the dimensional rift, and his final act: compressing his consciousness into a data stream and firing it into the void to save the universe from collapse.
He had expected oblivion. Instead, he found rebirth.
Haa.
Elian took a deep, rasping breath. The air was thick with sulfur and the metallic tang of scorched earth, yet his lungs felt strangely eager. He looked down at his hands. They were smaller, younger, belonging to a boy, yet the underlying structure of his bones felt dense, reinforced.
Canglan Star. Sector 3. The Wasteland.
The new memories settled. A millennium ago, a cataclysm known as "The Great Silence" had shattered this planet's civilization, dragging technology back to the Stone Age. Survivors were reduced to insect-like tribes, fighting over crumbs in the shadow of ancient ruins. Beneath the ash lay the "Star Core Shards"—infinite energy sources capable of powering starships, now mistaken by these people as sacred, useless rocks.
"A tragic waste of potential," Elian murmured, his voice rough but steady. He dusted off his ragged tunic. His mind, a library of Earth's most advanced physics and engineering, was already analyzing the environment. The "magic" these people feared was just unrefined energy. The "gods" they worshipped were broken machines.
He walked toward the center of the ruins.
There stood a colossal stone stele, ten meters high, covered in glowing, erratic runes. A crowd of ragged, wild-eyed survivors knelt before it. They chanted in broken dialects, raising crude stone hammers, trying to chip off pieces of the stone, believing fragments would bring them luck.
"Stop!"
The command cut through the wind, sharp and cold.
The crowd froze. Elian stepped forward, his silhouette casting a long shadow against the violet gloom. He reached out, catching the wrist of a burly man mid-swing. The giant's eyes widened in terror.
"You... you dare touch the Stone of the Gods?" the man stammered, his voice trembling.
"Gods?" Elian let out a dark, humorless chuckle. He glanced at the stele, his eyes seeing through the superstition to the cold, hard engineering beneath. "This isn't a temple. It's a containment field that's been misaligned for a thousand years. And those 'runes' are just a corrupted safety protocol."
"Lies! Blasphemy!" someone shouted from the back. "He insults the Ancestors!"
Elian ignored the jeers. He raised his hand, his fingers tracing invisible lines in the air above the stone surface. To him, the chaotic symbols were rearranging themselves into clean, logical schematics.
"Input parameters: Reconstruct topology. Initiate Protocol: Quantum Lock Release. Sequence: 1. 0. 1."
He spoke softly, but the words carried the weight of absolute authority.
Click.
A sound, like a heavy gear engaging, echoed from within the stone. Then came the hum—a low vibration that rattled the teeth of everyone present. The dust on the stele exploded outward in a silent shockwave. Deep within the core, a dormant, pale blue crystal ignited.
CRACK-BOOM!
A pillar of sapphire light shot upward, piercing the violet clouds and vanishing into the stratosphere. The beam illuminated the entire wasteland. As the light washed over the barren ground, the gray ash seemed to recoil, and strange, metallic grass began to sprout in its wake, glowing with faint luminescence.
"Miracle! A miracle!" the burly man fell to his knees, prostrating himself. "The Gods have spoken!"
"No," Elian said, turning to face the crowd. His face was illuminated by the blue light, casting him in an otherworldly glow. "Do not look for gods in the sky. Look at the light. That is not magic. That is science."
He stepped down from the ruin, his voice amplifying through the energy field of the stele, booming across the wasteland.
"Listen to me! I do not need your prayers. I do not need your fear."
He swept his gaze across the terrified, awestruck faces. "I need your strength. I need your mind. Follow me, and I will lead you out of this graveyard. We will leave this planet."
Elian pointed a finger toward the distant, star-filled horizon.
"We will rebuild the industrial chains your ancestors broke. We will unlock the power of the Star Cores. We will forge a fleet of steel that will make the stars tremble."
His voice rose, filled with a terrifying, exhilarating confidence. "Canglan is merely the launchpad. One day, our footprints will stain a thousand galaxies. One day, every empire in the multiverse will kneel before our iron might."
He spread his arms wide, embracing the chaos and the potential of the new world. "So, tell me. Who here is willing to serve as the first crew member of my fleet?"
Silence stretched, heavy and expectant.
Then, a young hunter, barely old enough to wield a spear, stood up. He threw his weapon to the ground. "I am yours, My Lord!"
"I follow!"
"Count me!"
"For the Stars!"
The roars of acceptance rose like a tidal wave, shattering the silence for good.
Elian allowed himself a small, sharp smile. No system. No divine gift. Just the laws of physics and an unyielding will.
This planet is mine. And now, the universe awaits.
He turned toward the pile of scrap metal and the glowing core, his eyes burning with the fire of creation.
"Work begins immediately. Construction of the first Star-Vessel, The Ascendant, starts now."