As the dying man's fragmented warning spread, theories erupted like shrapnel.
The Displaced hadn't vanished—they'd been ripped away to another world. The Displacements were a calculated tactic to weaken Earth before invasion. Or perhaps accidental ruptures in reality, tears in space-time itself. While other speculations bubbled, these three dominated the global discourse.
Fear curdled into something colder, harder. Rageful hatred crystallized into grim purpose. The world's chaotic panic found a new shape: cold, focused intellect dedicated to fighting back. Preparation became the new creed.
And though Displacements continued daily, a meticulous record began. Names, faces, stories—etched into databases and memorial walls. They would not be forgotten.
...
In the Northwest of a nation fraying at the edges, a young man burned like a defiant star against the encroaching dark.
At seventeen, within the crumbling heart of Northwind City, he forged his own faction. It began under the banner of his father's legacy, Eganian Industries. But the people refused corporate allegiance. They demanded something born of *them*. Thus, "The Unfading Heart Faction" rose—a name echoing the farmer's ancient fight: not for glory, but for love of family, community, and the land itself.
The faction became a living organism of unity. Support flowed freely, binding neighbors in small daily struggles and monumental crises alike. Self-sufficiency was their shield. When Displacement stole a member, the faction embraced the grieving family. When despair threatened, they bolstered each other. They stood firm against chaos and opportunistic bandits, a stubborn rock in a churning sea.
While global alliances formed, distrust of the World Government festered. Many resented its failures; others despised any imitation of its systems. Yet Amaranthus Eagan's Faction thrived. His power wasn't wealth or weapons. It was relentless, unwavering *help*. Even when he'd lost everything, he helped. That refusal to break, even hollowed by grief, ignited Northwind City. It earned him thousands of loyal hearts.
He dismantled the corrupt police, purged the degenerate politicians, and exiled the sadistic opportunists. He understood panic was poison; Earth needed clear eyes and steady hands.
The cost was etched deep. Loss had carved him young.
At six: his mother.
At ten: his brother.
At twelve: his sister.
At fifteen: his father.
Each death was a retreat. He withdrew, wrapped in sorrow and apathy. Resentment festered. He craved selfish rage, a hatred consuming everything.
Then, the knock. His father's most trusted advisor, Old Man Kael, stood at his door, broken, seeking help. Amaranthus shattered. Pain exploded in his chest, a lump choked his throat, hot tears scalded his cheeks. He lashed out—wild punches, desperate kicks against the man who'd been a constant since childhood. He screamed until his voice shredded, raw and broken. Grief tore through him, twisting screams into guttural, animal roars. Finally spent, he slumped, empty.
Only then did he *see*. Kael hadn't flinched, hadn't made a sound. Silent tears traced paths through the dust on Kael's weathered face. His whole body trembled. His expression was a mask of shared agony, deeper than Amaranthus had imagined possible. The details crashed in: the stark grey streaks Kael had always hidden, the deep wrinkles like dry riverbeds around eyes and brow, the stoop in a spine once ramrod straight, skin parched and leathery. Kael, the unshakeable pillar, stood ravaged by time and shared sorrow.
The sight pierced Amaranthus deeper than his own pain. He swallowed his anguish. He would bear this burden, for the only family he had left.
He rebuilt. Eganian Industries transformed from a corporate husk into Northwind's beacon. He rallied the people, forging the Unfading Heart Faction into a self-sustaining force. Under his command, Eganian expanded: deep into mining veins, fertile farmlands, and the precise forge-work of the weapons industry.
When the corrupt city council crumbled under its own rot, he seized the opportunity without hesitation. Within years, the old regime was erased. Northwind became a haven, drawing the lost and the determined.
Even family returned. A distant cousin, Silas—scarred veteran of elite Special Ops—appeared at his door. Silas became the iron spine of their defense, forging a disciplined militia from raw recruits and drilling Amaranthus relentlessly in combat and command.
Amaranthus devoured knowledge: the wisdom of philosophers, the insights of anthropologists, the discipline of martial arts, the relentless pursuit of self-mastery. He forged himself anew in the fires of loss and duty.
Amaranthus Eagan. Leader of the Unfading Heart. Northwind's defiant hope. The man with nothing left to lose, and therefore, everything to fight for.
The Unfading Fire. Refusing to be snuffed out.