A unique world, where change was rule. Solaris III—Sol III, third from the sun—was no longer a cradle of progress but a battlefield of survival.
The old order had shattered. Storms of chaos swept the land. Civilizations crumbled, rebuilt, and crumbled again.
The cause of it all: The Lament—a mysterious force that tore at the fabric of reality, birthing both disaster and transformation.
Over ten millennia, five Global Laments and hundreds of thousands of smaller ones had scarred the planet.
Known Physics bent. The stars became unreachable. And from the wreckage came the Tacet Discords—beings of distortion and ruin, born from the Lament's wake.
But not all change was decay.
Some humans began to change. They bore an X-shaped mark—a Tacet Mark—and with it, the ability to manipulate sound and frequency. They were called Resonators.
Their powers—called Forte—were not learned but awakened, shaped by memory, trauma, and instinct. Each Resonator was classified—Natural, Mutant, Congenital, or Artificial—based on how their gift took root.
They carried Pangu Terminals, strange gourd-shaped devices that tracked their mental state and kept them from Overclocking—the dangerous tipping point when power spiraled out of control.
For a time, hope stirred. Perhaps these gifted few could lead humanity out of the dark.
But power seldom comes without cost.
Some Resonators stood as protectors, while others, seduced by ambition, carved their own kingdoms from the ashes.
Across the fractured nations of Huanglong, Rinascita, and the New Federation, new factions rose. Ideals clashed. Lines blurred.
And the world, ever Waveworn, continued to tremble.
Humanity continued its struggle, with the Laments' carnage and... itself.
"Die."
The word rasped through the mask—muffled, unempathetic, cold. A man cloaked in a battered leather jacket, hazard mask, and dirt-caked tactical boots drew a blade across a young man's throat, leaving him gasping for air.
They stood in a barren field, far from the watchful eyes of the Public Security Bureau—Jinzhou's law enforcers.
Jinzhou, a border city and one of Huanglong's six great bastions, stood as a frontline shield against the ever-creeping disasters.
Furthermore, With the Midnight Rangers—Jinzhou's primary military force—stretched thin and redeployed to the Norfall Barrens after the recent catastrophes, the outcome was inevitable.
The boy's fate had been decided the moment he crossed into this territory, despite having no intention of trespassing.
He'd come seeking herbs and game in the Clouded Cliffs, a remote stretch of wilderness shrouded in mist. But fate had other plans.
He'd stumbled upon an outpost—a territory operated by the Exiles.
The Exiles were fractured, rootless souls who had turned their backs on civilization. They scoured the wilds for scraps, living off ruins and repurposed tech. Dangerous not by nature, but by necessity, they were unpredictable. Most people avoided them.
So had the young man—at least, he'd tried. Slipping past the outpost, he thought he'd gone unnoticed.
He hadn't.
One of the Exiles noticed, and had followed, quietly, weapon hanging by their side.
By the time the young man reached the cliff's edge, he let out a breath, awed by the vast, mist-wrapped valley below.
Far ahead, the great ravine yawned—cursed by glacial winds and home to the legendary Gonging Bell-Borne Geochelone. But he had little time to marvel.
Snap—
A dry twig broke behind him.
He turned—too slow.
A blade had already flashed across his throat.
The young man dropped to his knees, clutching at the sudden warmth spilling from his neck, his crimson eyes wide, breath rasping.
"Die."
The muffled word came through the assailant's mask—emotionless, final—just before the Exile kicked him over the edge.
His dark hair fluttered in the wind as he fell. The young man's heart screamed: "I don't want to die."
Perhaps it was the fear of death that stirred something—a resonance the world had no choice but to listen.
A wind roared past his ears, something shifted inside him. His throat, once torn, began to knit itself back together. Tendons reformed. Breath returned.
He was awakening.
But the ground came fast.
Splat—
He hit hard. Bones cracked. Blood spilled from his mouth as his skull struck stone. His vision blurred. His throat healed—but his body had not escaped unscathed.
And then he saw it.
Above, in the roiling sky, something shimmered—strange, unknowable.
'What... is that?'
That was his final thought before darkness closed in.
But something followed him down. Something that hadn't been part of this world.
A flicker of light. A ripple of force. As if the very sky had answered.
It slipped into him—unseen, alien—and his fingers twitched.
The boy was no longer in this world. Someone else had taken his vessel—but even as they awakened, they were not spared the remnants of former's pain.
A blinding surge of pain tore through their being, too vast for any mind to contain. The consciousness that had just awakened was burned into silence, as blood streamed from the back of his head.
And so the questions lingered in the dying air, unanswered: "Would the boy survive?" and "What was falling form the sky?"
***
The indomitable spirit—that unyielding fire—was the foundation for those striving to rise above weakness. Jinzhou, was a city living that very ethos.
In the scarred lands of Jinzhou, within the hallowed Gorges of Spirit—where the mighty Loong once banished the darkness—two figures stirred.
One was a youthful maiden with an athletic build and quiet grace. Her dark hair, tied in a low ponytail, shimmered with streaks of subtle gradient.
Her face bore delicate features, and her wide-set amber eyes, slightly upturned at the corners, gave her a sharp, intense gaze.
She wore a dark halter-neck top with a deep V-line beneath a layered armored corset. A utility belt cinched her waist, paired with fitted shorts and a flowing skirt overlay—equal parts style and survival.
Straps and buckles marked her gear, a golden triangular earpiece shimmered at one ear, and a choker circled her neck.
The other was a tall young man, his body slumped with pain, wearing a haunted expression. Long black hair flowed freely, framing a pale, smooth face marked by a deep Tacet Mark etched into his neck.
His piercing crimson eyes stared unblinking—devoid of that youthful spark, yet burning with the silent weight of something unseen.
He wore layered crimson and black martial robes, embroidered with intricate gold-thread Lotus and Loong motifs. Though elegant, his robes showed wear, as if ground down by time.
A hurried bandage wrapped around the man's temples that bore fresh stains of blood.
Both stirred simultaneously, greeted by a youthful maiden in elegant blue robes.
"Phew, you two are finally awake," she said with a relieved smile as their groggy eyes adjusted to the surroundings.
The woman sat up effortlessly, but the man grimaced, clutching his head as pain shot through him. "Ah!"
The woman who had just awoken looked at the man, her eyes widening in concern as she noticed a blood-stained bandage from which blood trickled.
"You need more time to heal," the maiden in blue said, gently supporting him.
The man winced, voice weak but steady. "Miss... who are you? And where is this place?"
At that moment, the woman in black stepped forward, her expression mirroring the confusion. "Yes... where is this? Who are you? And who am I?"
The woman in blue glanced between them both, worry deepening in her eyes.
"Huh? You two don't know?" the woman asked, her voice sharp with suspicion.
Both of them shook their heads. But the young man immediately regretted it.
"Argh…" he winced, pain lancing through his skull with even that small movement.
The woman in blue raised a hand, mist swirling gently around her fingers as she studied them. 'They don't seem to be lying,' she thought.
RUMBLE—
The ground suddenly quaked beneath them, a deep, violent tremor that sent dust cascading from the fractured ceiling.
The young man clutched at his ears, wincing as the tremor seemed to rattle every fiber of his skull. Even the smallest twitch of his head muscles sent fresh waves of agony pulsing through him.
The woman in black stepped forward, catching his arm and helping him up with surprising care.
"We need to get out of here," the woman in blue said firmly, gesturing toward the open path ahead.
The woman in black gave a silent nod.
"Y-yeah," the young man managed to say, barely above a whisper. That pain—sharp, jarring, all-consuming—he never wanted to avoid it as much as possible.
They hasted down the narrow path, urgency in every step. The woman glanced back briefly and said, "I'm Yangyang, member of the Midnight Rangers."
"The Midnight Rangers?" the young man echoed, his voice caught somewhere between confusion and awe.
"Yes," Yangyang nodded, still moving swiftly.
"That… that's great," he managed, slightly breathless but sincere.
Yangyang glanced back, offering a quick smile. "Thank you."
But she almost tripped when he suddenly asked, "What is that?"
Yangyang came to an abrupt stop, turning back with a raised brow. "You've never heard of the Midnight Rangers?"
The young man hesitated, mistaking her surprise for disappointment. He looked away sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. Resulting in another yelp of pain.
"Sorry if that offends you… but, no idea," he admitted, then gave a small, awkward whistle to ease the tension twisting in his chest.
The woman in black also raised her hand slightly. "I… also don't know what that is," she said, voice quiet, almost embarrassed.
The young man's whistle died down.
'At least I'm not alone.' With a flicker of confidence, he stood a little straighter.
Yangyang's expression lingered between disbelief and understanding as she revaluated the two.
"Hmm… maybe you two aren't from Huanglong," she murmured, then asked, "Do either of you remember your names?"
The young man furrowed his brows, sifting through fragments of memory. "I think it was… Kyorin," he said softly, as if testing the sound of it.
The woman, however, shook her head. "I don't recall mine."
Yangyang studied her thoughtfully, then glanced at the wind swirling faintly around her fingertips. It whispered nothing of lies.
"Well then," she said with a grin, "how about we call you Rover for now?"
The woman—now Rover—nodded. The name felt oddly fitting.
"Nice to meet you, Rover," Kyorin said with a small smile.
She turned to him, eyes catching his, and he quickly looked away, flustered.
"I-I just thought I should introduce myself," he stammered, his arms moving nervously in restless, chaotic gestures that betrayed his flustered state. "Since, you know… you have a name now."
Rover tilted her head, watching him curiously.
'He's kind of cute when he's nervous,' she thought. To her, he seemed… endearing.
Yangyang chuckled at the exchange.
Kyorin cleared his throat, trying to shift the attention. "Nice to make your acquaintance… Yangyang."
"Pleased to meet you too, Kyorin," she replied warmly.
Kyorin let out a quiet breath. The mood had changed—just a little—but it was something. A flicker of comfort perhaps.
"Let's get out of here first," Yangyang said, steering the conversation back to their immediate goal as the group followed the narrow trail, climbing a series of steep walls.
The two women—both agile and sure-footed—easily scaled the first two climbs, while Kyorin struggled, needing a helping hand to pull himself up. By the third, however, his movements grew more confident and nimble.
Yangyang glanced back at him. "You seem rather weak for a Resonator."
Kyorin instinctively pressed a hand to his chest, arching backward with wide eyes as if offended. "Hey!"
Yangyang raised her hands in apology. "Sorry about that."
She then turned to Rover. "But you... you seem very capable. You're a Resonator, right? I can tell by the Tacet Mark on your right hand."
Rover held out her hand, revealing the faint X-shaped mark etched on the back.
"And you have a Terminal as well," Yangyang added, nodding toward the gourd-shaped device strapped to Rover's waist.
Turning back to Kyorin, she asked, "Could it be you just awakened as a Resonator?"
Kyorin thought for a moment. "I don't remember much beyond my name and how to speak… but yes, based on that, it's quite possible I've just awakened."
"Then we should get you through a Resonance Spectrum Test," Yangyang suggested, adding, "It'll help us evaluate you—and officially mark your identity as a Resonator."
Kyorin nodded, finding the idea practical. But then something caught his eye—an airborne blur.
"Watch out!" he yelled.
Rover reacted instantly. Her body moved on instinct, slicing through the small, rock-like creature before it could strike.
The creature let out a brief, piercing cry before shattering into pieces, leaving behind a glowing golden holographic image. Without hesitation, Rover threw her Terminal toward it, and the device absorbed the light.
Yangyang blinked. "Eh?" she stammered, momentarily stunned. "I-It's already been absorbed?"
She stepped closer to Rover, eyeing her with newfound interest. "You seem rather proficient in fighting TDs."
Rover glanced down at her hand, clenching it. It hadn't felt unusual—almost like her body had simply remembered something she hadn't. But before she could dwell on the thought, a soft clapping sound interrupted her.
She turned to see Kyorin clapping—somewhat awkwardly.
But as both women turned their unimpressed gazes on him, his enthusiasm quickly faltered. He stopped mid-clap, retracted his arms, then gave a sheepish thumbs-up.
"I-Impressive," he said, voice cracking just slightly.
Rover let out a quiet giggle at his awkward recovery.
Yangyang, still amused, turned to him. "Kyorin, have you ever fought a TD before?"
Kyorin looked down at himself—at his slim arms and wiry frame. For some reason, her question made him feel a sting.
"Probably not," he admitted.
His physique certainly didn't scream 'combat-ready.' Sure, he had climbed those walls earlier, but that felt more like muscle memory than strength. Maybe he'd done parkour before… before the memory loss.
"Well, that might be the case," Rover said, suddenly pressing her fingers into Kyorin's arm.
"Wha—?" he flinched, completely caught off guard. 'When did she get so close?'
She gave a thoughtful nod, completely unfazed. "Hmm... Squishy."
Kyorin froze, figuratively turning to stone.
Crack—
That's how it felt inside—as if something cracked deep within his pride. Offended, he glanced around until his eyes landed on something nearby: an abandoned sword, half-buried in the dirt.
Rover caught the flicker in his eyes and smiled inwardly. 'Oh, he's sulking,' she thought, a small smug grin tugging at her lips.
Determined to prove himself—even a little—Kyorin strode toward the sword and grabbed the hilt, lifting it form the dirt as he thought. 'I just need to—!!?'
CLANG.
The sword slipped from his hand and hit the ground as his knees buckled.
Thump—thump—thump.
His heart pounded violently, as if trying to rip its way out of his chest. Blood surged through his veins with unnatural force.
His breath came in short, panicked bursts as he collapsed, clutching his chest. Cold sweat drenching his skin, and a wave of nausea rippling through him.
"Kyorin!" Rover cried out, concern sharp in her voice. She rushed to his side, catching his shoulders. "What's wrong?"
"I…" he gasped. "It felt like… something pounded through me the moment I touched it. Like my heart was going to explode."
Rover turned to the sword, cautious. She picked it up easily. Nothing. To her, it felt like any ordinary, abandoned weapon.
She glanced back at Kyorin, who was slowly stabilizing, aided by Yangyang's firm, reassuring pat on his back.
Holding the sword out to him again, Rover spoke gently. "Try again. Just one more time. Let's see if this sword has some kind of connection to you."
Kyorin hesitated—but when he met her eyes, something softened in him. Maybe it was the concern. Or the curiosity. He nodded and reached out, fingers brushing the hilt.
Only to retreat immediately, like a cat touching something suspicious.
Rover sighed, exasperated. "Are you a cat?"
Gathering his courage, Kyorin closed his eyes and reached for the hilt again.
One second.
Two second.
Three second.
Nothing.
No surge of pain. No pounding heart. No collapsing.
He gripped the sword fully this time, and still—nothing happened.
Rover crossed her arms, tilting her head. "Maybe it's not the sword. Maybe it's something in you. You mentioned you might've just awakened… it could be tied to your Resonance Ability."
Yangyang nodded in agreement. "That could very well be the case."
She turned to Kyorin and said, "I think you should get a full-body checkup—especially to assess your Resonance condition."
"I—" Kyorin hesitated, scratching the back of his neck, as he winced. "I don't think I have any money…"
Yangyang gave a light sigh and waved it off. "Don't worry about that."
The two helped Kyorin to his feet, and together they continued along the path. Before long, they came across a towering stone statue—a colossal Loong, partially sculpted into the mountainside.
Yangyang pointed toward it. "Over there… that statue was originally meant to be a symbol of celebration and remembrance."
Her voice dropped, laced with quiet sorrow. "It's a pity we had to leave it unfinished… after the recent TD attacks."
Kyorin stared up at the immense figure, awe lighting his face. 'I wonder… is that life-sized?'
He turned to Rover, hoping to hear her thoughts—but she wasn't looking at the statue.
Her eyes had gone distant, amber irises unfocused. Something stirred deep within them—something old. A memory.
In the space behind her vision, she stood alone in an endless dark void… staring up at a majestic Loong that pulsed with quiet power.
Yangyang's voice broke the trance. "Is something wrong?"
"I think I remembered something," Rover murmured.
She went on to describe the vision—of the dragon, the presence, the strange feeling of familiarity. Yangyang's eyes widened. "You saw our Sentinel in your memory?"
"Sentinel?" Rover and Kyorin echoed in unison.
Yangyang nodded. "They're powerful constructs—also called Oracle Engines. Each of Huanglong's cities—six major ones and the capital—has one. Here in Jinzhou, our Sentinel is called Jué. It takes the form of a Loong… just like the one you saw."
"So, are they all Loongs?" Kyorin asked. curiosity evident on his voice.
Yangyang paused, then nodded slowly. "All Sentinels in Huanglong share that theme. Loong dragons. But their appearance and purpose vary from city to city."
"So… do Sentinels exist in other regions too?" Rover questioned as she digested the information.
Yangyang nodded. "Yes, though they probably don't look like Loongs. Their forms vary based on the culture and Resonance traditions of each region."
Yangyang's gaze hardened slightly as she looked at Rover. "You're quite the mysterious one, Rover."
Rover flinched slightly at the label.
"One rarely sees our Sentinel," Yangyang continued. "Most only glimpse it during the Appointment Ceremonies. But from your vision… you were close. Only the Appointed Resonator—currently Jinzhou's Magistrate—has seen them that close."
Rover offered a nervous smile. "Maybe it was just my imagination?"
Yangyang didn't look convinced.
That's when Kyorin jumped in. "Maybe it's tied to her Resonance Ability—like… I don't know, turning mental images into something vivid or real?"
Yangyang's expression shifted. "That could be true," she admitted. "Some abilities manifest in… unusual ways."
Kyorin noticed the unwavering interest in Yangyang's eyes and cleared his throat.
"Anyway, I think Rover's ability is pretty fascinating," he said, carefully choosing his words. "She must've had a grand past… it's a pity we can't hear her story."
Yangyang paused at that, her expression softening. She realized what Kyorin meant. "…Sorry for that," she said quietly to Rover. "Let's get out of the Gorge of Spirits first. I have friends waiting at a rendezvous point nearby."
The two nodded, falling in step beside her.
"Thanks for that," Rover whispered, edging a little closer to Kyorin's side.
"Don't mention it," he replied in a similarly hushed tone.
She offered a soft smile. His quiet gesture—simple as it was—felt nice.
To be continued...