In the beginning, there was a page.
A vast, blank canvas of white stretched across the void, quiet, endless, and perfect.
No gods. No humans. No myths.
Just silence.
Then, from nothingness, came the first word.
Zero.
And with that word, the page trembled.
A breath was drawn. A world was born. And existence… began.
But like all stories written too fast, this one decayed.
Mountains formed and crumbled. Empires rose and devoured each other. Kings built towers with corpses for bricks and declared themselves divine.
And humanity, with its endless hunger, wrote too many words.
Too much pain. Too many mistakes. Too many forgotten dreams.
So the Author, that bored, godlike observer known only as Zero, flipped the page.
And erased the world.
Not with fire. Not with floods. But with something far more elegant... a reset.
"Let the old world be forgotten," Zero whispered. "Let their sins dissolve."
"Let every soul awaken with a Myth Mark, symbols of legends not just from their past…but from every culture they never knew."
Dragons from the East. Serpents from the Islands. Giants, gods, monsters, and myths, scattered across the new land like seeds in chaos.
Each human was given a Mark upon rebirth. Each Mark tethered to a creature from a story long gone.
They were not chosen by birthright, bloodline, or virtue.
They were chosen by the soul.
And so the rewritten world began again.
No countries. No machines. No systems. Only people, their Myth Marks, and the will to fight, build, love, or destroy.
The world was reborn into territories ruled by the strongest, known as the Myth Sovereigns, humans who mastered their Myth Mark to its final form.
The old Earth is gone.
This is the world after. The world of legend. The world of freedom. The world where every child is born with power and purpose… or dies trying to find it.
But even in this rewritten page…
There are errors. There are glitches in the soul. People who defy the flow of the story. Souls that remember too much.
And that… brings us to him.
The boy with the electric-blue eyes. The grin of a trickster god. The hair that defies gravity, like he woke up from a nap seconds before punching fate in the face.
His name is Ki.
He doesn't have a last name. He says it's "too much baggage."
He doesn't bow to kings. He yawns at gods. He talks to birds. (They usually talk back.) He punches divine prophecy in the teeth and then offers it lunch.
If the world is a book, Ki is the doodle in the margins. The kind that makes you laugh even during the sad parts.
And when people ask him what his Myth Mark is, what legendary beast or immortal warrior lives inside him, he just shrugs.
"No idea," he says, grinning. "But it sparks real nice."
Because when Ki fights, when he gets serious, when his coat flutters like a storm god descending, you'll see it...
Lightning.
Raw, living lightning arcs around him like a dragon with no leash. But no known myth controls it.
Not Zeus. Not Thor. Not Raijin. Not even the Chinese Dragon Kings.
His Myth Mark doesn't exist in the records.
It shouldn't exist at all.
And maybe that's the point.
Ki was born, if "born" is the right word, on a thunderstruck plateau overlooking what used to be called Sichuan. Raised by an old woman who claimed she was immortal, drank cactus tea, and told bedtime stories that didn't match the new myths.
She called him "Soul Error."
He liked that.
He never learned to obey. Never wanted to.
He once picked a fight with a bull marked by Minotaur just because the guy was snoring too loud. He stole a golden melon from a shrine guarded by the spirits and ate it with hot sauce. He jumped off a flying temple just to see if gravity had "gotten lazy."
He doesn't fight for power. He fights for fun. He doesn't want a kingdom. He wants a kitchen that never runs out of dumplings.
And yet… the world keeps dragging him in.
The Soul Tournaments. The Sovereigns. The whispers of Zero returning to rewrite the world again.
"This world's not broken," Ki once said, lying on a grassy cliff staring at the sky.
"It's just too afraid to be free."
He says things like that. Then forgets them a minute later.
But others don't forget.
His smile is both inviting and terrifying. He makes enemies into friends and friends into legends. He talks like a slacker. Moves like a fighter. Feels like a storm you want to follow even if it kills you.
They say he was born wrong.
But maybe… he was born right in a world that keeps trying to reset itself to wrong.
Of course, no legend is complete without the one who stands at his back, or against his blade.
His name is Andreo.
He hails from the scattered islands of the sea. Wears the Bakunawa on his back like a brand.
If Ki is lightning, Andreo is moonlight.
They met when they were kids at a Soul Tournament neither of them were supposed to enter. Ki kicked off the guard's helmet to gain altitude mid-air. They tied in the first round. Then laughed about it. Then almost killed each other.
Now?
They travel the world separately, drawn together by fate, destiny, or sheer narrative stubbornness.
They'll fight side by side. Then fight each other. Not because they hate. But because they understand.
This world has no heroes. Only marks and myths and the choices people make.
Some seek power. Some seek revenge. Some seek to rewrite the story in their image.
But Ki?
He's not here to change the story. He's here to rip the pages, doodle in the margins, eat all the food, save a few lives, start a few fires, and remind the world of one truth...
A soul is more than its mark.
And if you try to tell him otherwise, you better be ready for a punch and a smile.
Because in this world of legends and lies… Of Sovereigns and Sins… Of resets and regrets…
A boy with no last name, no myth, and no sense of restraint is about to do the impossible...
Become a legend that no one wrote.
This is his story.
This is the Rewritten World.
This is... the soul you couldn't delete.