In between all of this chaos there is a village that is nestled in a valley, a hidden sanctuary untouched by the larger battles of the world. Sunlight bathed its modest homes, each structure built with Solarpunk ingenuity—sleek yet sustainable, adorned with solar panels, wind turbines, and lush rooftop gardens. Vines curled around the wooden beams, and flowers bloomed in colorful bursts along cobblestone pathways. Despite the fractured world beyond, here, life persisted.
The villagers lived simply but with purpose. They worked from dawn until dusk, tending to sprawling green fields and thriving orchards, their crops nurtured by irrigation systems powered by the very land itself. The air was rich with the scent of freshly tilled soil, ripening fruit, and the faint aroma of herbs drying in the warm breeze. Chickens pecked at the dirt, cows grazed lazily in fenced pastures, and the rhythmic clatter of wooden wheels echoed as carts rolled along well-worn paths.
At the heart of the village stood a stone well, its weathered edges smooth from years of use. It was more than just a water source—it was a gathering place, a heartbeat of the community. Children laughed as they played nearby, their bare feet kicking up soft dust, while elders sat in the shade of an ancient oak tree, their voices weaving tales of the past. In the evenings, the villagers would come together, their homes lit by soft, renewable energy, sharing meals beneath the glow of lanterns strung between wooden posts. It was a rare glimpse of harmony in a world that had long forgotten peace.
But that peace was fragile. And the villagers knew it.
Because every few weeks, Nyx and his gang, the Nocturnals, would come.
The mere mention of his name was enough to send a hush over the village. A shadow that stretched across their small world, a reminder that even in the most untouched corners, fear still thrived.
Nyx was no ordinary raider—he was a force of chaos wrapped in human form. A gang leader whose cruel laugh carried through the village like the sound of distant thunder. He and his band of marauders descended upon them like a storm, leaving ruin in their wake. They came for food, for medicine, for supplies—but more than anything, they came because they could. Because power was an addiction, and Nyx fed on the fear in the villagers' eyes.
His men would smash windows, overturn carts, rip apart homes searching for anything of value. Those who resisted were met with swift, merciless punishment—a sharp strike, a broken rib, a bruised face. They never killed—Nyx wasn't interested in corpses. He wanted them alive to suffer. To remember.
And so, the villagers endured. Helpless. Silent.
Every time Nyx left, the village was a little more broken, a little more hollow.
And every time, they feared he would return and take even more.
Early morning – dim light filters through broken shutters
On the island a small village was made from all the chaos. West of the village was a forest and in the dense forest is a small cabin where me and my family lived.
The first thing I heard as I woke up was the rustle of leaves. Wind moving through the trees again, soft and constant—like the island was still breathing. For now.
I blinked against the dim gray light creeping through the cracks in the wooden shutters. My body ached from another night on the stiff cot, and the blanket—patched a dozen times over—had slipped halfway off. I pulled it aside and sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
The cabin was quiet. Uncle Kenji was probably already out at sea, fishing again. Hikari, if she was up, hadn't made a sound.
I sat there for a moment, listening. No sirens. No screams. Just the forest, alive but watching.
Another day. I swung my legs off the bed and reached for my shirt, getting ready to start my day.
I stood up, my boots planted into the cold, hard floor—scuffed and buckled tight from too many miles, too many fights. The fabric of my short jacket was coarse, worn in the right places, shaped to me like a second skin. It doesn't keep the chill out, but I didn't need it to. Not anymore.
My fingers flexed inside fingerless gloves, callused and cracked. I could feel the roughness of the air, the weight of the silence around me. One hand rested near my hip, close to the strap I'd looped there—useless now, but I kept it. Maybe out of habit. Maybe because it reminded me of someone I used to be.
I catch my reflection in a broken mirror, and see the mess of white hair, wild and tangled like my thoughts. There, a seventeen year old with a certain sharpness on his face now—narrow eyes that have forgotten how to soften, a mouth that's learned not to smile unless I mean it. Which isn't often. I've got these dark circles under my eyes that never leave, even after a few hours of sleep.
The symbols on my face still brighten sometimes, especially when I'm angry—or scared, though I don't like to admit the difference. I still don't know what they mean exactly. Just that they're part of me now, like the scars I stopped counting.
Everything I've got on me was chosen because it had to be. Reinforced boots, cargo pants with deep pockets, layers that hold knives, lockpicks, memories. I don't carry much else.
I don't remember the last time I let myself just stand like this, not moving, not running. It feels strange. Exposed. Like the air's watching me back.
But I'm not afraid. Not anymore.
I'm just… waiting.
I step outside to get some fresh air and to try to get those thoughts out of my head.
The sky stretched endlessly before them, a masterpiece of swirling oranges, soft pinks, and deep purples as the sun dipped below the horizon. A cool breeze whispered through the village, rustling the vines that curled around their rooftop.
"I must have slept all day," said Hayato.
As he takes in the scenery, he hears a voice. "Nii-chan! Up Here!" yelled Hikari.
Hayato looks up and sees Hikari on top of the roof. "What are you doing up there?" said Hayato.
"You get a better view of the sky from up here. Come up and join me" said Hikari with a smile.
With a small sigh and the hint of a smile, Hayato climbs up after her. They sit together on the edge of the roof, high above the quiet village.
Hayato sat with one knee drawn up, his forearm resting against it as he gazed at the fading light.
Beside him, Hikari, who is now fifteen sat cross-legged, her hands gripping the edge of the rooftop. Though her large eyes still carried the curiosity of childhood. But beneath that curiosity, there was something else—a shadow of worry.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The moment stretched between them, filled only by the quiet rustling of leaves and the distant crackling of a fire somewhere in the village.
Finally, Hikari broke the silence.
"You're worried, aren't you?" Her voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the sharp intuition behind it.
Hayato let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck before tilting his head toward her. "It's hard not to be." His eyes flickered toward the horizon, where the last sliver of the sun was disappearing beyond the hills. "Nyx is overdue for one of his 'visits.'"
Hikari frowned, her fingers tightening against the rough surface of the roof. "He always comes when we least expect it. It's like he enjoys keeping us on edge."
A bitter smirk tugged at Hayato's lips, but there was no humor in it. "That's exactly what he enjoys." His voice darkened, the air around him seeming to shift as his markings pulsed brighter. "He doesn't just want food. He doesn't just want supplies. He wants us to be afraid. He wants to see us break."
Hikari turned to face him fully now, her expression hardening. "But we won't break." Her voice was firm, unwavering. "Right, Nii-chan?"
Hayato blinked, startled by the intensity in her gaze. For a moment, he saw the little sister who used to hide behind him when strangers passed through their village. But that little girl wasn't there anymore.
She had grown.
A small smile found its way onto his lips, and he reached out, ruffling her hair. "Yeah. We won't break."
But deep down, a gnawing feeling twisted in his gut.
Because he knew—Nyx was more than just a brute. He was calculating. And he was never late without a reason.
That evening, as the sky burned crimson, Hayato and Hikari sat near a small fire, its glow flickering in their tired eyes. The world around them was eerily quiet—too quiet. Even the wind had died down, leaving only the soft crackling of the flames to fill the emptiness.
Hikari stared into the fire, her once-bright eyes shadowed by the weight of loss.
"Nii-chan," she murmured, hugging her knees to her chest. "Do you think the war will ever end?"
Hayato's gaze remained fixed on the flames, watching the embers dance in the air before vanishing into the night. For a long time, he said nothing.
Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head. "I don't know." The words felt heavy on his tongue, but he wouldn't lie to her. Not about this.
Hikari's fingers dug into her sleeves, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing grounding her.
"Then what's the point of all this?" she whispered. "Fighting, surviving… If it never ends, then—"
Before she could finish, Hayato reached over, gently placing a hand on her head. His touch was warm, steady.
"As long as we're together, we'll be fine." His voice was quiet, but unshakable.
Hikari looked up at him, searching his face for any hint of doubt. But there was none.
And for now, that was enough.
The world was broken, shattered beyond recognition. But amidst the ruin, the fire of hope still burned.
And as long as that fire remained, humanity would endure.
The village marketplace was alive with movement, a vibrant contrast to the quiet outskirts where Hayato and Hikari spent most of their time. Stalls lined the narrow, winding streets, their wooden and metal frames held together by years of makeshift repairs. The scent of grilled fish and roasted vegetables mingled with the salty breeze drifting in from the distant sea, while the air buzzed with voices—merchants calling out their wares, customers haggling over prices, and children laughing as they darted through the crowd.
The dirt path beneath Hayato and Hikari's feet was well-trodden, worn smooth by countless footsteps. As they moved between the bustling stalls, the colors of the market—**deep blues, fiery reds, shimmering golds—**reflected in their eyes, creating an almost surreal atmosphere.
Hayato cast a sidelong glance at his younger sister, noticing how closely she walked beside him.
"You don't have to stick so close, you know," he teased, raising an eyebrow.
Hikari smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "You'd get lost without me."
Hayato chuckled, shaking his head. It was a rare moment of lightness, one that made him momentarily forget everything weighing on his shoulders—the looming threat of Nyx, the war between the Transcendents and Hyperion, and the uncertain future that awaited them.
For now, it was just them.
They moved deeper into the market, their attention shifting to the colorful displays of goods. Fabric vendors showcased intricately woven scarves dyed in rich indigo and sunset crimson, metalworkers displayed handcrafted jewelry and charms, and spice traders from distant settlements laid out parchment-wrapped bundles of fragrant herbs and dried roots.
The village had always been a place of resilience, a sanctuary for those who had survived the horrors of war and the Aberrants. Nestled between rolling green hills, it was small but full of life, its homes built from sturdy wood and reinforced scrap metal—a testament to the people who refused to let the world's collapse crush them.
Vines curled around the sides of homes, their lush green leaves thriving under the warm sun. Solar panels gleamed atop rooftops, shimmering like golden mirrors as they caught the morning light. The streets, uneven and well-worn, wound lazily through the settlement, where villagers bustled about, tending to daily chores.
The air was rich with the scent of cooked rice and grilled fish, mingling with the faint aroma of burning incense drifting from a small shrine near the village entrance. Vendors had set up makeshift stalls, displaying everything from fresh produce to handmade trinkets, while laughter rang out from the children playing in the open square.
Hayato's sharp eyes scanned the stalls ahead. "We should trade for food first," he said, adjusting the strap of the small bag slung over his shoulder.
Hikari hummed in agreement, but before he could take another step, something caught his eye.
A small, nearly hidden stand nestled between two larger stalls.
Unlike the surrounding booths, this one had no bright banners or loud merchants calling for attention. Instead, a simple wooden table displayed an assortment of delicate hairpieces, each one handcrafted with intricate engravings and polished stones.
But there was one piece that stood out.
A snowflake-shaped ornament, carved from pure white stone, its edges delicately outlined with faintly glowing blue filigree. The craftsmanship was impeccable—lightning frozen in time, delicate yet undeniably powerful.
Something about it reminded Hayato of Hikari.
Without thinking, he reached out, brushing his fingers against its cool surface.
"I think this would suit you," Hayato murmured, his voice softer than before.
Hikari, caught off guard, blinked. A faint pink dusted her cheeks, but she quickly turned her head away. "Worry about food first," she muttered, though the corners of her lips twitched into a small smile.
Unbeknownst to Hayato, Hikari's gaze had already wandered elsewhere.
Across from them, another stand caught her eye. Unlike the delicate trinkets Hayato had been admiring, this one displayed a collection of watches and accessories, their metallic surfaces gleaming under the sunlight.
Among them, one stood out.
A sleek silver watch, its sturdy yet elegant band polished to perfection. The glowing blue numbers etched into its face **reminded her of Hayato's luminescent markings—**the same markings that pulsed along his arms whenever he called upon his powers.
She hesitated for a moment, fingers lightly touching the edge of the display.
Then, she made up her mind.
If Hayato was thinking of her, she wanted to do the same.
Neither sibling realized that their simple trip to the market was about to take an unexpected turn.
The village had been peaceful lately—but there was always that unshakable tension, the lingering fear of the Nocturnal's return.
Hayato felt a sense of unease—the kind of instinctive, gut-wrenching feeling that twisted his stomach before his brain could even process why. His sharp, glowing eyes flicked toward the disturbance, and his jaw tightened.
And then, as if the very thought had summoned him, a distant rumble echoed through the valley.
The atmosphere of the marketplace shifted like a sudden gust before a storm. The once-lively hum of merchants calling out deals and children laughing between stalls dulled into hushed murmurs and wary glances. A tense, creeping unease slithered through the crowd, infecting everyone like an unspoken warning.
The faint vibration in the ground grew stronger, a rhythmic pounding, like the footsteps of an approaching giant.
Then came the dust.
A thick cloud of dirt rose on the horizon, swirling violently like an omen.
A cold, trembling voice broke the silence. "They're here."
The sound grew louder—the snarling roar of engines, the metallic growl of machinery, tearing through the once-tranquil valley like a pack of ravenous wolves.
Panic erupted.
Mothers grabbed their children and rushed them into homes, slamming doors shut. Vendors shoved their goods into bags with frantic movements. Some of the younger men, those bold enough to fight, stepped forward, gripping makeshift weapons—wooden bats, metal pipes, anything they could find. But deep down, everyone knew it wouldn't be enough.
Then, they arrived.
Nyx's gang stormed into the village square like a conquering force. Their motorcycles and rugged, battle-worn vehicles skidded to a stop, kicking up dirt and debris, shaking the very ground beneath them. Their black coats flapped like tattered banners, their dark clothing blending together, a wave of shadow sweeping through the settlement.
At the head of the pack, Nyx rode in effortlessly.
Striding into the marketplace like a king surveying his territory, Nyx moved with the kind of confidence only a man who feared nothing could possess. His long, tattered coat trailed behind him, dust swirling in his wake, clinging to the fabric like a second skin. The intricate tattoos winding up his neck seemed almost alive under the shifting light, twisting with his every movement. His enhanced arms flexed unconsciously, while his dark hair, slicked back and neat, caught the sunlight, the edges gleaming faintly. His metallic arm enhancements, sleek and deadly, reflected the light—a constant reminder of the power he wielded.
Behind him, his gang sat on their bikes, silent but imposing. Men and women clad in black coats or jackets, their uniforms hinting at something beyond mere loyalty—something almost cult-like.
As the dust settled, Nyx swung his leg over his motorcycle and stepped onto the dirt road, his boots crunching against the earth.
For a moment, he simply stood there, surveying the village, taking in the fear radiating from every corner. A slow smirk curled his lips, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement.
The silver necklace around his neck caught the sunlight, its jagged, claw-like design gleaming menacingly.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"Where's the village chief?" Nyx called out, his voice effortlessly slicing through the crackling tension. "I want a word with him!"
The air grew heavier, the villagers shrinking further into themselves. Whispers spread like wildfire, hushed voices filled with dread.
After a long, agonizing pause, the village chief stepped forward.
He was old—far too old to be standing against a man like Nyx. His frail body trembled, but his dark eyes held firm, the unshakable resolve of a leader unwilling to abandon his people.
"Please, Nyx," he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his bones. "We have nothing left to give. You've already taken so much."
Nyx tilted his head, his smirk deepening. He took a slow step forward, then another, his boots pressing into the dirt with deliberate weight.
"Nothing left, you say?" he mused, his tone dripping with false sympathy. "Well, that's just not acceptable."
Then, with lightning-fast precision, he grabbed the old man by the collar.
A gasp rippled through the crowd as the chief's frail body was yanked upward, his feet barely touching the ground. His breath hitched, his fingers scrambling against Nyx's iron grip.
Nyx's expression twisted—his smirk stretching into something more sinister, his eyes gleaming with unspoken cruelty.
"Maybe I'll take your life instead."
Upon seeing this, Hikari sternly whispered to Hayato. "This is awful... we can't just watch this happen again!"
The village would tremble under the weight of Nyx's presence, his gang spreading like a plague through the settlement. The once-lively streets, where vendors had haggled and children had played just moments ago, were now overrun with chaos and fear. Nyx's men would often kick down doors with sickening cracks, storming into homes with no regard for the people inside.
Villagers who resisted were shoved aside, their desperate pleas ignored as the gang looted whatever they could—food, tools, handmade crafts, even sentimental trinkets that had no value beyond the memories they held.
"Hikari, no. If we jump in now, we'll only make things worse." said Hayato with a firm, low voice.
"But they're suffering. We can't keep running away forever. They'll take everything!" said Hikari
Hikari's teeth ground together, her nails digging into her palms as she trembled with anger. She had seen this too many times. She had felt the helplessness, the frustration, the sheer unfairness of it all.
Hayato's gaze was locked onto the scene in front of them, his sharp eyes analyzing every movement, every opportunity. His breath was slow and measured, but his body was tense, his glowing markings flickering erratically as his emotions surged.
"I know," he muttered, his jaw tight. "But we need to be smart about this."
He tore his eyes away from the chaos for a moment, looking directly at Hikari. "If we rush in without a plan, people will get hurt."
Hayato clenched his fists. His heart pounded. Every instinct screamed at him to protect her.
"I know it sucks, but if we get in the middle of this, it will be dangerous. And I won't put you—" said Hayato
Suddenly, Nyx raised his hand toward the chief, dark energy gathering around his palm.
Without a moment of hesitation,Hikari shot a flash of lighting towards Nyx before Hayato could stop her.
"That's enough!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Nyx slowly turned, his eyes narrowing.
Nyx's smirk deepened, twisting with amusement, but behind his dark eyes, there was something else—recognition.
Hayato groaned "Damn it, Hikari...".
"Fine. Guess we're doing this." said Hayato
Hayato didn't think—he didn't have to. The energy surged through him before he even realized he had moved.
Enough was enough
Nyx's sharp gaze cut through the shifting bodies like a blade, locking onto Hayato with deadly precision. A slow, cruel smirk curled across his lips—a hunter catching sight of his prey.
"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite deserter."
Hayato stopped mid-step, his grip on Hikari's arm tightening instinctively.
"I'm not interested in a reunion, Nyx," Hayato said coolly, his voice level but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut.
Nyx raised his hands in mock surrender, amusement dancing in his black eyes. "Relax, Hayato. I just wanted to talk."
"You don't 'just talk,' Hayato shot back, his gaze unwavering.
Nyx chuckled, motioning for his gang to stay back as he took a slow step forward. "I've missed having you in the group, you know. You were one of the best—reliable, strong, clever… but then you had to go and play hero."
Hayato's fists curled at his sides. Hero. The word felt like a sneer coming from Nyx's mouth.
He hadn't always been the village's protector. Once, in another life, he had been part of Nyx's gang—a reckless, angry kid looking for belonging. Nyx had given him that. Had fed his resentment, shaped his bitterness into strength. For a while, Hayato had believed in it. Believed that power was survival, that loyalty meant standing by the strongest.
But the illusion had shattered the moment he saw innocent people suffer under Nyx's rule.
The moment he realized he had become what he used to hate.
"I left because you turned into a thug," Hayato said, his voice cutting through the tense air like a blade.
For a split second, Nyx's smirk faltered. But then, just as quickly, it returned, slick and unreadable. "Call it what you want. But you've got talent kid, and talent shouldn't be wasted in this…" he gestured lazily to the marketplace, "pitiful village." His lips curled in thinly veiled disgust.
Hikari stepped forward before Hayato could respond, her eyes flashing. "Leave him alone. He doesn't want anything to do with you."
Nyx's smirk deepened, his gaze flicking to her like a predator spotting a new target. "Your sister's got some fire. I like that."
A sharp CRACKLE filled the air as electricity snapped across Hikari's arms, her power responding to the anger curling in her chest. She raised a hand, sparks dancing between her fingertips like restless lightning. "Say something like that again," she warned, her voice dangerously steady, "and I'll make sure you regret it."
Nyx's gang tensed, hands twitching toward their weapons, but their leader merely laughed—a slow, condescending sound. "Relax, princess. I'm just offering your brother an opportunity." He turned back to Hayato, tilting his head. "Come back. We could use someone like you."
Hayato took a step forward, his glowing facial markings flaring brighter, the wind around him stirring ominously. "The answer's no."
The air between them was electric—Hikari's crackling energy, Hayato's restless wind, and the suffocating weight of unspoken history pressing down on them all.
For a long, heavy moment, Nyx simply stared at him. Then, he shrugged, feigning indifference. "Suit yourself. But don't think this is over."
"You can't escape who you are, Hayato." His voice was quieter now, but the weight of the words sank deep. "You'll see, I'll make you."
The air crackled with tension as Hayato planted his feet firmly between Nyx and the village chief, his glowing eyes burning like twin embers in the fading light. The dust swirled violently around him, caught in the invisible current of his power. The air itself felt charged, thick with an unseen energy, making it difficult to breathe.
Hayato didn't flinch. His voice was calm, controlled—but each word carried the weight of a storm waiting to break.
"Let the chief go. Now."
For a moment, Nyx simply stared at him, then threw back his head and laughed. A deep, mocking sound that sent a shiver down the villagers' spines.
"You're serious, aren't you?" Nyx grinned, then lazily flicked his wrist toward his men. "Take him down."
The gang surged forward.
Hayato was already moving.
A sharp whoosh of wind blasted outward as he twisted his body, channeling the momentum of the storm itself.
The first thug barely got close before he was slammed backward, a gust of wind hitting him like a battering ram. He crashed against a wooden stall, the entire structure splintering under the force.
Another came at him, swinging a crude iron club. Hayato ducked low, feeling the rush of air as the weapon sailed inches over his head. Before the attacker could recover, Hayato pivoted on his heel, using the wind's momentum to drive a palm strike straight into the thug's chest.
BOOM.
The sheer force sent him skidding across the dirt, tumbling like a ragdoll before coming to a groaning stop.
A third lunged in with a knife, aiming for Hayato's ribs—but before the blade could even come close, a sudden crackling flash of light streaked across the battlefield.
BZZZT!
The attacker convulsed violently, his entire body locking up as arcs of electricity danced across his skin. His mouth gaped open in a silent scream before his knees buckled, and he collapsed, twitching in the dirt.
Hayato turned just in time to see Hikari stepping forward.
Her eyes shone like lightning itself, her small frame crackling with barely contained energy. Blue electricity arced between her fingertips, illuminating her black jacket in flashes of pale, ghostly light.
"Nice timing," Hayato muttered, exhaling slightly.
Hikari flashed him a quick, mischievous smile. "I couldn't let you have all the fun, could I?"
She turned her gaze onto the remaining thugs. Her small hands flexed, the crackling blue energy surging along her arms, pulsing with raw power.
"If you don't want to end up like him," she said, jerking her chin toward the twitching thug on the ground, "I suggest you run."
One of the gang members, still spasming from her attack, staggered to his feet in a panic. His breath came in ragged gasps, eyes darting wildly between Hayato and Hikari.
"B-Boss, they're too strong!"
Nyx's smirk faltered slightly. A flicker of something passed through his gaze—annoyance? Amusement? It was hard to tell.
"Cowards," he muttered under his breath.
The remaining men hesitated for only a second longer before fear won over loyalty. One by one, they turned and bolted, disappearing into the alleyways like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
Nyx, however, remained where he stood.
Slowly, he flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders. The air around him darkened, shadowy tendrils creeping up his arms, wrapping around his forearms like living ink. The ground beneath his feet darkened, small fissures forming in the dirt, as if the very earth itself recoiled from his presence.
Hayato tensed, the wind around him howling in response.
Hikari narrowed her eyes, her hands sparking with renewed energy.
This fight wasn't over.
Nyx was about to show them exactly why he had been their leader.