> "If you have stumbled upon this note, then you may have found the recordings of the greatest tale ever told to man."
The voice was ancient, yet noble — a woman's voice, carrying the weight of countless prophecies.
"I will leave my introductions till the very end, when you have walked the path yourself. Only then will you understand what must come after. You may have seen glimpses of the future, but as good stories go… let us start at the beginning."
Many years ago, after the Fourth World War, the fractured nations of Earth united under a single banner — The Global Concord. With one sweeping act, they outlawed all weapons of mass destruction, vowing that humanity would never again burn its own sky.
Yet peace bred weakness.
Without weapons to restrain them, men found other ways to conquer. Gangs rose in the shadows, corporations carved out private armies, and corruption sank its claws into the bones of the world. With no guns to wield, humanity turned back to something ancient… something nearly forgotten — the art of wielding power through will, through spirit, through energy.
But that is not where our story lies.
No, this story begins with a young man — one who will rise above most, one who will walk the path of darkness.
The one who will be called… Shade.
---
Rinnng. Rinnng.
"Ugh… can't I get a few more hours of sleep?"
A voice, groggy and annoyed, drifted from beneath a tangled blanket. A hand shot out from under the covers, slapping at the alarm until it went silent.
The boy who rose from the bed was young — maybe twenty — with dark brown eyes and messy black hair that refused to stay down. Sweat clung to his shirt, tracing faint outlines of lean muscles.
Samuel Blackwell — though most people just called him Sam.
He rubbed his face, groaning. "If I don't get up now, I'll be late again. And Mr. Martins will murder me."
Dragging himself out of bed, he stumbled toward the bathroom. The small apartment hummed with the low whir of a ceiling fan and the flicker of a holo-clock on the wall, showing 7:48 AM in glowing blue digits.
Sam had been up all night studying again. Without money for private tutors, he'd borrowed books from his best friend, Pete. He wanted to get into the Open University — one of the few institutions that still accepted free scholars.
After a quick shower, he threw on his work uniform — blue polo shirt, cream trousers — and hurried out the door.
---
One hour later.
SunnyMart Stores, Sector 14.
The automatic doors hissed open as Sam entered, yawning.
"Hey, Sam! Early for once. What happened, get kicked out of the house?"
The voice came from behind the counter. Pete — tall, skinny, with dirty blond hair and glasses that always slipped down his nose — was already at work stacking shelves.
Sam smirked. "Real funny. You've got no idea how much I had to read last night."
He grabbed Pete by the shirt, pulling him close in mock irritation. "You think this is easy? Try reading through five years of physics without caffeine."
"Whoa, easy! You're drowning me in saliva!" Pete yelped, pushing him off. "And for your information, these glasses are proof that I read more than you ever will."
Sam laughed. "Still the same nerd from high school."
They'd been friends since they were kids — two ordinary boys in a world that had stopped feeling ordinary. Pete was the genius; Sam was the stubborn one. Together, they somehow balanced out.
As they clocked in, Pete asked, "It's been three years today, right?"
Sam paused, halfway through logging into the register. "Huh?"
"The explosion. Your parents."
The air shifted.
Sam forced a laugh. "Can't believe you still keep track of dates like that. I'd almost forgotten."
But he hadn't. Not really.
That night still haunted him — the roar of fire, the smell of smoke, the flash of light before everything went silent. He had just returned home from Pete's place when the explosion tore through his building. The police said it was a gas leak. Sam never believed that.
His fingers unconsciously brushed the pendant around his neck — a black stone, smooth and cold, tied with a thin cord. It was the only thing they'd found unburned in the wreckage.
"You good?" Pete asked quietly.
"Yeah." Sam gave a half-smile. "Thanks to you reminding me."
"Sorry."
"It's fine."
Silence passed for a few beats. Then Sam changed the subject. "You got the tickets?"
Pete's eyes lit up again. "Of course! Cost me a fortune, though."
Sam chuckled. "Hey, you're the one who wanted to see the game."
"Yeah, but it wouldn't have been that expensive if you'd paid for your own ticket."
"Where would I get the money from? That's what you're for."
Pete rolled his eyes. "One of these days, your freeloading is gonna bite you."
Before Sam could reply, a deep voice echoed from the front.
"Did I pay you two to chatter, or did I pay you to work?"
Mr. Martins — bald head, thick moustache, and a body that looked like it had been carved from a boulder — stood with arms crossed, pretending to scowl.
"Morning, Mr. Martins!" they both chorused.
"Morning, lads. Fine weather today — and look who actually showed up on time." His eyes landed on Sam.
Sam grinned sheepishly. "Trying something new."
"Miracles do happen," Martins said, chuckling as he walked past. "Oh, and where's Deborah?"
"She's off today," Pete replied.
"Right, right. Carry on then, boys."
---
6:00 PM.
The neon lights of the city were starting to wake as Sam and Pete locked up the store. Drones buzzed overhead, humming softly like distant cicadas. The air smelled faintly of rain and exhaust — the usual mix.
"So," Sam said, stretching, "I'll stop by your place before the game. We can head out together."
"Sure thing. Don't forget the snacks this time."
Sam laughed, waving as he started down the street. "Wouldn't dream of it."
As the sky deepened into shades of orange and violet, Sam slipped his hands into his pockets. The pendant around his neck was warm — strangely warm — against his chest. He frowned, glancing down at it.
For a brief second, the black stone shimmered, pulsing faintly with light.
Then it went dark.
Sam blinked, shaking his head. "Must be the sun."
He didn't notice the figure watching him from across the street — a woman in a dark coat, her eyes reflecting the same strange glint of light.
Nor did he hear the faint hum of something awakening deep within the pendant— a low, ancient sound that hadn't been heard in centuries.
Because this wasn't just another day in the life of Samuel Blackwell.
It was the first day of his becoming.
The beginning of the time the world would start to remember…
the man who would one day be called Shade.
********