Prologe
No one had ever seen the sky like this.
No storm, no fire, no sunrise could compare to what was coming.
At first, there was only light. A single, blinding breath that swallowed the clouds and devoured the day. Then came the crack.
A sudden vibration rippled through the world.
Windows trembled, streets shook, and a faint shimmer hung over everything.
Fleeting, barely visible, yet everyone felt it—and everything changed.
It was as if an invisible bond had formed souls, connecting and awakening them. A gift, yet no two were alike.
These powers emerged from the resonance between person and object: What do you hold in your hand—and how well does it suit you?
This event would later be known as the Anima Resonance.
Since the dawn of time, it was said, there had been people whose will alone could change things—whose souls were in harmony with the world itself. Secretly, across generations, they passed down this knowledge. In the writings of the few initiated, a name appeared: Soulbounds.
Their legacy remained hidden—guarded by the few, far from the public eye.
And those who could interpret the vibration had the power to change the world of Symbion.
Chapter 1: Anima-Resonance
Morning over the city of Solara was quiet — quieter than usual.
Only the wind rushed down from the mountains through the narrow streets, carrying the scent of cold stone and pine resin into the houses.
The mountain range, visible from every corner of the city, stretched from northwest to east like a protective half circle along the horizon — a line of stone peaks framing the land like a natural wall. In the sky, a few eagles and smaller birds traced their silent, lofty circles, as if greeting the new day.
Now, as the sun began its path over the highest peaks, the first rays broke through the rocks that had held back the light for so long, bathing the valley in the day's first warm shimmer.
The first shops slowly opened their doors. Delivery vans pulled over and unloaded goods, buses and gondolas grew emptier. Most people were already at work or unpacking their schoolbags for class.
Unless, of course, you simply loved sleeping too much.
Then — light.
A heartbeat later — rupture.
A sound that echoed like an explosion.
Darek jolted upright. The noise came from everywhere, vibrating through the walls, the floor, his chest.
Still half dreaming, he clutched his pillow tightly.
What kind of noise is that? Can't you even sleep in here anymore?
The boy was slender, narrow shouldered, with a strikingly calm face. His skin was pale, faint shadows resting beneath his eyes like traces of restless nights. In his chestnut brown eyes lay a quiet spark — the look of someone who preferred thinking before doing anything unnecessary. His almost black hair fell messily across his forehead, half smooth, half unruly — much like his character.
An earthquake? A storm?
His gaze wandered through the room, searching for movement, for meaning. The light streaming through the window was strangely pale. It settled over the furniture like a thin layer of dust, shimmering whenever he turned his head.
He pressed the pillow closer, still caught between sleep and waking. The fabric was warm, familiar — and yet a faint tingling crept through his fingers, as if the cloth itself were whispering.
A deep breath. Then he glanced at the clock.
"NO — I'M LATE AGAIN!"
The rumbling was forgotten. Darek leapt up, stumbled over his shoes, pulled on his clothes in a hurry. His hair fell into his face as he threw his shirt on inside out.
He was about to rush for the door when he stopped abruptly.
On the bedside table, next to the ticking clock, stood an old family photo — two boys and a girl, laughing, captured in a better summer.
Darek stepped closer, the pillow still in his hand. His fingers brushed the glass.
"I hope you're doing okay, brother," he whispered.
For a moment, he thought the image twitched in the light — a barely perceptible shimmer on the surface. Maybe imagination. Maybe not.
Darek inhaled deeply, set the pillow back onto the bed, and headed down the stairs toward the front door.
Outside, the sky was bright but strangely colorless. And somewhere deep in the distance, the world was still vibrating — like a single, endless echo.
≋⟡≋
As Darek jumped onto his bike to make it to first period on time, the light was already vibrating in the windows of Solara's school buildings.
Ben slouched lazily in his chair — a blond boy with a bored expression and tired eyes, their blue so clear it was almost like staring into the sky. His head rested on his hand as his gaze drifted toward the door.
If Darek shows up late again…
He sighed, then muttered, "As if this place wasn't boring enough already…"
A strange flicker ran across the walls, as if someone had doubled the sunlight. Then it burst forth — a glaring white flash that drowned the entire room in blinding brightness.
"Ah—!"
Chairs scraped, hands flew to faces. Students raised their arms, pressed elbows to their eyes, trying to block out the light. Someone screamed in panic. The entire room became a single white breath.
Then came the bang — deep, vibrating, not like thunder, but like something rising from the ground itself. The windows rattled, dust trickled down from the ceiling.
For several seconds, no one could speak. Only the distant aftershock hummed through the air. Ben blinked. Bright spots danced before his eyes, as if burned into his vision.
"What… was that?" someone whispered.
"Was it an earthquake?"
"Or a… lightning strike?"
Voices overlapped, filled with fear and curiosity.
Only one person remained calm.
Mr. Markes stood at the front desk, his back ramrod straight, the chalk still in his hand. He glanced briefly at the flickering lamp above him, nodded almost imperceptibly, and said dryly, "That's definitely not how I remember the school bell sounding."
Students stood up, looked at each other, whispered, laughed nervously. Ben felt his heart racing, even though the room had fallen silent again.
"Sit down," Mr. Markes said calmly.
No one moved.
The rumbling still seemed to linger beneath the skin, like a lingering resonance.
Ben stepped forward, clenched his fists. His voice cracked as he half joked, "Please… let it be a day off!"
A few laughed. Others joined in.
"No school!"
"No school!"
Mr. Markes turned red, his voice breaking as he shouted, "SIT DOWN!"
And in that same instant, everyone sat down.
Simultaneously.
"Wha— what?" he stammered. "Since when do they listen to me?"
The class stared at him — the teacher, the students, everyone. Ben felt heat rush to his cheeks. He laughed nervously, then whispered, "Something is seriously wrong here…"
≋⟡≋
While the students still stared at their teacher in disbelief, rhythmic clashing of blades echoed in another corner of Solara.
The old dojo lay half in the shadow of the mountain wall. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, breaking across the polished floors. In the heart of that light moved Diana — slender, graceful, focused.
Her long copper red hair followed every turn like a trail of flame, sweat glistening on her fair skin like fine crystals.
She wore the dojo's traditional fencing uniform — white linen, tightly bound at waist and shoulders — yet nothing about her seemed rigid.
Every thrust, every step was precise, almost dance like, carried by the quiet strength of her stance.
If David were in my place now, he would've struck already…
Her opponent, Sensei Daro, stood across from her — an old man with gray white hair tied into a braid, his posture still bearing the discipline of a warrior.
His movements were fluid, controlled, as if he were breathing the space itself.
In his eyes lay the calm of a man who had survived more battles than he could count — and yet preferred teaching to fighting.
"You seem particularly energetic today," he said calmly, raising his blade.
Diana smiled faintly without breaking eye contact. "My older brother was transferred to the front today. And I'm… training here."
The sensei nodded almost imperceptibly. "Strength is patience, not haste."
Three rapid thrusts followed. Diana dodged — elegant, controlled — yet unrest churned within her.
What is he doing right now? Probably soaring through the skies, just like he always wanted to.
Then came the light.
A blinding flash sliced through the windows like a blade. For a breath, everything turned white — the wood, the dust, the skin.
"Sensei…?"
Daro shielded his eyes with his hand.
"This is no ordinary light."
Then the rumble. Deep, vibrating. The floor shook, the blades hummed in their hands. Everything seemed to freeze — Daro mid movement, dust suspended in the light, even her own breath. In that instant, Diana saw every particle, every tremor, as if time itself had opened its eyes.
Wow… everything is suddenly so slow. No — I'm fast. This is my chance. Now I can strike him, Master.
She slipped beneath Daro's swing and countered, her blade thrusting upward.
"Hm," Daro murmured as he casually leaned his torso back to catch the strike. "Faster than usual."
Diana smiled, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. "Or maybe you're slower, Sensei."
Yet the trembling in her fingers remained. Something inside her knew — this truly wasn't normal light.
Something is different. I feel so warm. How do I describe it… the warmth comes from within.
She lowered her blade and exhaled.
After training, she wiped her brow and stepped toward the wall, where an old photo stood — her, Darek, and their brother David as children. Three faces, three paths.
"See, brother," she murmured, the blade loose in her hand, "I'll surpass you."
For a moment, she thought the glass in the frame vibrated slightly — barely noticeable, but there. Outside, the air itself seemed to hum, soft and faint.
≋⟡≋
David felt the vibration in his helmet long before the bang arrived.
On the vast training grounds of the military base, strict routine ruled as always. Rows of soldiers marched in step, the rhythmic stamping of boots echoing across the yard. Commands rang out, radio chatter crackled through loudspeakers.
Behind the base rose the snow covered peaks of Aquilara, the land of eagles and mountains. Below, in the valley, lay Caelora, the capital — gleaming and still in the morning light, as if holding its breath.
In the workshops, tank treads were being greased, a team of mechanics bent over the engine of a fighter jet. Everything felt orderly, disciplined — the embodiment of the strength Aquilara was known for.
Then came the light.
First a flicker — barely noticeable. Then a flare so bright it flashed over the helmets and dissolved even the shadows beneath the armored vehicles.
A heartbeat of silence. Then the bang. Deep, rumbling, all consuming.
The ground shook, asphalt buckled beneath the pressure wave, and the air began to hum — a sound somewhere between thunder and breath. Metal shrieked as vibrations tore through steel. Tools fell, machines fell silent.
A young recruit stumbled, the ammunition crate slipping from his hands. But instead of crashing to the ground, it slowed — drifting as if in slow motion — hovering briefly, vibrating — before settling gently beside his boots.
The boy stared. No sound, no thought. Just that look, as if the world itself had stopped breathing.
The drill collapsed. Soldiers looked at one another, some clutching their chests, others their helmets, as if they had felt something intangible — an inner tremor unrelated to the ground beneath them.
An officer, massive in build, over two meters tall with a shaved head, grabbed the radio at his ear. Deep furrows lined his brow, his voice firm but edged with unease.
"David! Report down here immediately!"
No response. Only the distant hum of a generator and the fading echo of the bang.
The officer ground his teeth, pressing the headset tighter to his ear. "David! I repeat: report immediately!"
A crackle. Then a voice — calm, almost amused, yet filled with control.
"You don't seriously think anything could happen to me up here, Sarge."
The officer looked up. Above him, the sky drifted in pale veils, cloud washed and still. No jets. No thunder. Only crows, startled into flight from a radio mast.
And yet there was certainty in David's voice — a certainty no one questioned.
For a moment, everyone looked skyward, as if they might spot him somewhere between the clouds. The light over Aquilara still glimmered — a final shimmer slowly fading away.
No one spoke.
The world had changed.
And they knew it.