By the time Kaodin returned from the old sewer tunnels beyond the settlement wall, the night sky above CSDS was still veiled in its perpetual glow — a soft aurora pulsing against the dome's invisible barrier.
His body ached from the surge of uncontrolled Qi, yet what floated beside him stole every thought of pain.
The spectral tiger cub, no larger than a house cat, drifted at his shoulder in lazy arcs of luminous blue and faint orange, its tail flickering through the air like a trail of starlight. It was alive — not in flesh, but in presence. Every time Kaodin exhaled, it pulsed gently, syncing to his heartbeat.
At first, no one noticed. Then one of the patrolling securities drones above the residential sector caught the moving light signature. Within minutes, half a dozen smaller drones converged overhead, scanners clicking softly as they hovered in formation.
[Unidentified energy phenomenon detected. Origin: human subject, clearance level 3C.]
[Spectral field analysis… non-hostile. Recording initiated.]
Across the district, within the quiet chambers of the old archive wing, Uncle Wanchai sat before a dim console, the soft hum of power cells filling the silence. His hands trembled slightly over the flickering screen, scrolling through fragmented trade bulletins from Qiran's merchant network.
"Come on… there has to be something," he muttered.
Liara had grown pale — her once-sunlit complexion now thin and fragile, the light beneath her skin flickering unevenly like a dying filament. For days, she had refused food, her appetite dulled by the constant ache behind her ribs. Now, even sitting upright drained her.
"Papa," she whispered from the cot, voice faint. "It feels… heavy again."
Wanchai turned immediately, adjusting the chamber's air filters, but his composure cracked for the briefest moment.
"Rest, my little one. I'll find a way."
His gaze drifted back to the console — a blinking headline on the lower tab catching his eye.
[Merchant Bulletin: Northern Biotech Nomad Seeks Genetic Archive Exchange]
Offering advanced bio-serum formula for regulated conception syndrome. Willing to trade for any preserved genome data or medical archives. Currently en route to Eastern Sector Institute.
Wanchai leaned closer, reading every desperate line. The sender was a wandering biologist from the northeast — her tone equal parts scholarly and pleading. She described a temporary stabilizing serum for those afflicted by "controlled lineage degeneration" — Liara's exact condition.
He exhaled slowly. "The East Sector… too far."
His fingers tightened against the desk. "And I can't leave you, not now."
He rubbed his forehead, exhaustion sinking deep. Then, faintly, a shout from the next building — excited voices rising through the quiet.
"THE WANDERER BOY—HE JUST CAME BACK FROM OUTSIDE THE WALL WITH A STRANGE SPECTRAL RADIATING WITH LIGHT FLOATING BESIDE HIM!"
Wanchai froze. The words echoed strangely in the still room.
Behind him, Liara stirred. Her dull eyes flickered with a trace of color.
"Kaodin?"
Before he could stop her, she pushed herself upright, swinging her legs off the bed. Her breath came quick but determined.
"Liara, what are you—"
"I heard them, Papa," she said, already pulling on her worn shawl. "It's him… and something new. I can feel it."
He opened his mouth to protest, but the sharp scent of herbs and coconut milk reached him instead. He turned toward the small kitchen alcove — and blinked.
There she was, standing tall despite her frailty, cutting vegetables with graceful precision. The steam from a simmering pot filled the air — green curry, rich and spicy.
"Liara…" he murmured, half in disbelief. "You couldn't even stand an hour ago."
"It's for Kaodin and his tiger cub," she said softly, a faint smile on her lips. "If the stories are true, he brought light back into the settlement tonight. I want to see it. To thank him."
Her voice carried warmth again — fragile, flickering, but alive.
Wanchai could only sigh, torn between worry and relief.
"Then I suppose," he said gently, reaching for his coat, "it would be rude not to bring dessert."
Kaodin sighed, tugging at his sweat-damp shirt. "Here we go…"
By the time he crossed into the residential ring, the entire sector had woken up. Doors slid open. Windows illuminated. Faces appeared — some cautious, others wide-eyed with wonder.
The cub — Wawa — tilted its head and chirped, circling a little girl who giggled and pointed.
"It's like a baby tiger!" she squealed.
Her father, standing behind her, couldn't hide his awe. "That's no projection… that's real light."
Kaodin tried to wave off the gathering crowd. "It's… uh, not dangerous! I think…"
The more he spoke, the more people gathered — residents carrying small gifts, snacks, and thermos cups of soup as excuses to come closer. Within minutes, the quiet residential walkway had turned into a spontaneous celebration.
Laughter and curiosity rippled through the air. People took turns bowing, thanking Kaodin for "bringing back light to this world." Someone even brought a basket of old fruit and set it near the cub, as if feeding a divine creature.
"Really," Kaodin said, scratching his head helplessly, "I don't even know how it happened. I was just… training."
Mrs. Hong's metallic door hissed open just as Cee-Too came rushing out barefoot, eyes widened with disbelief.
"Kaodin! What did you— is that yours?!"
Before Kaodin could answer, Xiao Ying darted past her brother with a delighted squeal. "It's so cute! It's like a glowing kitty!"
Wawa purred audibly, spiraling down to her height and brushing against her cheek, leaving faint trails of luminescent dust. Xiao Ying gasped, hands clasped.
Mrs. Hong emerged next, wiping oil from her synthetic fingers, her eyes narrowing first in suspicion, then widening in wonder. "That's… what's…how's... that cute cub….. came from? You…you didn't make a pact with any evil entity didn't you?"
Kaodin rubbed his neck. "I'm not sure also Mrs.Hong, i don't really know. It just… appeared while I was training outside the wall. It seemed drawn to me. It doesn't talk — just reacts." He's trying to explain the origin of the manifestation while tilting his head over to look at Wawa which currently is still dancing around Xiao Ying and while both of his arms and neck have a multiple gift bags and food from small to nearly half his body size bags hanging nearly almost covering his entire body.
As if on cue, Wawa let out a soft rrrph and coiled once around his arm, resting like a glowing bracelet.
Within moments, the walkway outside was packed. Liara and Uncle Wanchai arrived next — Liara clutching a small thermos of soup, she brought an extremely amazing Green Curry Soup- one of my most favourite Thai dish, but green glistened eyes wide with amazement and just that, I was awestruck to just standing and keep staring blank towards her, long enough that Uncle Wanchai notice.
Though I don t have a hand to hold her dish as my arms and necks are full, so as I look at Mrs.Hong, she's still in awe, mumbling whatever hypothesis she could think of, trying to understand what could be the cause of the manifestation, so I asked Mrs.Hong if I could bring some friends inside the home?
"Kaodin… she's beautiful," Liara whispered.
"He, actually," Kaodin corrected automatically, before realizing how ridiculous it sounded to assign gender to light. "At least… I think."
Wanchai chuckled softly, stepping closer with analytical eyes gleaming behind his lenses. "In all my years studying theoretical consciousness fields, I've never seen a Qi-based projection form with independent cohesion. This is a miracle."
"Or trouble," muttered Mrs. Elara, who had followed alongside Mr. Qiran from the nearby merchant quarter. Her eyes, though sharp with calculation, couldn't hide her fascination.
Mr. Qiran, ever the merchant, was already in half-negotiator, half-showman mode. "A sentient Qi manifestation? My dear Mrs. Hong, do you realize this alone could put our settlement's name back onto the continental registry? Investors would—"
Mrs. Hong glared at him before he could finish. "Don't even think about it, Qiran. This isn't a spectacle. It's a child's spirit finding its way into form."
He raised his hands, laughing. "Just a thought! But admit it, this is… remarkable."
Wanchai nodded gravely. "Remarkable indeed. And perhaps a sign that the balance between thought and energy hasn't been lost completely."
Kaodin, meanwhile, had been pulled into half a dozen conversations, his cheeks flushed as children ran circles around him trying to touch the glowing cub.
Wawa, ever cheerful, obliged — zipping between their hands, letting them brush the faint trails of light that dissipated like soap bubbles.
Cee-Too watched from the doorway, arms crossed, unable to hide his grin. "You realize you've just turned Mom's house into a festival, right?"
Kaodin exhaled, smiling awkwardly. "Yeah. Sorry about that."
"Don't be," said Mrs. Hong, her voice softer than usual. "After everything this settlement's endured, a little wonder is long overdue."
As she said it, Wawa floated past her shoulder, pressing its tiny spectral head against her palm. Her mechanical fingers twitched, and for a moment, her expression softened completely.
Under the golden light of the dome's simulated dusk, laughter echoed through the ward.
Neighbors shared drinks, stories, and food, while the spectral cub drifted from one person to another — a symbol of something everyone had long forgotten how to feel: hope.
Uncle Wanchai and Liara lingered the longest.
When Kaodin finally managed to sit on the low steps outside the module, Liara crouched beside him, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You really don't know how it happened?"
Kaodin shook his head. "No. I was just training. The power inside me… it was getting hard to control. I thought I was going to lose it, and then—" he looked down at Wawa, now curled against his lap, purring like a cat made of moonlight— "this little guy showed up. Calmed everything."
Liara smiled faintly, the light reflecting off her emerald eyes. "Then maybe he's your heart… reminding you not to break."
Kaodin didn't answer. He just looked at the cub — and for the first time since waking in this strange world, he smiled without fear.
That night, long after the crowd had left and the echoes of laughter faded, Mrs. Hong's home still glowed faintly blue from the residual Qi.
Outside the dome, the wasteland slept under silence.
Inside, for one rare night, the settlement felt alive — united not by survival, but by wonder.
And for Kaodin, who had trained alone beneath the ruins of an old world, that simple feeling — of belonging — was worth more than any victory.
when the seismic pulse from the underground surge finally faded, Korren and Nyla arrived at the edge of the old metro shaft. Their boots echoed against the fractured tiles, light from their headlamps slicing through layers of dust and steam.
"So this is where the anomaly came from," Nyla muttered, crouching near a melted pipe. The metal looked twisted—ripped open from inside, not from impact.
Korren ran his gloved hand along the broken cement. The surface was glass-smooth in places, scorched black in others. "A thermal blast this clean doesn't come from explosives. Something pushed energy outward—pure compression."
"Qi?" Nyla asked quietly.
Korren didn't answer. His gaze swept across the narrow chamber—training dummies patched with scrap fabric, shattered metal rods repurposed as targets, a single mechanical lamp hanging crookedly from a salvaged beam. Nearby, a small air dehumidifier hummed faintly, powered by a crude solar cell rigged from scavenged wiring.
"He's been living down here," Nyla said. "There's food packs, water collectors… just enough to survive."
Korren knelt beside a cracked column, running his fingers over a deep fist-shaped dent. The concrete had spiderwebbed under the pressure. Reinforced steel inside was bent outward.
"He hit this," he murmured. "And the column broke first."
Nyla frowned. "That's impossible. Not even with augment implants."
Korren rose, silent for a moment. Then, with a half-smile that wasn't amusement, only realization:
"Then whatever that boy is… he's not bound by what's possible."
The holographic projection shimmered across the glass wall — grainy, flickering, yet clear enough to capture every angle of the boy's impossible precision.
On screen, Kaodin stood small against the night-washed plaza, shadowed by firelight and dust.
His movements — though unrefined, even clumsy at first glance — bore an uncanny rhythm.
Every strike was purposeful. Every shift of his weight spoke of discipline learned not from instruction, but instinct.
Zhang Bo stood in silence, hands clasped behind his back, his reflection pale in the light.
Beside him, Cee-Ar-Tee adjusted the playback feed, his optics tracking motion vectors frame by frame. The boy's stance — feet grounded, knees coiled, elbows tucked — wasn't polished, yet the form felt ancient. It carried no trace of modern sport or showmanship.
The footage's clarity also revealed something else—brief flashes when Cee-Ar-Tee's synthetic skin near his temple reflected a faint, unnatural luminescence. The movement of his pupils was not organic—it was mechanical precision masquerading as humanity.
The door hissed open.
Soft footsteps crossed the floor, deliberate and unhurried.
Wanchai entered, his lab coat worn and dusted with graphite residue. The light caught the faint lines of exhaustion across his face, but his eyes — keen, patient, endlessly curious — sharpened when they fell upon the image before him.
"You're slightly late, Master Wanchai," Zhang Bo said, not turning.
Wanchai's lips curved faintly. "The old bones still move, Master Zhang. They just prefer not to be hurried."
He stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back. "This is the recording from last night? The encounter near the south perimeter?"
"Yes," Zhang Bo replied. "Cee-Ar-Tee's drone caught the whole confrontation. The boys were on their way back from the scavenging sector when Korren's scouts ambushed them. Talgat was sighted fleeing — possibly bait — and Kaodin reacted before anyone else even registered the threat."
Wanchai's brow furrowed slightly. "Before the sensors did?"
Cee-Ar-Tee nodded. "Correct. His Qi resonance spiked three seconds before any hostile signal was detected. An untrained response, but precise — like an instinct triggered by intent rather than motion."
The footage resumed.
Kaodin moved fast — too fast for his size, too unhesitant for his age. He ducked beneath a swinging metal rod, pivoted sharply on his heel, and slammed an elbow into his attacker's jaw.
No flourish. No hesitation. Just cold efficiency.
He followed immediately with a compact knee thrust — not a wild strike, but one that connected perfectly at the rib hinge, using the opponent's momentum against him.
"Stop there," Wanchai murmured.
Cee-Ar-Tee paused the recording.
The old man stepped forward, eyes narrowing. His fingers hovered over the projection as though tracing invisible lines across the boy's posture.
"Look here," he said, voice low. "His leading foot — forty-five-degree angle. The back heel slightly lifted. It's an open stance, but defensive by intent. That's no child's improvisation."
He gestured toward Kaodin's upper body. "And this — shoulder roll to absorb impact. That's not brawling. That's deliberate training. A form designed for survival, not competition."
Zhang Bo folded his arms. "You're saying he was trained before the Collapse? That's impossible."
"Not trained," Wanchai corrected softly. "Imprinted."
The recording played again. Kaodin shifted his stance mid-fight, twisting his hips and delivering a sweeping kick that barely grazed the enemy — yet sent the man tumbling as if struck by something heavier than muscle.
Wanchai's voice grew quieter, almost reverent. "That kick — it's not the ring-style Te Chiang. It's closer to the pre-modern Te Tat Soei — the 'Low Tail Whip.' Designed to break balance, not bone."
He fell silent for several seconds, watching the footage loop. His eyes moved like a historian unearthing fragments of a forgotten civilization.
"Pause again," he said finally. "There. The transition — see how his left arm retracts after the knee strike? He's maintaining a guard even during rotation. That's Nak Muay discipline — but not modern. This predates the introduction of gloves or weight classes."
Zhang Bo frowned slightly. "Meaning?"
Wanchai inhaled deeply, his voice measured, careful not to rush to conclusion. "Meaning… he isn't just using Muaythai. He's rediscovering it — the unbroken lineage of the ancient form."
Zhang Bo tilted his head. "Ancient?"
"Muay Boran," Wanchai said at last. His tone was no longer casual, but grave. "The primal foundation. Lost when the world turned the art into sport. What he's doing… is older than records. It's the form passed from master to student when fighting meant life, not victory."
The silence that followed was heavy. Even Cee-Ar-Tee's whirring servos dimmed.
Zhang Bo's expression hardened. "If you're right, then we have something extraordinary. This knowledge — if applied — could revolutionize our entire defense grid."
Cee-Ar-Tee's head turned sharply. "You mean weaponize it."
"I mean preserve it," Zhang corrected, though his tone betrayed his intent. "If Kaodin can teach our security forces even a fraction of this technique, the settlement's survival rate during raids could triple. The merchant districts, the civilian wards — they'd finally have something more than mechanical defense."
Cee-Ar-Tee's optics dimmed, his voice laced with unease. "And what would you pay the boy for teaching you how to survive?"
Zhang Bo's jaw tightened. "Don't make this about morality, Cee-Ar-Tee. You know the world we live in. If we hesitate to act, we invite ruin. Sentiment doesn't shield walls."
Before Zhang could continue, Wanchai's voice cut through — calm but firm.
"And neither does greed."
Zhang turned, meeting his gaze. "You call preparation greed?"
"I call exploitation by a gentler name still exploitation," Wanchai said evenly. "The boy's strength isn't yours to claim, Zhang. He doesn't even understand the scope of what he carries. Would you burden him with responsibility he never chose?"
Cee-Ar-Tee spoke then, quietly. "He treats me and my family as equals. As people. He doesn't look at me and see a machine. If we use him — even with good intent — we stain what makes him different from the world outside."
The hum of the projector deepened, echoing faintly through the chamber.
Wanchai's gaze softened, but his tone remained resolute. "Let him choose. If Kaodin wishes to share this knowledge, it should come from his will, not obligation. Bring this before the Merchant Council if you must. You know Qiran would never allow this without consent — or fair compensation."
Zhang Bo's shoulders stiffened. "We don't have time for politics."
"We always have time for ethics," Wanchai countered. "That's what separates us from the world that fell."
The silence stretched, heavy and tense.
Finally, Cee-Ar-Tee deactivated the projection. The room dimmed, leaving only the faint hum of power conduits running through the walls.
"I'll talk to him," he said quietly. "If he wants to teach, I'll guide him. If he doesn't… it ends there."
Wanchai inclined his head. "That's the only right answer."
Zhang Bo turned away, facing the panoramic glass wall where the faint golden glow of the settlement lights shimmered beneath the dome's illusion.
"The world's changing," he murmured. "And sometimes, change doesn't ask for permission."
Wanchai looked at him, his voice a quiet steel.
"Then it's our duty to be reminded it too."
As the hum of the projectors faded....
Wanchai exhaled softly and turned to leave. His steps were slow, deliberate — the pace of a man whose thoughts carried more weight than his body could bear.
Cee-Ar-Tee's optics followed him. "Wanchai," he said gently, "how's the young lady doing? Liara, I mean. The drones caught glimpses earlier — she was out in the residential courtyard, wasn't she? Looked like she'd gone to see the boy and that anomaly spectral tiger cub."
Wanchai paused by the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. "She did," he said, voice calm but hollow. "Though only hours before, she could barely sit up without losing breath."
Cee-Ar-Tee tilted his head, processing. "So her condition worsened?"
A tired smile tugged faintly at Wanchai's lips. "Worsening would suggest a rhythm. This disease has none. Some days she sleeps through the pain. Others, she wakes smiling and convinces me she's fine — even cooks, just to make me believe it. And then…" He trailed off, gaze distant. "Then the weakness comes back twice as hard."
He looked back toward the panoramic view of the dome, where the distant lights of the residential sector shimmered like trapped stars. "She heard the noise earlier — children laughing, people shouting about some 'miracle light.' I thought it was another false alarm until I saw the feed myself. It was the boy — Kaodin — and the spectral cub. The whole district was out there as if the world had been reborn for a night."
Cee-Ar-Tee's tone softened. "And Liara?"
"She smiled," Wanchai said quietly. "First time in weeks. She forced herself out of bed, even walked. Said she wanted to see them up close, she even cooked the boy's favorite Thai food 'Green Curry Soup' for him — the boy and his 'baby tiger of light.'" His voice wavered slightly, the emotion buried but visible. "I didn't stop her. Maybe I should have. But if light can make her forget pain, even for an hour…" He shook his head. "Then maybe that's considered a cure too."
He turned to go. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to check something."
"Let me know if there's anything we can do to help you know" Cee-Ar-Tee reminded depressed Wanchai before he left the room.
"Always," Wanchai murmured.
The door hissed open behind him. For a moment, his silhouette was framed against the glow of the lab — a man worn thin between love and duty.
As he left, Cee-Ar-Tee's sensors caught his muttering under breath:
"Dr. Sarinee Kawpanya… northeastern registry… Eastern Sector coordinates confirmed."
Then the door closed, leaving only the low hum of the console and Zhang Bo's reflection in the glass — unreadable, already turning back to his own designs.
Outside, thunder rolled over the horizon, muffled by the dome's barrier.
Inside, the hologram projection was closed, the light gradually fading completely —
leaving only the lingering image of a boy,
a forgotten art reborn in his hands,
and three men divided on how the world should remember it.