How did it all come to this?
The question wasn't philosophical. It was a blade spinning slowly in the center of my chest, cutting through memory after memory until it found the exact point where the thread of normality snapped.
It wasn't that long ago. The *much* was relative—it could have been months, weeks, days. Time in war distorts, compressing under the weight of horror. But in affective memory, it was yesterday. We were together. Whole. Not as soldiers, heroes, or pieces of a cosmic conflict. We were just… young. Young people trying to cling to stolen fragments of normalcy between training and missions.
I remember the sound of Stella's laugh, as rare and precious as water in a desert. I remember Dan's expression when his severe face briefly opened into something that could almost be a smile, always directed at some absurd comment of mine. I remember training under the setting sun, where muscle pain mingled with a sense of complicity, of building something together—not just strength, but a haven. A place where, for a few hours, each of our past ghosts stayed outside.
We believed, with a naive and necessary stubbornness, that the worst had already passed. That the shadows that shaped us were finally receding, defeated by our persistence.
But we were flawed.
I was flawed.
And our failings—my failings—were fissures in the dam holding back the chaos. And when the dam broke, there was no spectacular tsunami. There was a slow and silent drowning. A collapse from within, while the exterior world still maintained a semblance of order.
The screams weren't outside sounds. They were echoes that now lived inside my ears, a permanent soundtrack. Pain was no longer an event, but a state of existence—a layer of ice under the skin that never melted. The blood… there was so much blood. Not just what flowed, but what gushed, what sprayed, what dried in dark stains on the ground and on clothes, a silent map of every failure, every broken defense, every life that slipped through my fingers.
The deaths. Not numbers. Faces. Eyes losing their luster before me. Hands reaching out in one last, futile plea for help. And the silence that came after—heavier, more terrifying than any scream.
I feel it all.
Not as a memory. As a sensory ghost. The war didn't end on the battlefields. It moved inside me. And now, here, on the brink of final ruin, I look back and see the thread that brought us to this abyss. And it begins not with a roar, but with a whisper. With a mission that should have been routine.
And with an awakening that should not have happened.
A few months ago.
Catalogued Dimension: Kaeatsu.
Local Nickname: The Red Land.
The soil was the color of old rust and dried blood. It wasn't a metaphor—the very ore of the subsurface, oxidized for ages under a relentless double sun, stained the entire landscape a dull, dusty red. The air was thin, cutting, and carried a persistent metallic smell, as if the very atmosphere were rusting.
The mission was a Delta Protocol: area reconnaissance and atmospheric sample collection. Risk classification: low. Routine. For Dan, Stella, and me, after the extermination fields and dimensional fortresses we'd already seen, it was practically a paid break. A sigh between one tragedy and the next.
We set out together, as always. Dan in front, his gaze sweeping the horizon with radar-like precision, his body relaxed yet ready, a spring under perfect tension. Stella by my side, her presence calm as a mountain lake, her spiritual energy emanating a soft, comforting glow that was our beacon in any hostile environment. And me… trying to appear as unflappable as they were, while the usual tingling—that subtle foreboding that something always went wrong—began gnawing at the edges of my mind.
At first, it went as expected. The terrain was hostile, but stable. Stella's scanner readings showed ambient energies within the predicted parameters for Kaeatsu: high solar radiation, minimal gravitational anomalies, residual spiritual signature typical of a world in slow ecological decline. Nothing three trained Sif agents couldn't handle.
Until the readings were no longer within the expected.
There was no alarm. No spike on the monitors. It was a change of tone. Like the background note in a symphony subtly shifting to a frequency that makes bones vibrate wrong. Stella was the first to stop, her scanner emitting a hiss of interference.
— Something is… wrong — she murmured, her golden eyes fixed on the small, flickering hologram in her palm. — The dimensional signatures are… overlapping. As if one layer of reality were being placed over another.
Dan already had his energy weapon drawn, a low hum filling the sudden silence.
— Defensive positioning. Tekio, left flank.
I obeyed, my heart beginning to race. The tingling was now a burning itch at the nape of my neck. And then, as if summoned by our very perception of the error, they emerged.
Not from the air, not from the ground. From the folds in the air. From shadows the double sun shouldn't have cast. Shapes that did not belong to that plane. Unpredictable. Distorted. Their outlines seemed to blur and recompose every second, as if struggling to maintain a form against the resistance of Kaeatsu's own reality. They had no faces. They had voids where faces should have been.
And there, on the scarlet soil of the Red Land, under the twin light of indifferent suns, the battle—the true mission—began.
Chaos is not a strong enough word. It was fundamental disorder. The laws of physics we knew wavered. The sound of our attacks was swallowed. Light was distorted. And we were separated not by enemy strategy, but by the very environment becoming our adversary. A thick, red, living and pulsating fog rose from the ground, swallowing Dan. A current of distorted energy, like a river of broken mirrors, dragged Stella away, her cries lost in a fragmented echo.
And I was left alone.
The struggle that followed wasn't about victory. It was about pure survival. Every blow was a monumental effort against alien physics. Every dodge was a guess against attacks that came from angles that didn't exist. I fought. With my fists, with the energy I could channel, with the desperation of someone who knows that if they fall, no one will come to collect their pieces.
And when finally, after an eternity of bloody minutes, the fog dissipated and I found Dan and Stella—wounded but alive, fighting their own anomalies—the only thing I felt wasn't relief. It was an icy void. Something inside me had broken. Or perhaps, something had been exposed.
The scars that burned afterward weren't on my body. Those I knew. Physical pain was an ancient language, almost comforting in its predictability. No. What burned were the other scars. The echoes of Stella's muffled screams. The blurred vision of Dan being struck by something that seemed to bend the space around him. The metallic, bitter taste of failure—not for having lost, but for having been caught off guard, for having been broken by something we didn't understand.
And the curse. My silent companion since childhood. That constant feeling that I was an anomaly, a magnet for disaster. She, who had always whispered in the dark corners of my mind, seemed to have finally awakened completely. And upon awakening, she didn't roar. She smiled. And she pulled me down with her, into the red dust of Kaeatsu.
Tekio. Are you listening?
The voice didn't enter through my ears. It materialized inside my skull, clearing the fog of shock and pain like a sunbeam piercing a cloud of ash. It was a voice that knew every curve of my despair, every shadow of my fear. Mei.
She always appeared like this. Not as a salvation from the heavens, but as a force of nature realigning the world around her. When everything seemed to be crumbling, the universe seemed to tilt to make room for her.
Months ago—in the time before Kaeatsu, in the time of relative peace—everything was different. Mei was always there. Not as a resource, but as a constant. Like gravity. Her strength was a fierce and beautiful thing to behold, a storm contained in human form. But her care… was almost gentle. A paradox only she could embody. Behind the feared captain, the Empress whose name made demons hesitate, was someone I admired—no, revered—more than any other being in any dimension.
— How many times will I have to tell you not to push yourself so hard? — She let out a sigh that was pure theatrical exasperation, but the golden eyes scanning me conveyed a concern so intense it almost hurt. — Every time you get into a serious fight, I arrive and you're unconscious. It's frustrating. It's irritating. — She leaned in, her shadow enveloping me. — But… at least you woke up this time. And you left marks on that guy. Although, by the looks of it, he wanted more.
— Captain…? — My voice was the sound of stones being dragged at the bottom of a dry well. Every syllable required a Herculean effort, weighing tons.
— You fought well, Tekio — she said, and the words weren't empty comfort. They were a verdict. A ruling from a judge who had seen it all. Her eyes, two golden embers, watched every tremor, every shadow under my eyes, with an attention that was both clinical and deeply personal. — Now leave the rest to me.
She turned.
And the battlefield—the distorted, bloodied piece of Kaeatsu—received her. Not as an invader. As its natural sovereign. Mei didn't advance. She danced. Her body moved among the distorted, empty forms that attacked us with the fluidity of a serpentine flame. The heat, once a distant memory, began pulsing in the air again, beating to the rhythm of her heart. Every step was lethal economy. Every blow—a simple touch of her fingers, a kick that seemed to slow time—was art and annihilation fused.
Her red hair, loose, billowed behind her like a personal war banner, a stain of living fire in the rusted world. The enemies, the anomalies, fell. Not with a crash, but with a sudden silence. As if her mere presence erased the error they represented in reality.
— Let's go back — she said when the last echo of distortion dissipated. Her voice, which moments before had carried the roar of a cosmic fire, was now soft. Almost a relief. A promise of a safe harbor.
— You've got another bruise. As usual. — Dan's hoarse, dry voice cut through the air as he and Stella emerged from behind a cracked rock formation. He was filthy with red dust and something darker, but standing. Firm. — Lucky Mei got here in time. Stella and I heard the destruction from afar. It was hard not to imagine the worst.
Stella, beside him, said nothing. Her face was pale under the grime, but her eyes found mine. They said it all. Relief. Residual fear. A silent question. What happened to you? Dan finished the unspoken thought: — Stella was very worried. — His gaze was serious, but the shadow of something milder—gratitude that I was alive—flickered in its depths.
I thanked him silently with a weak nod. The path back to the forward camp should have brought a sense of peace, the relief of danger passed. But inside me, a storm was growing. A fierce restlessness, like a trapped animal clawing at the walls of my soul. Something had changed. Not in the world. In me. In Kaeatsu, in the middle of that impossible fight, something inside me stretched, awoke… and observed.
Later, alone in the tent that smelled of aged canvas and alien dust, I stared at the fabric ceiling while my mind seethed in a silent whirlwind.
I never had special gifts. No glorious hereditary power, no divine birthmark. Only discipline. Hard training until my bones protested. Spiritual control conquered with sweat and stubborn will. Aisha, our mentor, said I was promising. My progress was real, measurable. I could feel my energy grow, my reactions become sharper.
But what happened in Kaeatsu… was beyond.
Far beyond.
It was as if… a door I didn't even know existed opened inside my chest. And from within it, something looked out. Something that wasn't just training. Something that wasn't just Tekio.
Klev—the main opponent, the anomaly that seemed to command the others—seemed to know. His empty eyes, or what served as eyes, fixed on me with a recognition that froze my blood. He spoke, his voice a distortion of static and meaning, as if he knew me. As if he knew someone inside me.
If I had been more attentive, less consumed by panic and effort, perhaps I would have caught the nuances, the clues in what he said. But now, only the distorted echo and the doubt remained—an agonizing urgency to understand what.
And at the center of this whirlwind, one clear, cold certainty: the only person in the universe who could help me navigate this… was Mei.
Morning on Kaeatsu arrived not with a sunrise, but with a subtle change in the light of the two suns, tinting the red world with orange and ochre tones. The smell was of fresh coffee—a luxury Mei always brought—mixed with the metallic dust still suspended in the air, a permanent reminder of the battle.
I sat with her before a small, makeshift campfire, the flames dancing low, combating the cutting cold of the alien dawn. I tried to organize my thoughts, but they were like frightened birds beating against the bars of a cage.
— Tell me everything — she requested, not as an order, but as an invitation. She held the metal mug with both hands, gloved fingers wrapped around the warmth. Her eyes, golden like the core of a furnace, did not blink. They were fixed on mine, reading not just my words, but the spaces between them, the tremors I tried to hide. — From the beginning. How was your fight with Klev? Not just the blows. The sensation.
I took a deep breath, the cold air burning my lungs.
— It was… unusual — I began, hesitation clouding every word. — He wasn't fighting to destroy us. He was fighting to… prove something. To me. He seemed to know something. Said he felt an 'ancient resonance' within me. Called me a 'disappointment'. As if I had failed to be something he expected. — I paused, the memory of the disdain in that distorted voice bringing a chill. — After that, his aggression changed. It was directed. Personal. I was losing. Control, footing, consciousness… everything was slipping away. Then… I felt something new.
I closed my eyes, reliving the moment.
— It wasn't power coming from outside. It was from within. Like a second heart starting to beat to a different rhythm. My body… grew lighter, yet denser at the same time. My senses stretched. I could 'hear' the distortion in the air, 'see' the fissures the attacks came from. It was as if… something was pulling me from the inside. Not controlling me. Guiding. A growing force I had never known. A force that… frightened Klev.
Mei did not reply immediately. She merely took a slow sip of coffee, her eyes losing focus on me for a moment, aiming at a distant point on the red horizon, as if accessing a vast mental archive.
— This — she said finally, her voice softer, almost contemplative — confirms what I've suspected for some time. What you describe isn't a simple level-up. It's not just you learning to channel more energy. — She placed the mug on the ground, the metal making a dull sound against the stone. — Perhaps you're undergoing an awakening. Something that goes beyond the spiritual energy you've trained to use. Something tied not to your body or your mind, but to your soul… or to something even deeper, which the soul merely cloaks.
— You think… I'm evolving? — I asked, the word seeming small and foolish before the vastness of what she suggested.
— Evolution is a process. This seems more like… revelation — she corrected. — Yes. Or perhaps a fusion. As if something that had always been dormant within you, or separate, is now fusing with who you are. Becoming accessible. — She leaned forward, the intensity of her gaze increasing. — Tekio, you have potential. That has always been clear to me, to Aisha, to anyone who sees you train. But there is something more in you. A layer beyond effort and discipline. The mark on your back… what you felt in that fight… could be the beginning of that revelation manifesting.
— But why now? — the question came out laden with frustration. — Why during a desperate fight, in a place like this?
— Sometimes, Tekio — she said, a near-smile touching her lips — it takes the most extreme pressure to force to the surface what is hidden in the depths. Like a diamond—its shape only emerges under unbearable weight and heat. The battle, the danger of death… may have been the catalyst. Don't fight it. Don't fear. Observe. Understand. Learn to differentiate your self from that which is awakening. And, above all… do not be afraid of what you find.
I nodded, trying to root her words within me, calming the whirlwind. But a doubt persisted, dark and venomous.
— Klev… he seemed to know. He knew more than he said. As if he were following a script.
— Unfortunately — Mei's tone hardened, a flash of the war captain emerging — he chose a dimensional self-termination before any meaningful interrogation could be conducted. His structure unraveled into background energy. But what he said… may mean you don't carry just one soul. There may be a presence within you. Something ancestral. A spiritual legacy. That would explain the depth of your potential, the intuitive leaps, even… the curse you've always felt.
The air left my lungs. It was one thing to suspect. Another to hear the confirmation, even if theoretical, from the person I trusted most.
— So, this mark… on my back…
— May be the physical seal of that fusion. The spiritual scar where the two parts joined, or where the 'door' you describe manifests on the physical plane — she completed, her gaze now analytical, that of a strategist. — We will investigate. Methodically. With extreme care. From now on, every unusual manifestation, every strange sensation, every vivid dream, must be noted, studied. But listen to me, Tekio. — She placed a firm hand on my shoulder, her warmth penetrating to the bone. — You are not alone in this. Not now, not ever. I am here. Dan and Stella are here. The Sif is here. We are not your jailers. We are your net. To hold you as you explore this abyss within yourself.
Her words, so firm and yet so profoundly human, calmed a storm inside me I didn't even know was raging so fiercely. However dark and frightening the future seemed, for the first time since the door inside me had opened, I had a direction. A starting point. A beacon.
As Kaeatsu's double sun rose in the red sky, bathing the camp in a bloody, warm light, and the last smoke of battle finally dissipated in the thin air, I knew, with an absolute and solemn certainty, that new conflicts would come. Greater. More cruel. More fundamental.
But now I also understood: the external battle was merely a reflection. The true war was beginning within.
Something inside me had awoken.
And I could no longer pretend not to hear it.
To be continued...