The bustling hum of Fambos Market was in full swing under Nemesulla's twin suns, casting a warm, golden glow over the colorful stalls crammed with exotic fruits from the planet's lush biomes. Amid the chatter of Humans, Nephiz, and Krioz haggling over wares, the little juice shop tucked in the corner felt like a pressure cooker ready to burst. Xero wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his dark hair sticking to his forehead as he juggled glasses of vibrant, swirling liquids—neon-blue krioz berry blends, fiery red human spice infusions, and ethereal green nephiz nectars that shimmered like captured starlight.
"Ey, kid! Where's my order? I've been waiting forever!" barked a burly Krioz customer, his crystalline skin glinting under the light as he slammed a fist on the counter. The shop was packed tighter than usual today, a swarm of thirsty patrons spilling out onto the dusty market path. Xero, barely nineteen and already feeling the weight of a lifetime's drudgery, forced a tight smile as he slid another glass across the counter. "Coming right up, sir. Sorry for the wait." But inside, his thoughts boiled: Why am I even here? This isn't me. Pouring drinks like some servant drone.
He was a lanky young man, all sharp angles and restless energy, dressed in a simple apron stained with fruit pulp. His brown eyes flicked toward the back of the shop, where his father—a tall, broad-shouldered figure with a perpetual calm expression—methodically crushed fruits in a massive press, his hands moving with the precision of someone who'd long ago traded glory for routine. Nearby, his mother, a warm-faced woman with a quick laugh, chatted with a lady customer while handing over a steaming cup of juice. "Here you go, dear. Fresh as the dawn!"
Xero grabbed the next order, but in his haste, his elbow knocked into a stack of glasses. One tumbled, spilling sticky purple liquid all over a nearby patron's tunic. The man—a wiry Nephiz with glowing veins under his skin—jumped back with a hiss. "Watch it, you clumsy oaf!"
"Sorry! I didn't—" Xero started, grabbing a rag, but his father was already there, stepping in with a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Xero, slow down. Apologize properly," his father said in that even tone, the one that always made Xero feel like a kid again. It was a short lecture brewing, the kind about responsibility and family legacy, but before it could fully unfold, Xero shrugged off the hand and tossed the rag aside.
"I said sorry. Idk why we're even doing this, man. I hate it." He muttered the words under his breath, but loud enough for his father to hear, then stormed toward the shop's side entrance, leaving the mess behind. The market's noise swallowed him up, but the frustration lingered like a bad aftertaste.
Just then, a familiar voice cut through the din. "Hey, buddy! What's up?" Ezun, Xero's Krioz friend, sauntered up with his usual easy grin. Towering over most humans at nearly seven feet, Ezun's body was a mosaic of tough, shimmering crystals that caught the light like living armor. His eyes, deep amber slits, sparkled with mischief. "You look like you just swallowed a sour pod. Come on, let's bail. I got tickets to Hellbuster tonight."
Xero paused, his mood lifting a fraction. "Hellbuster? The live event?" It was the hottest thing in Fambos—a massive arena spectacle where Awakens duked it out in brutal, high-stakes fights for glory and a grand prize that could set someone up for life. Awakens: those lucky few empowered by the Queen's ancient gift, wielding abilities that bent reality—fire blasts, super strength, energy shields. Not like Xero, stuck in the ordinary lane.
"Yeah, man! Fights between real powerhouses. You in?"
Xero glanced back at the shop, then nodded. "Screw it. Let's go."
The arena was a roaring coliseum under the evening sky, packed with cheering crowds from all three species. Lights pulsed like heartbeats, and holographic screens replayed highlights of Awakens clashing in bursts of energy and raw force. Xero and Ezun squeezed into their seats, munching on cheap market snacks as the matches unfolded.
One bout had a Nephiz Awaken hurling razor-sharp wind blades at a hulking Krioz opponent, who countered with crystalline barriers that shattered under the assault. The crowd erupted as the Krioz landed a devastating punch, sending his foe sprawling.
Xero leaned forward, eyes wide. "If my dad hadn't lost the will back then... I might've been an Awaken too. Having fame, power, wealth. Fighting outworlder monsters instead of slinging juice." He trailed off, a bitter edge to his voice. Ezun clapped him on the back.
"Never mind that, dude. Match over—one guy wins. Brutal, right?"
As the final cheers died down, they headed out, the night air cool against Xero's skin. They parted ways at the market's edge—Ezun heading to his clan's district, Xero trudging alone toward the modest family home on the outskirts.
The path wound through dimly lit alleys, shadows stretching long from the glowing market lamps. That's when he heard it: muffled cries and rough laughter. Peering around a corner, Xero spotted a group of low-level Awakens—scruffy types with faint auras, probably boosted by cheap military suits—harassing a young lady, a Human vendor closing up her stall. They shoved her against a wall, one sparking weak electricity from his fingertips. "Hand over the credits, sweetheart. Or we'll make this fun for us."
Awakens were the elite, born or granted powers from the Queen's legacy, but these were bottom-rung thugs, using their minor gifts to bully the powerless. Xero's blood heated. Not on my watch. He wasn't strong like them, but he was quick, honed from dodging market crowds and family chores.
"Hey! Leave her alone!" He charged in, grabbing a loose crate and swinging it at the nearest one. The fight was a blur—Xero ducking punches, using his agility to trip one, elbow another in the gut. They laughed at first, but he was relentless, mobility his only edge. One Awaken lunged with a crackling fist, missing and hitting a exposed wire instead. Sparks flew, and in the chaos, the current arced—zapping Xero square in the chest. Pain exploded through him, but he gritted his teeth, landing a final kick that sent the last thug sprawling. They scattered, cursing as they fled.
The lady gasped her thanks and hurried off, leaving Xero panting, his shirt singed and torn. That hurt like hell. He shook it off and limped home.
His mother was waiting in the doorway, arms crossed, her face a mix of worry and scolding. "Xero! Why's your dress all torn? What happened?"
"Uh, just tripped in the market. Clumsy me, right? No big deal." He flashed a weak grin, slipping past her before she could probe further. Up in his room, he stripped off the ruined clothes and took a quick bath, the hot water soothing the aches but not the buzz in his veins from the shock.
Toweling off, he flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. But something felt off. He glanced at his hand—wait, what was that? His grandfather's old ring, the plain band he always wore, was... glowing? A faint, pulsing light emanated from it, warm against his skin. Xero sat up, heart pounding, hiding it instinctively in his fist. What the...?