In Level 402 of the city of "Cephalos," there is no sun. There is only the "Copper Flicker" emitted by the giant plasma pipes that feed the lords' manors high above. For Rain, the world was confined to two meters of tangled wires and rust that covered his hands like an eternal tattoo.
He was nineteen years old, but his body suggested much less; thin as a reed, with a pale face that had never seen natural light. His work as a maintenance technician wasn't a job—it was a tax paid in exchange for breathing. In Cephalos, if you don't work, you are cast out into "The Fog" outside, a death sentence with no appeal.
"Rain! Move, you lazy brat! The pressure valve in Sector B is overflowing. If the turbines stop, I'll cut your oxygen ration for a week!" Overseer Gru screamed through the radio mounted on Rain's shoulder.
Rain didn't reply. He had learned long ago that words at the bottom held no value. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with an oil-stained rag and squeezed his body into the narrow ventilation shaft. The space tightened around him until he felt his lungs sticking to his ribs.
He reached the source of the malfunction, but something was wrong. It wasn't a broken valve. There was a "hole" in the steel pipe wall, but its edges weren't burnt or torn; they were "fading" like dissipating smoke.
From the heart of that void, something emerged that did not belong to this metallic world.
It was the blade of a broken sword, protruding only about thirty centimeters. It wasn't made of steel or titanium; it looked as if it were carved from a piece of pure night, studded with grains of stardust. The blade emitted a low hum—a frequency that rattled Rain's teeth and vibrated deep within his bone marrow.
"What is this?" Rain whispered, his hand trembling involuntarily.
He knew he should back away, that he should report an "Alien Trace" to the Correctors. But deep inside, a faint voice was screaming: Grab it... before it disappears.
The moment his fingertips touched the cold metal, the sound of the engines cut out. Overseer Gru's shouting vanished. The dripping oil froze in mid-air.
Rain felt a sudden chill pierce his palm, the coldness of a knife thrust into his consciousness. Everything around him was sucked away in a single second, leaving him standing in a vast, gray void. The ground was a black mirror reflecting an endless sky of stagnant clouds.
Rain fell to his knees, gasping for breath, while the broken blade floated directly in front of him, glowing with a steady silver pulse.
Suddenly, a voice emanated from everywhere and nowhere: [Compatible consciousness detected...] [Searching Throne Records...] [User: Rain (No Title)] [Physical Status: Damaged / Acute Malnutrition] [Initial Synchronization Rate: 0.01% - Minimum Survival Threshold]
"Who's speaking?" Rain shouted, looking around in terror. "Where am I?"
The voice did not answer. Instead, letters appeared before his eyes, looking as if they were etched into the air: [Warning: Weapon 'Echo' is attracting predators from the Third Dimension. Prepare for Forced Physical Calibration.]
Before he could grasp the meaning of the words, Rain felt thousands of hot needles piercing his right arm. He screamed at the top of his lungs as the broken blade literally merged with his hand, melting into his skin to leave behind a complex gray tattoo stretching from his wrist to his shoulder.
On the gray horizon, shadow-like creatures with blue eyes glowing like cold embers began crawling toward him with terrifying speed. He had no weapon, and he didn't know how to fight, but he felt something new coursing through his veins... a sense of weight, responsibility, and a power he had never asked for.
"If this is death," Rain said, struggling to stand weakly, "it's much better than living in the hell of Cephalos."
The first shadow pounced on him, and in that moment, for the first time in his life, Rain did not feel fear. He felt the urge to shatter everything.