At the edge of Styllas, just before the second sun touched the hem of the sky, two young boys hid in a crumbling corner of the old observatory station. Fire crackled in the distance, and the wind carried the scent of charcoal and seared flesh. There were no more alarms. No more sirens. Only heavy breaths and the far-off rumble from above the sky.

Artci held Ivan’s trembling body close, a tattered blanket wrapped around them both. Outside, the heavens split open with streaks of violet light that fell like congealed blood—the first trace of the Stellaros descending into the world.

“Brother…,” Ivan whispered, his voice hoarse like splintered metal on the verge of breaking, “Dad and Mom… they’re not coming back, are they?”

Artci didn’t answer. He knew if he opened his mouth, his voice would fracture, and the dam of his sorrow would burst. So he just held Ivan tighter, shielding him from the cold and the heat of the burn that still seared his own arm—an injury he sustained dragging his little brother out from the collapsing gravity chamber.

For a moment, the rumbling stopped. As if the world itself was listening. Or waiting. Then something immense detonated in the distance. A pulse of light swept over the ruins. Towers collapsed into yawning fractures between dimensions. Buildings melted silently and vanished without a sound—As though the world was being forgotten, like a frequency losing its vibration.

An anomaly field had awakened. Spacegravost. And they were sitting at its core.

Ivan peeked from under the blanket. His dark-silver eyes stared blankly at the falling light, no longer wet with tears. His lips parted slightly.

“Will the world stay like this forever, Brother?”

Artci bit down on his lower lip. He, looked upward too—through the shattered glassless window embedded in the dying wall.

“No,” he replied, his voice trembling. “One day, I’ll end it all.”

But even he wasn’t certain. His heart whispered doubt. When the catastrophe struck, all he could think of was protecting his brother. That was the only conviction strong enough to survive the trembling of all existence. Not for the world. Just for him.

As they stared into the sky tearing itself apart, a sudden echo pierced through the station’s ceiling—A wild, raw resonance. It wasn’t just sound—it was a psychic strike. Like lightning made of thought, driven into the soul. A vibration that trembled through the spine. Artci pulled Ivan closer. He stroked his shoulder gently, offering what comfort he could. But he didn’t know—That at that very moment, Ivan began to hear something that no other human could.

“Silence…, is the only voice left,” whispered the echo inside Ivan’s mind.

A whisper that would change the story of these two brothers—who loved each other with every fiber of their being.

From that day forward, two paths began to unfold. The elder brother burned with a vow to save the world. The younger froze in a quiet prayer, begging for it all to end.

And from those embers—

and the silence that devoured sound—

the world would one day fall.

"Obey the voice within, and be silent. There, you will find the part of yourself you’ve lost."

^^^__ Codex Atramenta, Fragment IV:5^^^

"Loosen your wrist, Marsenal! If you swing your blade-oscillator like a farmer digging soil, the Irresonators will tear you apart before you even inhale!"

Commander Leyra’s voice sliced through the air like a blade cleaving fog—cold, truthful, and painful. She was not merely a veteran soldier; she was the shadow of an endless war. Her face was hidden behind a semi-transparent helmet, revealing only one eye—bright blue, burning like plasma, ready to strike anything in her path. In her hand, she held a thin tablet-like device—Artci’s weapon control module. She adjusted the training voltage, increasing the intensity.

Artci Marsenal, a teenager with fire-red hair and sweat-soaked plating across his chest, struggled to rise from the hardened ground. His breaths were short, his limbs trembling—not from cold, but from the merciless rhythm of training. Around him, there is a large field with several small stands. Some metallic platforms reflected his fragile but unyielding form.

“I’m ready again,” he murmured, his voice barely audible—like a mouse squeaking.

“When you say you’re ready, make sure your body agrees,” Leyra barked, tossing his blade-oscillator back.

“If these holograms were real enemies, I guarantee you’d be dead before you even set foot on the battlefield.”

The red-haired boy growled. He didn’t want to give up, but his body had already waved a white flag. He could barely endure the relentless onslaught.

Not far from the arena, a boy sat atop a storage container, knees tucked, chin resting on crossed arms. His name is Ivan. His gaze was sharp despite his calm posture—like a placid lake hiding a vortex beneath. He watched his brother get thrown, fall, and rise again. Not a word escaped his lips, but his body radiated tension.

Artci stubbornly forced himself to stand again. That was a trait he simply couldn’t shed.

“Come on,” Artci hissed to himself.

He stepped back into the center of the arena, correcting his stance. Leyra pressed several buttons, and within seconds, monstrous holograms surged at him with full speed. Though Artci managed to match one or two attacks, by the third strike, his weapon flew from his grip. His body slammed into the ground with a resounding thud—and then silence.

Leyra paused, her eyes still fixed on the tablet. “Do you know why these creatures are called Irresonators?”

Artci shook his head slightly. He wiped his sweat, dabbing away the bloodied saliva trailing from his mouth. His breath came fast as his eyes locked onto Leyra.

“Because they’re no longer on the same frequency as this world. Their souls have been locked in the pulse of the Grim Surge. They can’t hear a mother’s voice, or music, or even their own screams anymore. They only hear one tone—destruction.”

Artci swallowed hard, reaching for his weapon again. His left hand trembled, and from afar, Ivan bit his lower lip. A part of him wanted to intervene—but he knew better than anyone: his brother had to become strong before facing the real battlefield.

“You’ve got technique, Artci,” Leyra continued. “But technique alone isn’t enough. You need to learn to listen before you strike. Resonance is everything. If your soul echoes fear, your blade will tremble with it.”

Artci inhaled quietly. He began to shut down nearly every sense except hearing. He let his instincts flow. He closed his eyes, his mouth, even held his breath. Silence crept in, and within it, he could hear the mechanical rhythm of the world—the respirator hum, footsteps echoing on metal walls, and the faint beat of his heart. Then, he nodded to himself.

Training resumed. This time, he didn’t just last longer—he stepped forward. His energy blade clashed with Irresonator projections, sending ripples through the air. On the final swing, the simulation disintegrated into holographic sparks.

Leyra observed him long. “Better. Still bad, but not as bad as before.” A trace of a smile flickered across her lips—for a fraction of a second.

Artci panted, but a small grin tugged at his lips. He glanced toward Ivan, who responded with a small nod and a clap—two gestures that made him feel briefly proud.

“That’s enough for today. We will resume tomorrow morning. Rest while you can, Artci. Tomorrow, I’m raising the difficulty until you can beat Beggar.”

Leyra walked away, deactivating the training field. In an instant, all the surrounding holograms faded, revealing the modern metallic training room. Artci collapsed in the center, exhausted. Ivan climbed down from the metal beam and approached.

“You were amazing, Art,” Ivan said, offering a bottle of cold water. His golden white hair cast a shadow over Artci's face.

Artci smiled, accepting it gratefully. “Thanks, Rust.”

After drinking half, he lay back to rest. Ivan joined him. They joked, wrestled, tickled each other, then lay side by side—just like any pair of loving brothers.

Night slowly descended over Edrish-9. Stars began to form, and the training camp grew quiet. But within Artci’s chest, something ignited. Not success. Not praise. But the first flicker from the core of his being: resolve.

He may not yet know that one day, Irresonators wouldn’t just be training targets, but truth itself. That the Grim Surge wasn’t merely a wave—but a summons from something older than light.

...***...

A cleaved red moon hung in the night sky. Artci and his brother were returning from the training room, heading to their sleeping quarters. The corridors were metallic blue, lit with soft white from the ceiling and floors.

Amid their laughter, Ivan suddenly halted. Artci turned around when he noticed the silence—Ivan’s laughter vanished. And in that instant, his world threatened to collapse.

Ivan stiffened. His eyes widened, pupils expanding until they drowned the irises. He dropped to his knees, seizing violently.

“Rust?!” Artci shouted, catching him just in time. Ivan’s body was burning hot. From the skin around his neck, faint glowing cracks emerged—like light seeping from within.

The medical alarm on Ivan’s wristband flared. Chaos erupted. From down the hall, two teens ran up as the alert echoed off metal walls.

“What happened?!” A boy dropped beside Artci.

The other one, a girl, scanning Ivan’s pulse, frowned. “This isn’t just a seizure. His internal frequency—damn it, he’s entering a divergence phase.”

“A what?” Artci snapped.

“His soul and body aren’t in sync. Signs of Grim Surge. If this continues, he might…” Her voice faltered. She stared at Ivan as if seeing something unspeakable.

In minutes, a medical team arrived with a magnetic stretcher. They gently pulled Artci away and administered emergency protocols.

“Please, help him,” Artci pleaded.

One of the medics nodded. As they took Ivan to the isolation chamber, a doctor stopped Artci.

“Wait outside. This isn’t your realm now,” the doctor said in a masked face.

“I’m—I’m his brother! I have to—”

“Which is why you wait. If you enter, you could destabilize his resonance. We need to determine if it’s a surge infection or a neurological condition.”

The boy from before held Artci back. The door sealed shut, leaving Artci and strangers in a cold, silent corridor. His trembling hands remembered the searing heat of Ivan’s body.

Through the frosted window, he glimpsed Ivan’s silhouette behind isolation curtains. Medical gear blinked erratically—disrupted by an unnatural frequency.

Amidst the hum of machines, Artci felt something else—not a sound, but a pressure—a crawling resonance threading into his bones like a breathless echo.

But even now, he wasn’t thinking of himself. Only of Ivan. Fear, worry, and cold sweat pooled in his palms.

“My Rust…, what’s happening to you?” he whispered.

“He’ll be alright, Artci. I believe it,” said a voice beside him.

Artci turned. Brown eyes met his. “How…, do you know my name?”

The man chuckled. “Who doesn’t know one of the ten survivors? The boy who walked out of the Heart of the Darkfall?”

Artci didn’t smile. That title was no honor. Surviving a catastrophe was no badge. It was a nighmare which will haunted everyone who survived. The title would only remind him of the disaster, over and over again.

The man sighed, realizing his mistake. “I’m Rey Hanekros. Call me Rey. Good to meet you—though not in the best situation.”

“Artci. Artci Marsenal. Good to meet you too.”

Rey draped an arm around him. “Let’s sit, Artci. Calm your heart. He’s in good hands now.”

"What…, what really happened to my brother?"

"The doctors are still trying to find out, Artci," Rey whispered softly. "What matters now is you. You just got back from training with Commander Leyra, right? Zeleye is on her way with food. She shouldn't be long."

Sure enough, three minutes later, a tall woman arrived carrying trays filled with food in both hands.

"Now, eat up. Fill your stomach while you wait for the doctor's verdict," said Rey.

"But—"

"No buts." Zeleye shook her head firmly. "Eat first, Artci. Leave the rest to the doctors. You need to stay healthy for your brother, don’t you?"

Artci nodded. He couldn’t afford to fall sick. He had to stay strong to take care of Ivan. Slowly, he began eating the food Zeleye brought. At first, he had no appetite. But the moment the first bite touched his tongue, his eyes widened.

"This is delicious. Are you sure you got this from the mess hall?"

Zeleye smiled and shook her head. "I made it myself. We were going to have it for dinner. But when we saw you in the corridor, I decided to bring half of it to you instead."

"Thank you, Zeleye. Thank you, Rey. I'm sorry to trouble you like this."

"Don’t worry, friend. It's nothing. Helping one another is what cadets are supposed to do, right, Zeleye?"

The long-haired woman nodded. "Consider us friends from now on. Don’t hesitate if you need anything. Just ask. But for now, finish your meal."

Artci continued eating. Rey and Zeleye began on their portions as well. After they finished, hurried footsteps echoed from a distance. The clanging of military boots on steel floor made Artci look up. Commander Leyra emerged from the corridor—her face now fully visible without a helmet. Her silver hair was neatly cut, shoulder-length, and her grey eyes were still sharp as ever. But something in her movements revealed a rare tension.

"Artci." Her voice was calm but quick. "What happened to Ivan?"

Artci shook his head, eyes still red. "He collapsed. The skin on his neck cracked and lit up. Zeleye said it might be a resonance with the Grim Surge... but I hope not."

Leyra approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. The gesture was foreign, but not unwelcome. "I hope so too," she said gently.

She then glanced at Rey and Zeleye. "So, you're making social progress? You've made friends?"

Artci gave an awkward smile and nodded.

"Take care of each other. I expect nothing less."

As they spoke, the isolation room's door hissed open. A doctor stepped out in protective gear. He removed his goggles and pinched the bridge of his nose—a sign that something had gone wrong.

All three immediately stood. Their eyes bore into him, demanding answers.

"You," the doctor pointed to Artci. "You're his brother, right?"

Artci nodded.

"Do you know how long he's been showing signs of niresonarii?"

The question struck deep. Artci's throat went dry. He tried to swallow as he tried to process what he’d just heard.

"My brother... has symptoms of niresonarii?"

The doctor sighed. "You didn’t know, huh? Judging from the signs—he’s already entered the divergent phase—your brother's been exposed to Grim Surge for more than eight years. More precisely, seventeen years ago. It’s an interesting case. Too unique to just call it interesting. Because seventeen years ago, the Darkfall hadn’t even occurred. That event didn’t happen until nine years later."

"So, you're saying the Grim Surge existed even before the Darkfall?" Leyra added.

The doctor nodded to Leyra. Then he turned to Artci again. "Your brother is beyond saving, Artci. But the symptoms can still be mitigated. The problem is, the medical facilities here aren’t sufficient. If you want, take him to the Central Medical Base in the Sentineles Capital. He can get the best treatment there."

Artci clenched his fists. He started blaming himself. How could he, as a brother, miss something so severe? What kind of sibling was he to be so blind? Not once in their lives had he noticed any signs. Or maybe... Ivan had been hiding it all along?

"Artci, focus. Do you agree to send your brother to the Capital or not?" Leyra interrupted, seeing him spiraling.

"I…, I have nothing left to pay for his treatment. The Ursuit I own barely keeps me alive here in this training camp," Artci replied weakly.

In truth, he desperately wanted to take Ivan to the Capital. But he knew the cost would be enormous. Especially since top-tier medical care was rare post-catastrophe. He couldn’t afford it.

"Let me cover the expenses. Prepare for Ivan’s departure immediately. We'll take him to the Capital for proper care. I’ll even use my pension if I have to."

Artci looked up. "No, Commander. Please, don’t. I don’t want to burden anyone. Let me find a way. The treatment room here can still reduce the symptoms, right, Doctor?"

The doctor nodded solemnly. "Yes, but only temporarily. The longer he stays here, the worse it’ll get. Two more months here, and his life will be at risk."

"That should be enough time. I’ll work outside camp to earn more. I’ll do anything—anything to save my brother."

Leyra gripped his shoulders, locking eyes with him. "Artci, listen. Your brother needs immediate care. You think you can earn enough in two months? You can’t. I know you can’t. Let me help."

Artci fell silent. His mind spun, weighing the offer. He didn’t want to be a burden, but he needed help. At last, he nodded. For Ivan’s sake, anything that could help—he’d take it, no matter the cost.

"Good. I’ll handle the paperwork. Get everything ready, Doctor," Leyra ordered.

She turned to Rey and Zeleye. "Wait here. I’ll go with Artci to the administrative office."

They nodded. Leyra walked alongside Artci down the hallway leading out of the medical wing and turned toward the camp’s administration corridor. They passed through a flower garden with benches in all four corners. Leyra motioned for Artci to sit. He hesitated, but obeyed.

"Sit here, Artci."

"What about the paperwork?"

Leyra looked at him with uncharacteristic gentleness. She tapped her bracelet, opening a holographic screen. She typed a few commands, waited a moment, and a message appeared: ‘Transaction Succeed’.

"Done. Everything's taken care of. Now, sit."

Artci sat beside her. Even seated, his head barely reached her shoulder. He grew awkward, rubbed his neck, and took a deep breath.

"Relax, Artci. No need to be nervous," Leyra said.

Artci offered a sheepish smile. Still awkward.

"Artci, I know this might sound harsh. But I didn’t help you for free."

The red-haired teen looked up, trying to grasp her words. A second later, he understood. Nothing came free in a post-collapse world. Before the world fell, people might’ve had compassion. But now, survival dictated every act of charity. Help came only if it served a purpose.

"I know nothing’s free, Commander. If you want me to do something—anything—for Rust, for Ivan, I’ll do it."

"Good. Out there lies a place we’ve never shown cadets. A ruin, far beyond the safe zones. A place called Torata."

"Torata?" Artci frowned.

"Long ago, before the world fractured, Torata was the heart of the Echo Observatory. Now… it’s the node of all global resonance. Every path of possibility connects there. I want you to investigate it. There, you might find answers about what really happened to Ivan in the past—or what could become of him in the future. All possible versions, good or bad. But your mission is to discover what power lies buried in the ruins. Signal trackers have picked up an anomaly surrounding Torata. You must unravel it."

Artci stared at the flowers. Dim lights glowed. Fog crept in as night fell, and the cold bit into his bones. "You talk like… you believe I can actually solve it."

"I do believe it. Not because of your training, not because of your skills. But because I see the fire of resolve burning in your eyes."

"But I haven’t even finished my training. How can you be so sure, Commander?" Artci protested.

Leyra smiled. "Doesn’t matter. Go when the moon splits blue and reunites. Until then, I’ll train you myself—to face whatever’s out there."

"To face those creatures, right?"

Leyra nodded. "You need only one thing, Artci. Find your resonance. Not to predict the future, but to understand what trembles between the cracks of reality. Resonance isn’t just sound—it’s the echo of decisions yet to be made. You must see it yourself. Read it. And when you do, don’t listen to the metaphors around you."

Still, Artci hesitated. "How will I know I’m ready?"

Leyra gave a faint smile. "You won’t. But your brother needs you, Marsenal. And you’re not just a cadet anymore. You’re his big brother."

In that moment, the world narrowed into a single point. All the fatigue from training, the fears lurking in shadowed halls, the doubt gnawing at his soul—everything pointed to one thing: the place where Ivan might still be saved.

Torata was calling. And Artci had to answer. [ ]