Chapter 1: Awakened

Battle of Brothers,

The valley of Zena burned beneath its twin moons.

One glowed pale silver, the other tinted faint blue, their light fractured by the smoke of war.

Across the scarred plain, the armies of Neza and Siya clashed, brothers by race, enemies by belief. Their Luma energy charged weapons screamed through the air, tracing lines of red and blue across the storm dark sky.

The earth shuddered beneath the rhythm of engines and footsteps.

Armoured soldiers fired plasma bursts; shields hummed with overloaded resonance.

Every shot left trails of light that lingered a second too long as if the planet itself struggled to catch up.

And then the tide shifted. From the Neza front line, a single figure emerged tall, broad, terrifying in motion. General Romijn Rhaen.

The soldiers called him the Bulldozer of the North. He stood 6.8 feet of battle-hardened flesh wrapped in a cracked silver Luma suit that throbbed with kinetic power.

Blue veins of energy crawled beneath his armor, pulsing with each heartbeat.

Shoulder-length black hair clung wet to his skin, and his cold blue eyes blazed like plasma cores.

He stepped onto his grav-board, sword in one hand, shield in the other. His helmet retracted halfway, showing a face carved from endurance and anger. He moved like an avalanche. Every strike shattered formation lines.

Each swing of his blade released shockwaves that tore apart steel and men alike.

He was war shaped, condensed, unleashed.

“Clear the path!” someone shouted.

Too late.

Rhaen’s blade met the ground, and the land itself bent under his will.

The wave sent shock ripples through the battlefield soil liquefied, debris soared skyward, and Siya’s soldiers scattered in panic.

Above them, the crimson flagship Siyadra drifted through the clouds silent, massive, alive.

Inside, the hum of Luma cores filled the air, pulsing in sync with the heart of the man who ruled it. The King of Siya stood at the centre of the bridge, motionless.

Seven feet tall, built like forged iron, his armor glowed with faint veins of red light.

The plates hugged his frame like a second skin elegant, regal, and unyielding.

His eyes were blue, rimmed faintly with red; his face cold, calm, deliberate.

He didn’t move when explosions flared below. He just watched.

“Where is he?” he asked quietly.

The bridge crew hesitated. A comm chief turned. “Neza’s general, sire?”

The King’s head turned slowly, gaze cold as iron.

“No,” he said. “Siya’s.”

The silence that followed was heavier than gunfire. Every officer froze, afraid even to breathe.

“Find him,” the King said. “Now.”

The deck lights shifted to crimson. Far below, containment seals on the ship’s lower decks hissed open. Engines roared. The descent capsule detached. A streak of red fire split the clouds. Every soldier on the ground looked up and for a heartbeat, even Rhaen stopped. The impact was silent, then deafening. Soil and flame erupted in a perfect ring.

At the centre of the crater stood a figure wreathed in smoke and light.

The Siya General.

His armor was black trimmed in gold, alive with pulsing red veins that glowed beneath the rain.

Each movement was measured; each breath came like a controlled pulse of energy.

His medium-length black hair, faintly red in the glow, was slicked back, face uncovered expressionless. Blue eyes rimmed with red scanned the battlefield like a targeting system wrapped in flesh.

He carried no rifle. No sword. Only a crescent-shaped weapon the Veythra folded against his forearm. When it powered on, red arcs flared to life, tracing its curve with light.

The air trembled around it, bending slightly as if afraid to touch.

The Veythra obeyed his command through motion, thought, and sound, a weapon that never missed, never stayed away for long, and never stopped once thrown. Rhaen’s soldiers, even those who hadn’t seen him before, knew his silhouette.

Stories whispered across every camp spoke of that single red curve spinning through the air,

cutting through steel, ships, and silence alike, returning only when it had tasted what it was sent for.

He lifted his hand. The Veythra detached, spinning into the air, a perfect curve of red energy that hummed like a heartbeat. Rhaen braced his shield just in time. The impact hit like a meteor.

Blue sparks scattered through the rain as the projectile ricocheted, slicing through two Neza drones before returning to its master’s palm.

Rhaen’s voice crackled through the comms. “You throw toys still?”

The Siya General didn’t respond. His eyes stayed locked on Rhaen, unreadable.

He took one step forward, the red glow of his armor deepening until the mud beneath him hissed into steam.

Rhaen charged a mountain of rage and momentum.

The General shifted, precise and fluid, and the Veythra spun again.

The curve of energy grazed Rhaen’s armor, cutting clean through the plating and exposing a streak of blue light that hissed in the rain.

Rhaen roared, his sword flaring as he unleashed a kinetic blast that shattered the ground.

The Siya General crossed his arms, Luma flaring red the wave broke around him like water.When the dust cleared, they stood within a storm of opposite light red and blue, still clashing invisibly where their energies met.

“Neza strength,” said the Siya General softly. “Loud. Predictable.”

Rhaen grinned, teeth blood-streaked. “And Siya’s control, cold. Heartless.”

The air cracked. They surged forward. Blue and red collided in a burst that turned the night violet.Rhaen’s boots dug trenches into molten mud. His sword vibrated with unstable energy, blue lightning crawling along the blade. Each breath tasted of iron and heat.

Across from him, the Siya General stood silent armor half-shattered, the red veins along it pulsing steadily like a heartbeat refusing to die. His left arm bled luminous energy where the plating had split, but his eyes were calm.

Between them, the ground boiled. Rhaen lunged first a blur of motion and rage. The impact threw waves of dirt high into the storm.Their collision lit the sky: red arcs cutting through blue flashes, every strike rewriting the light around them.

The Veythra spun, shrieking through the air, carving perfect circles of molten glass wherever it passed.Rhaen’s blade met it, once, twice then the third swing shattered his shield generator.

Sparks exploded outward, blue embers scattering into the wind.

Rhaen roared, slamming his fist into the ground. The shockwave rippled outward, overturning wrecked carriers and burying corpses beneath liquefied soil.

The Siya General steadied himself, one knee down, eyes narrowing. He flicked his wrist; the Veythra curved back mid-flight, slicing through the wave and returning to his palm.

The sound it made wasn’t metal, it was a note, a perfect tone that echoed inside bone and memory. Rhaen rose again, face streaked with soot and blood.

“Why are you fighting like this?” he shouted over the roar. “You are controlling your power like it’s a sin!”

The Siya General’s answer came calm, almost sad.

“Because power without restraint ends the world.”

He launched forward, both hands on the Veythra now, the weapon splitting into twin arcs of energy. The red crescents danced two curves of light weaving through Rhaen’s defense, striking, retreating, striking again. Every hit sent shards of blue plasma scattering.

Rhaen bellowed, swinging with brute desperation. One strike caught the General’s shoulder armor cracking, sparks bursting like blood. The red light flared brighter; his aura intensified, every breath dragging the air into his control.

Rhaen roared.His grav-board screamed to life, boosters flaring as he charged through the distortion.Blue light rippled off him like liquid lightning, armor plates splitting under the pressure.

The Siya General pivoted, calm and exact. His body moved like a calculation, no wasted motion, no emotion. He stepped sideways, letting Rhaen’s blade cut empty air, and swung his arm out. The Veythra leapt from his grip. It spun wide, then curved one perfect arc of red.

The air behind it ignited; sound dropped away.

Rhaen ducked under it, swinging his sword in return, the ground tore apart in a blue quake.

Chunks of molten rock flew upward like cannon fire. The red weapon sliced through one, split it clean, and kept turning.The General raised his hand. The Veythra obeyed.

It reversed mid-air with a scream and came back, carving a spiral through dust and smoke.

The two weapons met, blue blade, red curve. Contact. The explosion didn’t just throw them apart it folded the air. Everything slowed. Sound stretched thin, then snapped.

Rhaen’s armor shattered across the right shoulder; blood and blue light burst out together.

The General’s left arm twisted under the pressure armor cracking, bone snapping with a dull crunch.Both hit the ground hard.

Rhaen spat blood, smearing it across his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Not so perfect now, are you?” he growled.

The Siya General’s breathing was calm, measured even through pain.

He flexed his injured arm once; the armor plates realigned with a whirring hiss.