6 months later
The moon hung over the city of Ruza, half-hidden behind drifting clouds. Neon lights flickered from distant buildings—ghostly blues and greens casting shaky shadows across the cracked pavement. The air smelled of ozone and rust. Quiet—but not empty.
On a rooftop, a figure crouched like a predator. A steel blade spun between gloved fingers, his breathing calm.
He spotted movement below.
"There you are," he thought, grinning.
"Your time's up… kid."
He tilted his head, lining up the throw. Wind stirred his worn cloak.
Below, Alex Bezerin strolled through the alley—hands in pockets, footsteps light. Baggy hoodie, sleeveless jacket, violet-tipped hair catching the moonlight. He looked like nobody. But he moved like someone who knew exactly what was coming.
Tap… tap… tap…
The blade stopped spinning. Fingers twitched.
Time snapped.
He threw the knife.
SWOOSH!
A whisper of death through air.
Alex didn't flinch.
His eyes glowed purple. Pulse shimmered across his skin like storm static.
Thump.
The world pulsed with his heartbeat.
Lightning raced up his arm—
CRACKLE!
His hand caught the knife mid-air.
No reaction. Just a scoff.
"Tch… Amateurs."
Neon lights dimmed. Insects went silent. The alley held its breath.
Alex turned the blade slowly in his fingers.
Good throw.
Bad decision.
He looked up.
"You call this... hiding?"
The hunter froze. His Pulse flickered in fear.
Too late.
Alex raised his hands.
CLAP!
A shockwave blasted through the alley—windows rattled, dust flew, lightning surged.
He brought his hands together again, slower.
An orb crackled to life—unstable, wild, growing with each heartbeat.
"Zenith technique…"
The hunter stood frozen. By power. Or regret.
Alex's voice cut through the storm.
"Thunderfall Barrage."
He hurled the sphere skyward. It exploded—raining lightning like a divine sentence.
The hunter screamed—
CRACKLE.
SIZZLE.
Smoke. That's all that remained.
Silence returned. The storm vanished. Lights steadied. Air cleared.
Alex lowered his hands, breath calm again.
He stared at the smoke.
Eyes fading to normal.
"Not even worth my time."
No pride. No gloating.
Just truth.
The city moved on, pretending nothing had happened.
Yet for Alex… the journey had only just begun.
Back to the present
Stars blinked like ancient souls across the vast stretch of space. An asteroid belt twisted lazily around a blue-green planet, caught in the gravity of its world like dancing sparks from a cosmic fire. Beyond the haze of dust and light, a name echoed in Alex's thoughts.
Valtra.
"This is Valtra," his voice rang softly in memory, "where Flares—humans born with Pulse—live alongside the ordinary."
From high above, the planet looked peaceful. A silent jewel floating in the eternal black sea.
But peace was a surface illusion.
History ran deeper here than the planet's tectonic plates. And Pulse—the power born of heartbeats—wasn't just energy. It was identity. Culture. Destiny.
The memory shifted.
A silhouette of ten figures, cloaked in mist and distance, appeared in his mind's eye. They stood still, powerful, like ancient warriors caught in a dream. Each bore a unique aura, hinting at the origin of something far greater than themselves.
"2,200 years ago," Alex's narration continued, "ten beings awakened powers never seen before. We call them… the First Origins."
No one knew what triggered their evolution. Some said the planet itself chose them. Others believed they were the results of divine convergence—Pulse crystallizing in human form.
Whatever the truth, the legacy they left behind was undeniable.
The scene changed again.
Now, it was modern. Bright. Alive.
Flares dashed through towering cityscapes, their bodies glowing with vibrant energy. Some conjured fire from their palms. Others shifted gravity itself or accelerated across buildings like lightning bolts. The world had evolved, and the Flares had evolved with it.
"We are their descendants," Alex's voice narrated. "We inherited Pulse… and evolved it."
Yet it wasn't just magic. It wasn't superstition or ancient blessing. It was science too—complex, undeniable, ever expanding.
And at the core of it?
A discovery that changed everything.
A floating hologram of chromosomes—normal human DNA strands—hovered before his thoughts. Then, highlighted in crimson and violet light, an extra pair emerged, glowing softly.
Menosomes.
"Science says we Flares carry an extra pair of chromosomes," Alex said. "Menosomes. They're what let us use these powers."
Ordinary humans had 46 chromosomes. Flares? 48. It didn't make them better. Just different.
The difference between a whisper and a thunderclap.
Another memory played out. A simulated heartbeat echoed, slow at first. Then faster. The image of an anatomical heart began pulsing, not with blood—but with light. Radiating outward came waves—colorful, rhythmic.
Pulse.
"Our powers respond to our heartbeats. We train to control them—because Pulse is life."
As children, Flares were taught to meditate on rhythm. Pulse could burst out accidentally in a moment of fear… or sorrow… or rage. Some lost control early. Others never learned it at all.
But those who did—they carved legends.
He raised a hand in front of him, summoning a spark of violet lightning at his fingertips. It crackled faintly before disappearing into the air.
Still, as he looked at his palm, he muttered under his breath.
"I know it sounds strange. I don't fully get it either. But for me… power's about spirit. That's what really matters."
Many obsessed over genetics, rankings, rare types, or high-tier Zenith techniques. But Alex? He valued something else entirely.
His master had taught him that when he was just ten.
"Pulse comes from your heart. But spirit… that's what makes it yours."
He clenched his fist slowly. That memory—it still burned brighter than lightning itself.
The wind picked up, rustling his hood and brushing his messy hair to the side. He stood on the edge of a dusty slope now, city lights flickering in the distance. His silhouette faced the future.
"I'm Alex Bezerin. I'm searching for my master. And this journey…"
He took a slow step forward.
"…will change my life."
Alex adjusted the hoodie draped over his shoulders, feeling the wind tug faintly at the hem. The sky above the city of Ruza was its usual dusty blue.
Ahead of him stood the headquarters of the Crimson Riot Axis—a tall, glass-and-steel complex that curved like a rising fang against the backdrop of the city. The building wasn't flashy or oversized, but it gave off an unmistakable pressure. The kind of place where power wasn't announced—it was felt.
The emblem above the entrance glowed faint crimson—a stylized riot flare. Energy sensors flickered softly beside the automatic doors. This place wasn't guarded by armored sentries or robed watchers—it didn't need them. Anyone reckless enough to break in probably wouldn't make it past the front step.
"My search brought me here," Alex thought, "To Crimson Riot Axis. Where he serves as an Exemplar… and I'll become one of them."
A couple of nearby passersby gave him curious glances as he approached—mostly other Pulse users dressed casually, talking about missions or training sessions. Nothing fancy. Just another day in one of Valtra's most well-known Axes.
Alex slowed his steps as he reached the front of the building.
It wasn't dramatic. No giant doors. Just a reinforced sliding entrance.
But to him, this was more than a door.
This was a threshold.
The place where his journey could finally begin.
He looked up at the logo above the entrance, took a breath, and muttered under it:
"So this is Crimson Riot Axis…"
Alex stood still, eyes fixed on the sturdy complex ahead. His voice had barely been a whisper, stolen by the passing breeze. He didn't know what he expected—some enormous fortress or extravagant palace? But no, the headquarters of Crimson Riot wasn't a monument of glory. It was made of cold, practical metal. Worn by time, built like a soldier—not a king.
It wasn't trying to impress. That made it better.
The sharp lines of the outer walls, the crimson insignia emblazoned just above the main gate, and the faint whirring of motion sensors tucked along the roof's edge gave the place a quiet warning. This place wasn't for tourists. This place breathed pressure.
Alex's feet remained planted at the outer walkway, his hands deep in his jacket pockets. His heart pounded with a slow, controlled beat—each pulse matched his focus.
Inside that place was a life he wanted. A path toward his goal.
Before he could take another step, a voice broke the air behind him.
"Hey! Who the heck are you?"
Alex didn't jump. He turned slowly, cool and relaxed, like he had all the time in the world.
Standing behind him was a boy about his age—or a bit younger—arms folded, looking like a self-appointed gatekeeper. He wore the Crimson Riot Axis badge, but it was a little crooked on his vest. His hair was untamed green, and large, round glasses sat on his face like they had no intention of staying still.
Alex raised an eyebrow.
"Haven't seen you around before," the boy added, walking closer. His posture was half-confidence, half-nosey neighbor. "You lost or something?"
"Name's Alex," he said simply. "I'm here to join Crimson Riot."
The boy blinked at him, then gave a short laugh. "Pfft. Seriously? You? Just walkin' up here like it's a vending machine?"
Alex stared blankly. "You got a point or are you just bored?"
The boy smirked. "Bold little rookie. You got guts, I'll give you that."
Alex remained silent.
A pause stretched between them before Alex tilted his head. "And you are?"
The kid immediately brightened like a switch had been flipped.
He stepped back, flexed one foot forward, threw his hand to the sky, and dramatically posed like a character out of a very bad action show.
"You don't know me?" he said, voice proud. "I'm the mighty… Green Phantom!"
Alex blinked.
The wind blew.
Nothing else.
"…Green Four-Eyes?" Alex said, tone flatter than concrete. "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."
The boy's smile twitched. "What?! No—Green Phantom! Not Four-Eyes!" He stomped once, frustrated. "P-H-A-N-T-O-M! Get it right!"
Alex smirked just a little.
Before the Phantom could rant further, another voice cut clean across the moment like a command whistle.
"Shut up, Leif. No one calls you that."
Both boys turned.
From the right, footsteps approached—calm, steady, confident. A woman in her twenties, strode up with her arms relaxed at her sides and her silver hair pulled into a low side braid. Headphones rested around her neck like part of her uniform. Her boots clicked with sharp rhythm. She didn't walk like someone who wanted attention.
She walked like someone who already had it.
Alex's eyes narrowed slightly. He knew her.
That presence wasn't fake.
That was someone strong.
The green-haired boy—Leif—immediately recoiled like he'd been struck by a laser pointer.
"R-Reika! I mean—Ascendant! Wait—I was just—!"
She didn't look at him.
She walked past him with only a flicker of acknowledgment, her eyes settling on Alex instead.
"So," she said, voice even. "You're Alex Bezerin. You applied for entry, right?"
Alex nodded once. "Yeah."
His mind flashed through the files he'd memorized.
Reika Elishveil. Age 23. Pulse Type: Surge — Sound Pulse. Vanguard rank. Ascendant of Squad Kian. Not one for showy power displays—but her reputation spoke for itself. She was one of those people you didn't forget after seeing in action.
And right now, she was looking directly at him.
That's her, Alex thought. The Ascendant of Crimson Riot... her presence is unreal.
He didn't feel overwhelmed. But he did feel something tighten in his chest—a healthy kind of pressure.
Reika rolled her shoulder once, casually.
"I just got back from a mission," she said. "So I'm off to rest."
Reika stopped at the edge of the open walkway and turned slightly, her voice crisp but calm as she pointed a finger without even looking.
"Leif. It's your job to show him to Rebecca and explain the rules."
Leif jolted, as if she had just handed him a live grenade.
"What? But Ascendant—!"
But Reika didn't pause. She simply waved behind her as she strolled off, clearly uninterested in Leif's objections. Her footsteps faded as she walked toward the Axis hall entrance, back straight, headphones swaying slightly. A few passing Flares stepped aside to give her room, giving small nods or respectful glances. Her presence didn't ask for attention—people gave it anyway.
Left behind, Leif stood with his mouth half-open, arms raised mid-complaint.
He sighed loudly, slouching like someone whose weekend just got cancelled.
"Why is it always me…?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Alex smirked a little. "Guess you're just lucky."
Leif threw a side glare at him, then gave up on his sulking and stepped forward, grabbing Alex's wrist like he was dragging a child to detention.
"C'mon, rookie. Let's go," he said with mock exhaustion.
"Fine…" Alex replied, not resisting.
The two of them crossed under the large steel archway, the gate of Crimson Riot Axis now wide open for them. The moment they stepped past it, the outside sounds dimmed like they had entered a different world
And in a way… they had.
As they walked through the short entry tunnel, the buzz of conversation, footsteps, and distant Pulse energy surged louder. Light panels flickered overhead. Alex's senses sharpened—every step pulled him deeper into the heart of one of the strongest Axes on the continen
Then they emerged into the main hall.
Alex blinked at the ease of it all—this place wasn't just power and ranks. There was rhythm here. Familiarity. Like a big dysfunctional family who still got the job done.
"This Axis…" he said quietly, turning in a slow circle, wide-eyed. "It's huge…"
And this—this was only the main hall.
To be continued...