Location: Bastion 7 – Outskirts of Walled City Echelon

  100 years after the event later known as 72-Hour Ragnarok

  —-

  The world had ended a century ago.

  But you wouldn't know it by the way the children laughed.

  Their voices echoed through the crumbling remains of a neighborhood plaza—one of the rare "safe zones" just outside the main city walls.

  Nature had long since taken over the broken streets. Weeds split the old concrete. Vines crept up shattered light posts.

  "Lava whip! Boom!"

  A boy no older than seven shouted, swinging an old rope over his head like a lasso. In his mind, it was a blazing whip of fire.

  "Ultimate Art: Rock BARRAGE!"

  Another kid crouched behind a half-collapsed fountain, lobbing pebbles as if they were bullets, laughing like he'd already won the battle.

  Walking quietly through it all was Alyssa.

  Her fitted black tactical jacket, stitched with dark green along the seams, bore the bold white letters of FAITH across the chest—a name that carried weight. Her light-green hair framed her face in soft waves, brushing against her cheeks whenever the breeze caught it. Bright sky-blue eyes, wide but watchful, scanned the horizon with every step. She moved like a soldier but carried herself like someone still learning how to breathe in a new life.

  Arts, she thought, brushing a gloved hand over the patch on her jacket.

  The only reason we're still alive.

  It wasn't just a belief. It was fact.

  Arts—mysterious powers that first appeared on the third and last day of the 72hour Ragnarok—had been humanity's last hope.

  Even now, no one fully understood them. Not the scientists, not the leaders, not even the ones who used them.

  There were a few things everyone knew so far:

  Every Art was unique. No two people could ever have the same one at the same time.

  Once a person awakened their Art, that ability was theirs alone until the day they died.

  Arts weren't "types" either—there wasn't a "tree" Art here and a "flower" Art there. If someone had an Art tied to plants, that entire concept belonged to them. Types of arts could vary—some abilities focused on attack, some on defense, others were stranger.

  The levels were simple.

  Passive Arts: happened without thinking—like breathing, like reflexes.

  Battle Arts: were conscious attacks—strikes, weapons, powers shaped into action.

  And Ultimate Arts... well, most people never lived long enough to awaken one. Only a few scattered names in history, and even fewer living examples today, had ever managed it.

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  Anything beyond that? If it existed, no one knew about it yet.

  A few of the kids spotted her as she passed.

  "Hey!" The rope boy ran up, beaming. "You're from the city, right? You got an Art?!" A few others followed him, wide-eyed.

  Alyssa smiled faintly. She crouched down so she wasn't towering over them. It felt good, for a moment, to just be an adult instead of a soldier. "I do," she said.

  "It's... kinda like this."

  She raised her hand. From under her sleeve, a single vine curled outward—soft and green, like a tendril reaching for sunlight. It danced between her fingers before retreating.The kids gasped in amazement.

  "Whoa! That's your art? Can we get a art too?!" the smallest girl squeaked.

  Alyssa laughed softly. "Maybe. If you're lucky. Arts don't show up because you want them. Sometimes they just... happen. No one really knows why.

  "The kids fell quiet at that, thinking. Maybe about the world. Maybe about themselves. A crackle of static broke her little moment of peace.

  "Alyssa, come in." The voice in her ear was calm. Teasing.

  "Patrol going alright?"

  She tapped the receiver tucked behind her ear, standing up slowly.

  Alyssa:

  "Everything's quiet."

  "Are you sure? Sounded like you were smiling," the voice teased.

  Alyssa: "I might be. You monitoring my vitals again?"

  "Me? Invade your privacy?" He clicked his tongue.

  "Never."

  Alyssa: "Liar."

  Their soft laughter filled the empty streets. After a pause, the voice spoke again, more serious this time.

  "Be careful, alright? You're still new to Faith."

  Alyssa:

  "I know... but I've wanted this for a long time. Ever since... he saved me."

  Her voice dipped, brushing the edge of something unspoken.

  "He was different back then. Quiet. Wounded, maybe. But he stood between me and that monster like it didn't matter if it killed him."

  The line went silent for a long beat.

  "He still does that," the voice said softly.

  Alyssa:

  "I know."

  She ended the call with a tap.

  The quiet that followed wasn't peaceful anymore.

  It was heavy. Until a sharp scream tore through the plaza.

  Alyssa's instincts kicked in before her thoughts caught up.

  She sprinted toward the sound, weaving through dead streets, eyes sharp.

  Around the corner—chaos. Four mutants.

  Twisted things. Mutated bodies built wrong, teeth too many for their mouths, spiderlike limbs flexing on the concrete. A woman was pinned to the ground, her child struggling under a second beast.

  The third mutant crouched, waiting for its chance.

  The fourth—a birdlike horror with a skull-like face—hovered overhead, its wings buzzing.

  "Vine Lash!"

  The command left her lips automatically.

  Vines burst from the earth, snapping forward. Two of the mutants were slammed into the remains of a wall, thorns exploding outward, piercing flesh.

  Alyssa ducked low, sweeping her vines again—striking one mutant off-balance. But the bird mutant—It dived straight for the child, beak aimed to pierce through soft flesh. Her hands were tangled, her vines still recoiling.

  She didn't think.She threw herself between them.

  CRACK—Pain lit up her world. Her right arm—gone, torn from the shoulder in a single ripping motion.

  She hit the ground hard, gasping. Blood splattered across the cracked stones.

  Still, she turned, throwing her body in front of the family.

  Alyssa (rasping):"Stay... down..."

  The three remaining mutants stalked forward, drooling, twitching.

  She could barely lift her head.I'm sorry, she thought, I'm not strong enough—Then—

  BOOM.

  CRACK.

  CRACK.

  Mutants dropped one by one.

  Blood sprayed across the pavement.

  From a nearby rooftop, a figure stood—calm, deliberate. His sniper rifle smoked from the barrel. Around him, the air shimmered like a rippling pond, time bending oddly.

  He was young. Black hair, slightly messy.

  Skin smooth and brown.His eyes—bright violet—seemed to pierce through the scene.

  Alyssa:

  "...Akito?"

  The sniper turned slightly as another figure stepped beside him.

  At first, all she felt was the heat.

  Purple light curled around his boots.

  He moved without hurry. His coat trailed smoke behind it. His hair—black, layered, bangs parted. His violet eyes burned hotter, wilder, but no less focused.

  They shared the same blood.It was obvious even now.

  Alyssa knew who he was before he even said a word.

  Shin.

  The leader of Faith.

  The guy who had once saved her when she was nothing but a scared girl with a useless vine and a broken dream.

  Alyssa (whispering):

  "You came..."

  She smiled then everything went dark.

  ---

  [End of Chapter One]

  Next Chapter: "Recovery and Roots"

  Updates every [TBD]