On Planet Lokhil, the Shetavi lived with their Livelli partners to stake their claim amongst the harsh wilds.
The population of the Shetavi was miniscule, but this made them full of hardened and battle capable— even those without Livelli of their own.
Among the Shetavi, different factions were born from the type of partner manifested into being.
For one of the Shetavi, he was in bed tossing and turning, body full of sweat.
"Augh!" He shot up all of a sudden.
Thump!
Z'oelo punched his sides in anger, 'Damn it! These fucking dreams are the worst.'
He had managed to come to terms with his new reality.
He was fine with being worked to the bone during training.
Hell! Nothing even stopped him from trying to be friendly with those around him.
But these dreams of the past stung worse than any bruise or cut; he always woke up in cold sweat during his times of rest.
'Why do these memories follow me in this new life? Why won't it all just go away?'
Clutching his shirt over his beating heart, Z'oelo tried his best to calm himself and focus on more important matters.
And so, he got up from his bed and picked up a sword from the wall.
He was best focused when he held a sword.
It was instilled in him since before he could remember that the sword was an extension of his body, however unlike himself the sword knew not of emotion.
It only knew to cut.
His father always told him that before beating it into him during training sessions.
It was a life filled with harshness, but at least he was allowed to roam the area carved out by his father's strength when he was not training.
The only issue with this was the reception of the rest of the Shetavi.
With his additional arms, the people around him took it upon themselves to silently judge him despite his father's position.
That was to say whenever Z'oelo came into contact with others, they were polite to him due to his status but ridiculed him behind his back.
It was not his fault for being different; it was not as if he had done anything wrong by any means.
Often times, he had just tucked his arms by his side and had them concealed in his clothes despite the little discomfort.
This had been too bothersome during his training, so his father made it known to him the problem lied in his shame for his figure.
"To those of higher power, things like shame are better left to others to burden themselves with."
The seedling of power implanted in his son left him yearning to reach his level and even surpass him.
What he did not know however was that Z'oelo had plans for his own future.
'Just use this as a way to get stronger. Disregard everything so that you can focus on what's important: defeating Father and living freely in the world.'
Swish!
He swung his swords down in repetition.
Eventually, the cold sweat evaporated as his body began to heat up.
His gaze was trained forwards with no regards for his past feelings. It was time to exhibit what his father trained him for.
"To become stronger, I must learn more about the sword in my hands."
Swish!
"The way it cleaves forth unimpeded and the weight it bears on my body as increases as it drops."
His face tightened and loosened as he progressed.
"The way it is imbued with a sense of danger as I strike. The way that danger fades upon lifting back up."
Steadily, Z'oelo, formerly known as Zylo, began training his mind to allow his thoughts to flow instead of holding them back.
The memories of his past life were on the precipice of his mind as he lifted his sword slowly.
He recalled the pain of his childhood well at this point.
His father was a drunk who beat on his wife and kid almost every day.
His mother worked as a hotel maintenance member and made enough money to help support him, but his father blew all the money he made at the casino on his payday.
It was tough being raised by two working parents as he had to make his own meals and spend his time home alone.
At school, he had no friends and was even bullied for being as poor as he was.
Thanks to that, he grew cynical at a young age and served as a backboard to send him into a rebellious kid that acted out and fought others for small matters.
When his parents heard of his actions from those at school, his father only grew angrier and his mother more concerned.
Because of her job, his mother could not bear to carry the blame herself, so she tried consulting her husband more and despite the beatings she held herself together to get him more involved in parenting their child.
At this point however, the contempt Zylo had for his parents could not be erased easily as he often talked back and argued with his parents.
Every little thing he did was scrutinized by his parents and the once caring mother he thought he had turned against him for a drunken brute.
Further along the line, Zylo had rolled with some of the more rebellious kids and got piercings at a young age.
His vernacular was flooded with profanity and his actions were more thuggish.
At this point he could take care of himself, and he no longer bothered coming home until late after hanging out with his newfound "friends".
Drugs became available to him and his friends were involved in worse behavior as they grew older than him.
The only thing that he still had to ground him in the contact of others was school.
It was there that he could still spend his time away from family and the bad influence of his gang mates.
While he did not care for the situation, it kept him from doing anything too out of line as the environment would not allow such things.
Still, he became a bully.
There was a particular nerd of the class that ticked him off and gladly offered himself to the judgement of others.
Nonetheless, neither of them had a soul to call their friend and existed solely behind this relationship.
The only difference was the teachers that adored him and conversely berated him for being who he was.
What did it matter to him though?
He was born to be just another thug out in the streets doing the lowliest things to survive.
He had no opportunity to escape his life, so he decided that he would just roll with the punches and punch back when he could.
This time however, it would take the strength of the strongest being in his life to live freely in the world.
To surpass his father, The Sword Sovereign, leader of the Shetavi, he needed everything he had.