In the quiet region of Ariella, nestled among worn hills and humming machines, lay the town of Hemsworth. In one of its modest homes, a young boy slept soundlessly, curled in the warmth of morning light. Golden rays spilled through the window, casting a soft glow on his slightly curly black hair and eyes tinted faintly with brown.
He stirred, yawned, stretched—then blinked at the sky.
Above him, two suns lingered.
One golden—the true sun.
The other, an eerie blue glow that never offered warmth, only shadows of the past.
With a sigh, he muttered,
"Another day in this cursed world."
As his feet touched the floor, the room responded—air adjusting, sensors syncing automatically to his body heat.
Another magic of science.
Then came the voice that could cut through steel.
"Ren! You're getting late!"
His mother's shout echoed from the kitchen.
Startled but familiar, Ren washed his face and rushed to the table, where breakfast waited—perfectly crisped eggs, warm bread, and glistening jam, all courtesy of auto-cookers.
A soft smile formed on his lips.
The only thing I don't hate about mornings...
The holographic TV flickered to life with a static pulse.
A news anchor's voice rang out:
"Crime rates in Ariella continue to rise for the third consecutive week. Some suspects have been identified—"
A list of names and profiles appeared. One caught Ren's eye:
Name:Aurel Mich
Crime: Murder 3rd degree.
Last Seen:Hem—
Before he could read more, the screen changed. A football match replaced it.
His father grinned.
"This year, my team's winning no matter what!"
But in that brief second—
Ren had seen him.
A man in his 30s.
Dark brown hair. A mole beneath his right eye.
Familiar. Too familiar.
"Rigge, turn that down!" came his mother's voice again.
"Emerald! Can I at least get a cup of tea?" his father muttered.
Ren chuckled at the usual morning chaos.
His father, Rigge, worked as a mechanical carpenter—one of thousands in Ariella's massive network of home-appliance factories. Honest, slightly short, soft mustache, and always wearing his old wristwatch, he was a quiet man with dependable hands.
His mother, Emerald, a former scholar in Agricultural Machinery, chose home over lab—raising sons with the same precision and care she once gave to equations. Her emerald-green eyes still glowed with quiet strength.
From the stairs, another voice joined the scene.
"Mom! I'm getting late. I'll skip breakfast!"
A boy taller than Ren dashed out, clad in a blue jacket bearing the Ariella Medical Institute emblem. His dyed yellow hair flared as he ran.
Ren frowned.
"Again...? Rude."
"Don't be angry," Emerald said. "Your brother's in a hurry."
Ren huffed.
"Then I'm eating his portion. Better than wasting it."
_____
The bus stop hummed with silence.
A sleek, levitating vehicle drifted into view. The doors slid open with a hiss.
"Welcome to Lev-Bus. Please scan your pass and board one at a time,"
As the AI announced.
Ren stepped in.
Inside, familiar voices buzzed. At the back sat Leon Avence—rich, loud, and too polished for his own good. With his yellow-blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes, he showed off his GT Band—its holographic display a shimmer of wealth.
"Check this out," Leon said. "Real-sense touch and gravity sim. Feels like the real thing!"
Jerry stared. "I wish I had that kind of money…"
Gold leaned forward. "I've been saving. Might grab it next week."
Ren took his usual window seat and stared out. Not because he liked the view. But because it meant he didn't have to talk.
As the Lev-Bus glided across town—smooth and soundless—his eyes drifted to a familiar scene.
An abandoned park.
Rusty swings that once help children to fly. Collapsed slides that once have untouch lines.
Faint echoes of laughter now buried in time.
"Everything's changed," he murmured.
The others talked of games. He thought of memories.
The AR Talks. The lost playgrounds. The drifting bonds.
_____
After just over 15 minutes...
"We have arrived at our destination: Ariella's Private Mechanical School."
The AI's voice chimed.
The school gates scanned each student with a faint glow.
Inside, the halls of Ariella's Private Mechanical School were sharp and sterile. Clean white walls lined with neon trails. Lockers with fingerprint unlocks. Desks that floated midair. Every surface embedded with responsive tech.
The uniform was sharp—deep red coats over white shirts, navy pants, and dark ties. Even the shoes had micro-sensors to reduce noise.
Classroom 1-H opened automatically as Ren approached.
Inside, the room buzzed with mid-air holograms of equations, rotating engines, and blueprint sketches.
Then the teacher walked in.
Mr. Marsh—tall, calm, strict. His white shirt and black tie always too clean.
"Good morning, students," he said, tapping his digital clipboard.
"We have two weeks until your career forms are finalized. Today, you will fill out your academy preference sheets."
He paused and raised a brow.
"But first… the pledge."
Everyone stood in near unison.
"In the name of the hero of the new world, the father of modern technology—we pledge ourselves to Rudd Velion..."
But Ren's voice was absent.
He stared out the window.
At the second sun.
That eerie, glowing blue.
He remembered it.
The sound it made.
The thing that came from it.
The way the sky turned black and blue.
The screams.
The loss.
Twelve years ago. A lifetime ago.
His fist clenched.
"Renaris Aurelith!"
He blinked, jolted by Mr. Marsh's voice.
"Y-Yes, sir," he replied quickly, sitting back down.
The class snickered softly. But Mr. Marsh said nothing.
Ren looked down at his blank sheet.
Future Path: ____
And for a moment… he had no idea what to write.
_____
Far beyond the noise of school and the hum of daily life…
A ruined building stood quietly. Its stone columns cracked, its walls scarred by time and silence.
It was once a library.
Now, it was just another forgotten shadow in the town's outskirts.
A door creaked open.
A figure entered, draped in black.
A cane made of redwood tapped softly against the floor.
In his other hand, a pocket watch ticked, slow and deliberate.
He stood in the center of the dust-covered floor, looking up.
Thousands of books. Untouched. Waiting.
The ticking of the watch stopped...
_____