It started with silence.
Not the kind that comes after a battle — but the kind that feels like the world itself is holding its breath.
When the Aether pillar erupted over Sector Nine, Arcadia Base went into lockdown within seconds. Alarms screamed, lights flickered, comms channels filled with static and shouting. But through it all, the only thing I really noticed was that silence.
It was the same stillness that came before my first surge.
And I knew — whatever was out there, it wasn't natural.
---
The debrief was short, tense, and full of words that meant nothing.
> "Unidentified energy anomaly," Mira said.
"Non-Lunaris signature," Eira added.
"Potential manifestation event," Ryse concluded.
Translation: We have no idea what this thing is, but it's probably going to kill us.
I was ordered to lead a recon squad — because, of course, when a mysterious Aether source matching my signature appears, the logical move is to send me straight into it.
Celia volunteered immediately. So did the rest of the squad.
Ryse didn't even argue. He just gave us that look — the one that says you're all already dead, but at least die usefully.
---
We left Arcadia at dawn.
The desert stretched ahead, silent and pale under the fading stars. The closer we got to Sector Nine, the more the air changed — thin, static-charged, tasting faintly of metal and ozone.
By the time we reached the coordinates, the ground was cracked glass.
Aether crystallization — a sign that the energy density had gone past natural thresholds. Blue shards jutted from the sand like frozen lightning, humming softly as we passed.
And at the center of it all, there it was.
A crater, glowing faintly with white light.
The source.
---
"Anyone else getting déjà vu?" Rina muttered, scanning the area with her rifle. "Because I'm getting serious 'Haruto's about to explode again' vibes."
> "Not funny," Mira said.
> "Wasn't a joke."
> "Then stop talking."
Eira's scanner chirped, breaking the tension. "It's definitely the same resonance as Haruto's. But weaker. Distorted."
> "Like a copy?" I asked.
> "More like a reflection."
We approached the crater carefully. At first, it looked empty. Then I saw it — a shape, half-buried in the glowing dust.
Human.
I jumped down before anyone could stop me. The heat radiating off the light made my skin prickle, but I didn't care. I brushed the dust away, revealing an armored figure — same regulation combat suit as ours, though older, scorched by battle.
The visor was shattered. Beneath it…
My blood ran cold.
It was me.
Or something that looked like me.
---
> "Haruto!" Celia shouted from the rim. "Don't move!"
Too late.
The body's eyes snapped open — pure white, blinding. Energy surged from the crater, hurling me backward. I hit the sand hard, ears ringing.
Through the haze, I saw the other me stand. The light pouring from its body wasn't chaotic like mine — it was steady, rhythmic, almost calm.
> "Finally," it said. Its voice was my voice — only older. Heavier. "You took your time."
> "Who the hell are you?" I managed to say.
> "I am what remains. The one you were meant to become."
Celia and the others surrounded the crater, weapons raised.
> "Identify yourself!" she commanded.
The figure ignored her, eyes locked on me.
> "You shouldn't have woken the First Light," it said. "It remembers everything now. It remembers us."
> "Us?"
> "You. Me. The first vessel. The failed experiment."
I blinked, trying to process that. "You're saying you're… me? From when?"
> "From before you forgot."
And then it moved — faster than human, faster than Aether should allow. One blink, and it was in front of me. Our palms met in reflex — light against light.
The impact tore through the air, splitting the crater open with a shockwave that flattened the dunes.
---
For a moment, everything was light.
Then the world snapped back into focus — two of me locked in a standoff, hands burning with Aether. Sparks danced across the sand.
> "You can't stop it," the other me said. "The song's already begun."
> "What song?!"
> "The one that ends the sky."
He shoved me backward, sending me skidding through the sand. Celia opened fire — plasma bursts cutting through the haze — but the bullets froze midair, dissolved by the radiance.
> "Weapons useless!" Mira shouted.
> "Eira, disruptor field, now!"
Eira activated the device — a low-frequency pulse that distorted Aether patterns. The clone flickered, its form momentarily unstable.
> "That won't hold him!" she yelled.
> "It doesn't need to," I said. "Just keep him busy."
I lunged forward again, summoning what control I had over my resonance. The Aether surged, responding almost too eagerly. I felt the world blur — gravity bending around me as I struck.
Our fists met again — and this time, the light shattered outward like a bomb.
The horizon turned white.
---
When I woke, the crater was gone.
We were standing in a void — stars stretching infinitely in every direction. My team was gone. Only he remained.
> "This is what lies between," he said. "The space where the First Light sleeps."
> "You brought me here?"
> "No. You did. The moment our energies collided, the veil broke."
He turned, looking toward something in the distance — a pulsing brightness like a sun, but alive.
> "That's it," he whispered. "The source. The song itself."
> "If that's true, then what happens when it finishes singing?"
> "Everything ends. And begins again."
> "Not much of a choice, is it?"
He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw it — the exhaustion in his eyes. The loneliness.
> "There's always a choice," he said. "I made mine. I tried to cage the light inside flesh, to save it from decay. I failed. You're my second chance."
> "Then tell me how to stop it."
> "You can't stop a song. But you can change the lyrics."
Before I could ask what that meant, the void began to collapse.
He reached out, gripping my wrist. His touch was searing, but his voice softened.
> "Find her. Lunaris. She still remembers. Deep down, she knows how it ends."
> "Wait—"
> "And when you see her again… don't hate her."
The light consumed everything.
---
I gasped awake in the sand. The crater was gone, replaced by a scorched circle of fused glass. The others were around me — battered but alive.
> "You've got to stop doing this," Rina groaned, pulling herself up. "Seriously, you're like a magnet for existential crises."
> "Where's the clone?" I asked, ignoring her.
> "Gone," Mira said. "Vanished when the surge collapsed."
> "So, we're just gonna pretend we didn't fight a ghost version of you?" Eira muttered. "Because that's definitely not going to cause any trauma."
Celia crouched beside me. "You blacked out again. What happened?"
I hesitated, then said quietly, "I saw… him. Me. From before. He said the First Light's song has already begun."
> "And?"
> "And that Lunaris still remembers how it ends."
Celia frowned. "Then maybe she's not our enemy after all."
> "Or maybe she's the reason the song started in the first place."
The ground trembled suddenly — a low, distant rumble that rolled through the desert. We all turned toward the horizon.
A massive Aether storm was rising — dark clouds of energy spiraling into the sky, streaked with lightning that didn't obey physics.
At its center, I could see it — a colossal figure of light, half-formed, reaching upward like a god being reborn.
Eira's voice cracked over comms. "That's not Lunaris… that's something else."
Rina whispered, "Then what the hell is it?"
I knew.
Even before the words left my mouth, I knew.
> "The First Light."
The sky screamed — a soundless vibration that shook the ground beneath us. The Aether storm expanded outward, consuming the stars one by one.
The First Light was waking.
And this time, it wasn't singing a lullaby. It was singing a dirge.
---
We retreated toward Arcadia, but the desert itself was changing. The sand had turned glassy, fragments of crystallized Aether forming geometric shapes that pulsed faintly as we passed.
> "It's spreading," Mira said, watching her readings spike. "At this rate, it'll reach the base in two hours."
> "What about orbital support?" Celia asked.
> "Command says interference's too strong. We're on our own."
Figures.
As the base came into view, I looked back once more. The sky behind us was no longer blue — it was white, fractured, full of swirling symbols that felt alive.
I thought of what the other me said.
> You can't stop a song. But you can change the lyrics.
I didn't know what that meant yet. But I had two hours to figure it out before the world rewrote itself.
And for once, I didn't feel afraid.
Just… ready.
To be continued in Chapter 15: "The Last Song of the Sky (Part II)"