Date: 2742-08-22
Time: 04:13 AM
Location: Backstreets of Kyoto, near the riverside district
The mud was still in Ren's shoes.
His clothes were half burned, his jacket smelled like ozone and anxiety, and there was dried blood on his sleeve that may or may not have been his. But somehow, Ren felt… good.
Not "spa weekend with free coffee" good. More like "I didn't die and I screamed while doing something awesome" good.
He was getting the hang of this. Kinda.
One core down. Seventeen possible universes left to not implode. Feeling proud?
Ren shrugged. "I didn't throw up this time. That's progress."
And yet you're still dressed like a raccoon who lost a fight with a microwave.
Ren flipped off his own reflection in a nearby window. "Bite me."
I'm literally part of your face. That's a you-problem.
He took the long way home. Night still blanketed the city. Streetlights flickered. Traffic was a whisper in the distance. All he wanted was a cold drink and an unconscious nap.
Then he saw her.
Lirael.
She was slipping through the alleys, cloak drawn over her frame. Hood up. Moving quickly. Like she didn't want to be seen.
Naturally, Ren followed her. Because he's never learned what "boundaries" means.
Are we stalking the hot elf lady now? Because this feels like the start of a bad anime.
"I just saved the world, shut up and let me be nosy."
That's not how trauma therapy works, but okay. Creepy goblin mode: engaged.
Location: Abandoned Warehouse – Kyoto Docklands
Lirael wasn't alone.
Inside the warehouse, lit by a single flickering industrial lamp, stood at least thirty beings. Some were cloaked. Others didn't bother. Ren crouched behind a stack of crates, jaw slightly open.
They weren't all elves.
Species scan initializing… Let's classify this crowd of disaster bois.
💫Multiversal Refugee Cluster (Provisional Labels)
1. High Elves (Thir Valean Bloodline): Tall, silver-eyed, arrogant bone structure. Look like they should charge you 500 credits to judge your haircut.
2. Thornkind: Plant-based humanoids. Skin like bark, eyes like sap crystals. Smell like fresh basil and passive aggression. Speak in riddles. Constantly offended.
3. Rookborn: Avian-humanoids. Feathers instead of hair. Wings where arms should be. Think space crows with big opinions. One was drinking Red Bull. Ren has questions.
4. Grizzlewrought: Short, stubby, vaguely furry. Like if a gnome and a raccoon had a child and raised it on diesel and sarcasm. One was vaping something that glowed.
5. Vixari Shards: No face. Just glowing runes where their mouth should be. Cloaks made of shadows. Speak directly into the soul. Probably shoplift.
"Holy shit," Ren whispered. "It's like someone leaked Lord of the Rings into Blade Runner."
This is an interdimensional refugee hub. Lirael's organizing them. You followed her because you thought she was mysterious, and she turned out to be a fucking union rep.
"I thought maybe she was buying black-market ice cream. I didn't expect a full-blown Alien AA meeting."
Then something happened.
Ren's chest tightened — a sudden, sharp ache that shot down his arm and into his ribs.
He stumbled. Grunted. His hand flew to his chest.
The Aetherium Core in his heart — the one Kael fused into him — pulsed like it was trying to warn him or explode. Or both.
Whoa. Whoa whoa. Core spike detected. Resonance level spiked by 28%. Also, your heart just did a tap-dance. You okay, buddy?
"WHY does it feel like a neutron star is headbutting my lungs?!"
You're near something. Another core. Possibly another piece.
"Another core?! How the fuck do I find it when all I can feel is stabbing chest pain and regret?!"
Easy. Ask nicely.
"…Seriously?"
No. Jesus, you're gullible. Let me scan, you sentient stress ball.
Ren groaned.
"Okay. Just tell me what's happening. Why now? What is this 'Core-hurts-when-near-Core' bullshit?!"
Long story short: the Core Kael implanted into your heart? It's not the whole thing. That was one piece.
Aetherium Cores aren't single objects. They're fragmented anchors spread across dimensions — and this one's pulling you like a compass with PTSD.
Whenever you get close to a new shard, it tries to resonate — connect. Sync like Voltron, but messier. And hornier.
The pain? That's the connection forming before your body's ready. It's like reverse Bluetooth. With migraines.
"So you're telling me I'm a walking Pokémon tracker… but for apocalyptic space stones?"
Yup. And you're about to catch another one.
"And what you mean by hornier here…"
uhh…
Suddenly, one of the Thornkind at the front of the crowd pulled something from their satchel — a shard of glowing material shaped like fractured crystal.
Ren's Core roared.
He gasped, fell to his knee.
Yep. That's it. You found it. Next piece.
"Great. So how do I… not explode?"
Approach slowly. Don't act like you're trying to steal it. Let it respond to you. Offer your energy, like you're… romancing it. Gently. Like you're flirting with a nuclear reactor.
"You're making this sound way more sexual than it needs to be."
You're the one sweating and panting like a Victorian bride.
Ren took a deep breath.
He stepped forward.
Every alien in the warehouse turned to look at him.
He froze.
Time to be charming. Or stupid. Or both. You're good at that.
"...Hi. I think your shiny death rock is trying to crawl into my chest cavity."