"Even in the silence of a broken world, the spark of life will find a way to burn."
300 YEARS AFTER THE COSMIC RUPTURE
The neon lights of Neo-Tokara flickered like dying stars.
Down in the Rust District, where sunlight was a rumor and the air reeked of metal and ozone, a boy crouched beneath a half-collapsed billboard.
His name was Jiro Tensai, though few cared enough to remember it.
He couldn't have been more than fifteen — lean, sharp-boned, with skin pale from years under artificial light. His black hair was cut unevenly, one side longer than the other, and a faint scar crossed the bridge of his nose. His eyes were the strangest thing about him — grey with faint blue veins running through the iris, like lightning frozen in glass.
He wore a patched grey jacket too large for his frame, its sleeves covered in solder burns and oil stains. A thin cord wrapped around his wrist, holding a small metal data-core that blinked faintly — a valuable scavenger's prize.
He worked in silence — eyes reflecting the dull glow of a cracked terminal as his fingers danced across exposed circuitry.
A faint click. The terminal hummed weakly to life, projecting fragmented blue codes into the air.
"Two minutes," Jiro muttered. "That's all I need."
Around him, the city groaned — pipes rattling, drones whining overhead, and the distant rumble of the upper levels where the privileged lived above the clouds. Down here, every breath carried rust.
A shadow passed behind him.
Jiro didn't turn. "If you're here for the parts, you're late," he said flatly.
The man laughed — a coarse sound, followed by the metallic slide of a blade.
"You're too smart for your own good, kid. Hand over the core and maybe I'll let you keep your fingers."
Jiro sighed. He pressed one last key. The terminal flashed — a pulse of blue light erupted, blinding the man momentarily.
By the time his vision cleared, Jiro was gone. Only the sound of metal boots echoing through the dripping tunnels remained.
He emerged from a maintenance hatch, clutching the glowing data-core to his chest. His face was calm, almost emotionless, but his heartbeat pounded in rhythm with the flickering blue light.
"That makes three this week," he whispered. "If I can sell this one, I can afford another month of water rations."
He looked up.
Far above, through the smog, a strange crack shimmered across the night sky — like lightning frozen in place. It pulsed faintly, a wound in the heavens.
No one knew what it was. No one cared anymore.
But Jiro did.
Every time he saw it, something deep inside him stirred — a faint warmth beneath his skin, like fire trying to escape.
He touched his chest.
"…Blue again," he murmured, watching as faint blue lines glowed under his veins before fading.
He didn't know it yet, but that light was the start of everything — the first whisper of Essentia awakening in a world long after its gods had fallen.
And in the underbelly of Neo-Tokara, a new ghost had just opened his eyes.
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