Solaris III—a world of myriad mysteries and diverse beings. A realm whose core principle, reality, and element were derived from Resonance.
Though home to various cultures, traditions, and norms, the three major regions possess a multitude of turmoil, some evident, some not.
From the unceasing onslaught of Tacet Discord attacks in Huanglong, the masked face of righteousness hid the unrighteousness from public view in Rinascita.
Each region bore its burdens. Yet, the New Federation stood out with its rife with discrimination.
Once hailed as a beacon of progress and pioneers of the future, the New Federation, formerly known as the Federation, worshipped technology with near-religious fervor.
But that very fanaticism blinded them.
They saw technological advancement not as a means, but as an end.
The Federation rose from the ashes of failed governments. It promised unity through order.
But once the nobles took custody of Resonant inventions, they turned them into instruments of division, hoarding progress, and casting down the common folk.
That injustice sparked a revolution.
The old regime crumbled. A new one took its place, vowing change. Yet, despite its rebranding, the rot remained.
The region declared itself: The New Federation.
Its cities gleamed with Resonant tech. Towers pulsed with energy drawn from stabilized leylines. Citizens basked in the illusion of advancement.
But not everyone was welcome within those gleaming borders.
Those marked as Exiles—whether by ancestry, ideology, or the simple misfortune of being born on the wrong side of a line—were cast out.
Denied work, shelter, even identity, the Exiles gathered in the cracks of the Federation's map.
Over time, those cracks became scars.
And those scars became the Lawless Zone.
Outside, beneath dead streetlights and rusted sky-rails, law was a whisper, and survival meant picking a side.
The Exiles did what they had to.
They formed gangs—not out of greed, but out of need. Some called them survival crews. The rest, warbands.
Each carved out territory like a feudal lord over broken concrete. Some upheld a code, and the remaining ones thrived on chaos.
Yet despite their groupings, all answered to no one but themselves.
Though not inherently evil, the Exiles engaged in many illegal activities. One of the most heinous among them was trafficking.
And from this stainful business, even the nobles of the New Federation could claim innocence.
Many willingly partook in it, turning a blind eye as the Exiles collected promising children to sell as servants, tools, or worse.
Each group maintained its holding—a place dedicated to cells, where these children were thrown into the dark, left to await their fate like livestock in a forgotten dungeon.
"Stay put!"
The Exile forcefully shoved a small body into the chamber, making him tumble.
"Do not try to escape again." The Exile warned.
With a final, metallic groan, the rusted doors slammed shut behind the silver-haired boy, cutting off the last sliver of light.
The boy's light blue feral eyes flared like a beast inside the dark cell.
Despite being but a pup in size, the boy was a Wolf.
Feral. Proud. Defiant.
The silver-haired boy stared at the cell door with unblinking focus.
He didn't cry. He didn't beg.
He stared.
"I will escape," he growled through gritted teeth, rising to his feet.
A faint light filtering in from a small, barred window as he moved towards it. As his face emerged from the shadow, his features became clear—he looked to be around ten.
His silver hair had grown long, cascading past his shoulders. His pale skin was smeared with dirt, but his eyes burned with clarity and resolve.
Etched across his forehead was a horizontal Tacte Mark—a sign that he was a Resonator.
But there was something else.
Beneath the torn rags clinging to his frail frame, something gleamed—a golden star, glowing faintly at the center of his chest.
It pulsed a strange light.
Resonant, but... Not wholly human.
It shimmered with the unmistakable energy of a Tacet Core—the heart of a Tacet Discord. And it was embedded inside him.
A mutant human? Maybe.
Tap—tap.
"—!!?"
The silver-haired boy's eyes snapped toward the door. He sensed movement—a presence. Moments later, the door creaked open as a pair of Exiles stepped into view.
"Here. Your new cell partner," grunted the fat one, voice muffled behind his mask as he threw another boy into the cell.
The younger boy landed with a soft thud.
"Better not try to escape… Oh, wait." The fat Exile chuckled darkly, looking over the silver-haired boy with mocking eyes. "You probably won't. Especially with a roommate, huh? Hahaha!"
The door groaned shut once more. The bolts clicked. Darkness returned.
The silver-haired boy glared after them, jaw clenched. The memory of past betrayals flickered in his mind—so-called allies who turned on him for their self-interest.
"Tch."
He clicked his tongue, muttering under his breath. Then, narrowing his eyes, he turned to study the new arrival.
But—
No reaction.
A slight frown crossed his face as he stepped closer. The new boy looked younger—maybe six or seven.
He had a lean but healthy build, likely caught only recently, visibly evident beneath the tattered rags he wore.
Shoulder-length navy-blue hair framed his delicate features, though the right side of his face was marred by faint swelling and a deep purplish bruise creeping from beneath the eye—evidence of internal bleeding from a recent blow.
"Another commoner," the silver-haired boy muttered, dismissing him.
He crouched beside the boy and confirmed what he suspected: he wasn't dead—just asleep.
'Just a matter of time,' he thought. 'He'll wake up and start crying or screaming like the others.'
"Hmm." But the silver-haired boy still had some doubts despite his thoughts. Something about this boy's face… the way he slept… unsettled him.
Too still.
Too calm.
'Maybe he was drugged,' the silver-haired boy thought, before he too felt drowsy. 'I should get some sleep, too.'
With that, he too fell asleep.
***
It was midnight as darkness and faint moonlight seeped into the cell.
The silver-haired boy's eyes snapped open easily.
It was about time he got to work — try breaking the suppressing clamp around his neck.
"Heengh."
He pulled with all his might, but it did not budge.
"This one is more powerful than before," the boy remarked.
"Even as a level 45 Resonator, I cannot open it." The silver-haired boy sighed, his breath ragged as his chest heaved up and down.
"Quite impressive to have reached that level at your age," a voice said with faint clapping.
The silver-haired boy turned to see Kyorin, whose face carried a look of impressed admiration.
"You're awake?" the silver-haired boy said as the navy-haired boy nodded, letting out a yawn. "Haah, yeah, since it's midnight. I have to start thinking about escaping now."
"Heh," the silver-haired boy sneered. "Don't even think about it." He pointed at the Resonator suppressing collar. "As long as we're bound by these, escaping is impossible."
"Only a level 70 Resonator can escape from this," he said, pointing at his collar.
The navy-haired boy asked, "Well, can you undo my collar?"
"Huh?" the silver-haired boy huhed, letting out a soft sound of surprise.
Unperturbed by the bafflement on the other's face, the navy-haired boy pointed at his collar as he spoke. "According to the ones who tried to kidnap me, only a level 35+ Resonator can escape from this."
"And since you're a level 45, you can break these," the navy-haired boy said.
The silver-haired boy replied, "Did you get brain damage? Do you not see me in a collar too? I'm also heavily suppressed right now."
He grasped his collar and held it up for the navy-haired boy to see, clearly assuming the injury on the boy's face had rattled his mind.
But the navy-haired boy merely replied, "Didn't you say that only a level 70 Resonator can break your collars?" he asked.
"Well, yes," the silver-haired boy replied.
"Then that means even when suppressed, you can break collars meant for Resonators lower than level 70," the navy-haired boy said.
The silver-haired boy realized his slip but said, "I don't know what you are talking about." He looked at the navy-haired boy and spat: "Besides, I do not help strangers. I only help myself."
"My name is Kyorin," the navy-haired boy introduced himself.
The silver-haired boy snorted and said, "And what am I supposed to do knowing your name?" he asked.
Kyorin answered, "Nothing, but…"
"But what?" the silver-haired boy snorted.
Kyorin clutched his head, eyes shutting tight as his face twisted in pain. "Ugh… Do you have any ibuprofen? I have got a headache."
"No," the silver-haired boy replied flatly. Then, with mockery, he added, "Maybe if you go outside, you might find some."
"Good call," Kyorin said as he stood up.
"Huh?" the silver-haired boy let out, visibly confused.
Right in front of his eyes, Kyorin grabbed his collar—and the cell shook violently as massive streams of ambient Resonance surged around him, crashing into the suppressor.
With a sharp crack, it snapped in half.
Two thuds later, the collar's suppression was gone.
"How did you do that?" the silver-haired boy asked in surprise.
Kyorin answered, "Well, these suppressors seem to only suppress Resonance from inside, not outside." He paused, then added, "I simply used the Resonance from outside to destroy it."
"What? How did you do that? Shouldn't you purify resonance before using it?" the silver-haired boy asked.
Kyorin replied with a hint of confusion, "Why would an already pure natural Resonance need to be purified?"
"You know, like refine it to match your own," the silver-haired boy pointed out.
"Who refines Resonance? It simply degrades its natural quality," Kyorin said with a frown.
"Every Resonator does that," the silver-haired boy shouted in sheer disbelief. "Well, maybe except the Sentinels... and now you."
"Huh. Neat, I guess," Kyorin remarked before getting up, still clutching his head.
As Kyorin got up, the silver-haired boy just stared, then returned to trying to break free from his collar.
"You have two distinct Resonances. Use the unsuppressed one," Kyorin muttered as he inspected the prison cell door—one hand pressed to his head, the other feeling along the cold material of the door.
The silver-haired boy stopped tugging at his collar, glanced at the younger boy before him, and said, "Calcharo."
"What?" Kyorin asked, glancing back with one eye half-closed.
The silver-haired boy's lips curled into a grin. "The name of the one who will escape this cell for the third time."
As he said that, the Tacet Core on his body began to glow. Bioelectric energy surged through him, and the electromagnetic field around the cell started to ripple and distort.
Visible changes spread across Calcharo's body—parts of his flesh solidifying into a hard exoskeleton.
Wind began to howl like a wolf's cry, and beside him, a phantom appeared, wielding a sword that struck the collar.
With a loud crack, it shattered.
Kyorin's eyes gleamed with quiet admiration. 'To rival the power of a level 70 Resonator while still only level 45,' he thought, gauging the strength of this wolf-boy.
"Grr…"
"Hmm"
Yet something was off.
Calcharo let out a low growl—feral, inhuman. When he looked at Kyorin, the clarity in his eyes was gone. He was overclocking.
The phantom lunged at Kyorin, but he sidestepped the attack with ease. In doing so, however, his eyes caught the gleaming sword in the phantom's hand.
"Perfect," he muttered, and without hesitation, he seized the weapon the phantom had wielded.
"Time for those masked men to wake up," Kyorin said with a sneer as his own Forte began to rise. His hair grew slightly damp, strands clinging with moisture—he was overclocking now.
Mandate of Flow, Kyorin's Forte, shifted into its second phase. The ambient Resonance responded instantly, calming Calcharo's wild overclocking and restoring him to control.
Second phase: Arbiter of Energy, let its wielder express energy freely as long as their intent was clear. However, no changes will occur in their elemental energy.
The Resonance bent to Kyorin's will. He seized the electromagnetic disruption Calcharo had triggered, but the surge hit harder than expected.
His body spasmed, nerves flaring. The current was beyond what his body could handle.
"Kugh"
Gritting his foam-filled teeth, he adjusted, tuning his bioelectric signature, syncing with the field instead of resisting it.
The pain dulled, and control returned.
"Phew." Kyorin exhaled, wiping beads of sweat from his brow, ignoring the salty bitterness on his mouth.
He staggered slightly before admitting inwardly, 'Calcharo's raw power is truly formidable.'
'If he ever reaches Level 90…' He glanced at Calcharo, who seemed to have regained control, and added, '... In terms of raw power, he will become the "strongest" Resonator.'
However, Kyorin himself was no ordinary Resonator. Declared wisest by the Loong, and unmatched in his mastery over Resonance.
Resonance did not treat him as a mortal—it regarded him almost as a god.
Unlike Calcharo's raw force, Kyorin's strength lay in entropic control—the rate of his energy dissipation was negligible, every RE strand channeled with near-perfect efficiency.
Sensing something amiss, the phantom retreated from Kyorin, who was grinning like a madman. But he paid it no mind. Instead, he turned to face the cell door and shifted into a stance.
It was Changli's stance.
Kyorin's third eye opened slightly, mimicking her mind's eye, and he intoned: "Beckon the Hell's Flame."
Upon his incantation, the shrill cry of a Corrupt Phoenix fluted through the wind's melody.
Deep crimson feathers—like the color of blood—rose in a fury of Havoc flame around Kyorin.
They surged toward the door, and in an instant, it decayed—rusting, crumbling, and collapsing under the influence of entropy, as if centuries had passed in a heartbeat.
The feathers scattered beyond the cell before swirling back into the form of a singular phoenix, which let out one last piercing wail before vanishing into the air.
Kyorin calmly stepped toward the doorway, but didn't leave. Someone tapped his shoulder—Calcharo.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Biding my time," Kyorin replied.
Calcharo frowned. "Do you want to be kidnapped again?"
"Who said we're waiting to be kidnapped?" Kyorin said quietly, his eyes shifting as he sensed someone approaching.
Two Exiles came into view.
Calcharo cracked his knuckles, preparing to fight—but Kyorin raised a hand to stop him.
"Don't waste your energy," Kyorin said. Then, pointing at Calcharo's phantom, he added, "We can use that guy."
The phantom silently pointed at itself, as if to ask: Me?
"Yeah," Kyorin said, stepping out and leaving space for the phantom to move. He had only taken a few steps before he collapsed, but Calcharo caught him before he hit the ground.
"Get those rings they wear," Kyorin muttered, pointing toward the incoming Exiles.
Calcharo glanced back at the phantom, who wasted no time stripping the lives and the rings from the Exiles and bringing them over.
"What do we do with these?" Calcharo asked.
Kyorin simply answered, "Wear them."
"Huh?" Calcharo blinked, confused.
Kyorin smirked. "Instead of fighting hounds… why not become them?"
He looked straight at Calcharo as he took one of the rings and slipped it onto his finger.
"To survive here," he said, "to stop being treated like an item… we have to become either the seller or the buyer."
A pause, then Kyorin finished: "We have to become Exiles."
To be continued...