A name could carry power. A name could inspire respect.
But in the Varian household, Kael's name carried only disappointment.
"Another pointless day," he muttered under his breath, gripping the worn leather strap of the training sword slung over his shoulder. The evening sun cast long shadows across the stone paths of the Varian estate, painting everything in muted gold.
The training courtyard had emptied for the day, save for a few younger children practicing under the watchful eyes of their instructors. Their metallic limbs—some wielding blade-like fingers, others with enhanced joints—moved in seamless synchronization with their martial forms.
Kael looked down at his own hands. Ordinary. Human. Unchanged.
In a world where every child awakened a mechanized part of their body at the age of ten, Kael had nothing. Six years had passed, and he remained the same.
Inside the estate, Kael passed through the grand hall, where portraits of the Varian lineage adorned the walls. His father, once a renowned warrior, stood tall in the largest frame, his iron-plated arms folded across his chest, eyes filled with unwavering determination.
Kael's gaze shifted to the side. His uncle, Lord Rhylen, was there as well—the only other member of the family who had awakened. A legendary warrior. A man Kael could never hope to match.
He clenched his fists. He had tried—tried harder than anyone.
Endless training. Countless attempts to awaken something—anything.
But the world had already decided. He was destined to be nothing.
"Still no progress?"
Kael turned his head to see Joran, his cousin, lounging against a pillar, twirling a dagger between his fingers. His nails sharpened into thin, whip-like wires, one of the countless awakenings that had shaped the Varian family's reputation.
Kael didn't answer. He didn't have to. Joran already knew.
"You know, Kael," Joran continued, pushing off the pillar and walking toward him, "our family name used to mean something. Warriors, strategists, leaders—not disappointments."
Kael's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain silent.
"Maybe if you stopped trying so hard," Joran mused, "you'd accept reality."
With that, he walked past, leaving Kael alone in the hall.
The weight of expectations pressed down on him.
He had trained harder than anyone else. He had endured the stares, the whispered conversations behind his back. But effort meant nothing without power.
And he had none.
Late that night, Kael sat on the rooftop of the estate, staring up at the vast night sky. Beyond the stars, there were other worlds—other civilizations.
His uncle often spoke of them. Planets where humans had formed alliances, where warriors trained in ancient martial arts to shape their awakenings into unstoppable forces.
What if…
His thoughts drifted, lingering on the idea of leaving. He had no future here. But if he traveled, if he sought out something beyond this place—
His fingers tightened around the fabric of his sleeve.
No. He couldn't abandon his family's name. Not yet.
Not until he had proven himself.
Not until he had found his own path to power.
Far beyond the reaches of his world, an event was unfolding—one that would soon change Kael's fate forever.
A stolen artifact, containing energy never before seen.
A failed experiment, abandoned in the void of space.
A dying enemy, leaving behind a fragment of their power.
And somehow, someway, fate was guiding it straight toward him.
But Kael wouldn't know that yet.
For now, he was simply a boy, staring at the stars, desperate for a future he had no hope of reaching.
And that, perhaps, was what made his story truly begin.