——When Silence Speaks Louder Than Thunder
For the next few weeks, Shawn Carter's life seemed completely normal.
His Thunder Arcane Core remained silent, as if it had never awakened. The memories of battle —the clash of O.S.S and Origin Warden,CP-Hub Intervention—felt like a distant illusion.
But Shawn knew the truth.
It wasn't a dream.
He threw himself into his studies, determined to maintain his focus. The university entrance exams were approaching, and classmate students were locked in fierce competition.
Yet, no matter how intense the rivalry became, Shawn effortlessly remained at the top.
His name sat at Rank 1, week after week, as if fate itself had carved it in stone.
Two students, in particular, refused to accept this.
Dan and Jolie.
Dan had earned the All-Seeing Eye, a prestigious AGI-ST recognition for exceptional strategic thinking.
Jolie carried the Spectre Axe Mark, a medal reserved for those with extraordinary problem-solving skills.
They were among the brightest minds in the entire school.
Yet, despite their talent, despite their relentless effort, they couldn't surpass Shawn.
Dan had analyzed Shawn's test results, study habits, sleep schedule—everything.
One evening, as he stared at the latest ranking board, he muttered under his breath, "It doesn't make sense."
Jolie leaned closer. "I know. We barely see him study as much as we do."
Dan shook his head. "It's unnatural. Like… something else is helping him.Thunder Core? "
They weren't wrong.
Shawn could feel it too.
Since the Thunder Arcane Core had awakened, his mind had sharpened, his memory had expanded, and his ability to process information had accelerated.
But he had no answers.
***
At night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his thoughts always returned to one thing.
A paper slip his grandfather had given him when he was six.
It held a single phrase:
"Harmony exists in the rhythm of change, where all opposites find their place."
The same phrase that had appeared in Mr. Ranzi's lecture about Meta-I Ching.
Why had his grandfather given it to him?
The school day ended early due to the upcoming May 1st holiday.
With a rare free afternoon, Shawn went to the one place he always sought when looking for answers—
His grandfather's study.
The room was lined with books on philosophy, history, and metaphysics, most of them rare, some even handwritten manuscripts.
As he ran his fingers across the shelves, his eyes landed on a worn-out book:
Study on the Origin of I Ching.
His grandfather had read it countless times.
Shawn picked it up.
The old pages smelled of history and wisdom, but as he flipped through them—
Something slipped out.
A small, aged slip of paper.
Shawn froze.
It was almost identical to the one his grandfather had given him years ago.
Same texture. Same ancient feel.
But the words were different.
No picture.
A poem:
Through echoes lost, the thread remains, Across the void, beyond the names. Not bound by blood, nor time's decree, But kindred souls shall wake and see.
Tenfold the steps, tenfold the keys, Follow the current, heed the breeze. When shadow meets the silent flame, The door of M.O.S shall open—call my name.
— Lucy
Shawn's breath caught in his throat. His fingers tightened around the fragile slip of paper, as if afraid it would vanish like a dream.
Lucy.
The name meant nothing to him, yet it carried an unsettling weight.
As if he should know it.
As if it had been waiting for him.
The words stirred something deep inside—something unspoken, something lost.
"Not bound by blood, nor time's decree..."
What did it mean?
"A connection beyond family? Beyond time itself?"
His eyes traced the final lines.
"The door of M.O.S shall open—call my name."
M.O.S.
Meta Origin Sect.
It wasn't a coincidence.
It couldn't be.
A chill ran down his spine.
This wasn't just a forgotten scrap of poetry.
It was a message.
And it was meant for him.
***
The door creaked open.
Shawn snapped his head up.
His grandfather, Sandy Carter, stepped inside, carrying a cup of tea.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting long, golden beams across the wooden floor.
Dust motes drifted in the stillness, suspended in the quiet air like fragments of forgotten time.
He paused when he saw Shawn holding the paper.
The lines on his face deepened, and his steps faltered, as though some invisible force had tugged at his chest.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Shawn could hear his own heartbeat—loud, insistent.
The slip of paper in his hand trembled slightly, not from any breeze, but from the weight of a question he didn't yet understand.
Then, Shawn turned to him, urgency flashing in his eyes, his voice low but sharp. "Grandpa. Who is Lucy?"
Sandy Carter stared at the slip, the color draining subtly from his face.
His expression became unreadable—a mask formed not out of secrecy, but sorrow.
He walked to the side table, set the tea down with care, and stood there in silence. Then, with a breath that seemed to come from the depths of memory, he said:
"So it's finally time."
Shawn blinked.
The words chilled him, despite the warmth of the room. "What do you mean?"
His grandfather took the slip from his hand.
He didn't just look at it—he searched it, as though every letter might trigger a ghost. His eyes grew distant, clouded by the weight of a story untold.
"What must happen… will always happen," he murmured.
Shawn's grip tightened.
His throat felt dry, as if he'd spoken aloud a word that should've remained unspoken. "Grandpa, I don't understand! What is this? And why do I feel like… like all of this was planned before I was even born?"
Sandy looked at him then—not with surprise, but with a quiet kind of grief.
"Eighteen years," he said, almost reverently.
Shawn's breath caught. Eighteen years. His entire life.
His mind reeled.
Every memory, every coincidence suddenly seemed shadowed with deeper meaning. Like he'd been walking a path others had paved in secret.
Sandy's gaze softened as he looked down at the slip again. His voice dropped, filled with finality.
"She can finally rest in peace."
Shawn's heart lurched.
"She? Lucy?"
His grandfather's features turned solemn.
For a moment, the air between them thickened—almost electric with the pull of something ancient, unfinished.
Then he spoke the words that shattered the last of the silence:
"Let me tell you a story, Shawn. "
"The story of Lucy—the woman who sacrificed everything for belief."