Chapter 3: First Awakening

In the vast expanse of Solaris III, in a place called the Yáng Niú village, stood an ancient, withered tree—its roots twisted, blackened roots burrowed deep into the earth.

The origins of this tree in Yáng Niú Village were unknown; it simply had always existed. The locals held it in high esteem despite its barren state. For them, it was not just a tree but a relic, an echo of times long past.

Centuries passed, civilizations rose and fell, but the village and the tree endured. Even during the Lament, with no Sentinel guarding the land, Yáng Niú remained unscathed, protected by the grace of the Fractidus, who happened to be coincidentally present.

Later, as the Fractidus explored the land, they learned of the tree but dismissed the village's reverence for it as mere superstition.

Driven by curiosity, the Fractidus commanded the Court of Savantae, the era's top scholars, to investigate the tree. For months, they sought divine or magical explanations for its presence.

Yet, they found nothing noteworthy. Dissatisfied and driven by arrogance, they resolved to cut down the tree and delve into its roots. But...

Disaster struck the moment they acted. The Court of Savantae was mysteriously reduced to ruins, shocking the Fractidus. Some saw it as the tree's revenge; others as a freak accident. Yet, the villagers remained certain: the tree had delivered judgment. But now...

As the winds howled and twisted the branches of the sacred tree, its story neared its end. Under its gnarled limbs stood Grandma Tang, her face etched with grief and secrets. She recalled a haunting day sixteen years past when the Lord Overseer had arrived.

Lord Overseer had come with disdain, sword gleaming as he struck at the tree, challenging its timeless force. But—*Crack*—his blade shattered with a sharp crack, and—*Crackle*—lightning struck him, leaving a jagged burn on his hand—a mark of his arrogance.

That day, Lord Overseer retreated, humiliated, but not before noticing a woman with a child afar, in his vision, the boy's face appeared safeguarded by the shadow of the tree.

That night, the Overseer met with the village leaders in secret, ordering, "The child with navy hair and pale yellow eyes… maybe if we try to do something to him, the tree might react. Ensure his death."

From that moment on, the village elders plotted in silence. Over time and again, they conspired to kill the boy, yet every attempt failed. 

As six years passed, the Overseer's story became a distant echo, lost in rumours. Not long after his return to the faction, news came that he had died suddenly—some attributed it to his burn, others to a possible curse from the tree.

As the news of his death spread across the world like wildfire, a faceless messenger from the capital delivered his final will to Yáng Niú: "Kill that boy."

The parchment was brief and indifferent, announcing the Lord Overseer's death and final will, with news of the appointment of his successor. There was no ceremony, no mourning—he vanished like a shadow retreating from the light.

The villagers murmured in hushed tones, some relieved, others apprehensive about the new Overseer. But Grandma Tang knew the Overseer's death was no coincidence. She remembered the lightning strike, the unhealed burn on his hand—the tree's wrath had likely claimed him.

Following the final orders of the Fractidus' last sire, the village elders persisted in their attempts to kill the boy, yet they all ultimately failed for more than a decade. Each time, he seemed protected by an unknown force.

Then one fateful day, the boy, now a sixteen-year-old shepherd, returned with a faint wound. Grandma Tang, sharp despite her age, asked, "How did you get injured?"

"Just above the stream, grazing Xiao Niú; one of his sheep; English name: little wool" he replied with a smile. "It's nothing, just a scrape."

But Grandma Tang knew this was the answer they were looking for, "To be injured, he must wander beyond the tree's protection."

Days passed, and the boy healed quickly, as always. But today, as he went to tend his flock, Grandma Tang called upon the Exiles, hoping to end the child's life once and for all. She wished for their success, yet guilt was eating away at her.

Now, facing the ancient tree, she felt a storm brewing, stretching beyond their village. The end seemed near—not just for the tree, but for the boy, herself, and perhaps the village.

"Hmmm, I wonder how big of a storm is brewing..." Grandma Tang muttered, watching the ominous black clouds above. The sky darkened into an abyss, and whispers rode the winds. Her gaze shifted to the stream descending from the hills, narrowing as she spotted a faint reddish crimson hue trailing in the water.

A soft sigh escaped her. 'The boy is dead,' she thought, feeling the weight of inevitability.

"BAAHHHHHH!"

But before her thoughts could deepen, a sudden chorus of chiming bells filled the air. The sheep, agitated, rushed into the village, their frantic cries and chiming of bells sending a shiver through her.

Grandma Tang scanned the flock, searching for him—the boy—but, as she had anticipated; he was not there. 'He's truly gone,' she acknowledged, ready to leave the area.

Then, something caught her eye—a small bud sprouting at the tree's base.

"A bud?" Her voice was barely a whisper, disbelief threading through her words. In this barren soil where nothing had ever grown, it seemed impossible. Yet there it was.

And as she looked closer, she saw more—one bud after another. The first raindrops began to fall, soft at first, but as they touched the earth, more buds bloomed, their petals unfurling in quiet defiance of nature.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the air. "Blood! Blood!" someone cried in horror.

Grandma Tang's heart raced as she turned toward the commotion. A villager stood frozen, staring in terror at the stream. Her eyes followed his, and she saw it—a thick flow of crimson, not that resembled water, but blood, pouring down the stream, staining the waters around the land she stood on.

Panic surged in her heart. Without hesitation, Grandma Tang activated her forte, a long-unused power she had as a resonator. In an instant, she leapt from the ground to the edge of the village that connected with the tree.

As she left, a loud crack echoed from the withered tree. Its ancient bark, gnarled from centuries of existence, now split with a deep, unnatural fissure.

Landing, she turned in disbelief. The tree had fractured from within. "A Tacet Mark..." she whispered, barely audible over the rising storm. The mark, however, glowing and pulsing, wasn't the usual pale yellow. Instead, a haunting blend of grey, black, and white swirled together, radiating an eerie calm.

The tree, though long withered and dry, now seemed unsettlingly alive. The fissure widened, cracks splintering across its surface like it was tearing itself apart from within. Yet, despite the violent strain, it did not collapse—it stood firm, groaning under the weight of the force breaking it.

Grandma Tang turned her gaze uphill, toward the source of the stream. "What is happening there?" she whispered, a deep unease settling in her chest.

Upstream, on the blood-soaked riverbank, Kyorin's grip tightened, veins bulging as he clamped down on the Exile leader's forearm with unnatural strength. The leader's eyes widened in disbelief as his grip weakened.

'I can't leave him unscathed,' the leader thought, snarling. In a desperate move, he drove a brutal kick into Kyorin's solar plexus. The impact sent Kyorin staggering, blood spewing from his mouth as he gasped for breath, his muteness trapping his agony.

Dizzy and struggling, Kyorin wavered, but his defiant gaze remained fixed on the leader. His legs gave out, and he collapsed.

Sensing victory, the leader leapt into the air, preparing a devastating axe kick. But just as his foot descended, Kyorin's eyes snapped open. With a surge of energy, he rolled aside, dodging the attack by inches. The leader's foot crashed into the ground, but Kyorin had already retaliated.

A fierce, raw fistfight erupted. At first, they traded blows evenly, but then Kyorin's stance shifted. His punches became more precise, more powerful. Each strike landed harder than the last, forcing the leader back.

In moments, the tide had turned. Kyorin, once desperate, now fought with unstoppable strength, his fists raining down like a storm. The Exile leader, overwhelmed and struggling, was no longer in control. Kyorin was.

The Exile leader's body was thrashed around like a ragdoll, each strike from Kyorin more devastating than the last. Staggering, barely able to withstand the onslaught, the leader's eyes locked onto Kyorin's, widening in horror.

'His eyes... they've changed...' The leader's mind raced as he took in the sight of Kyorin's once pale yellow eyes, now marked with a sinister spiral pattern, resembling a lotus. An overwhelming sense of dread filled him.

'What is going on? Who is he? ' Panic seized the leader. Desperately, he threw a punch aimed at Kyorin's head, but the boy moved with unnatural precision, effortlessly deflecting the blow.

In the blink of an eye, Kyorin countered, driving his fist into the leader's chest with terrifying force.

The leader gasped, his eyes wide with shock as he felt the boy's fist punch through him, emerging from his back. Blood spewed from his mouth, and his once-powerful body crumbled under the weight of defeat.

Vision blurring, the leader managed to choke out his final words, "Who... are... you?"

The boy's lips moved silently: "Dan Kyorin," as he withdrew his fist from the Exile leader's chest, leaving behind a gaping wound that inexplicably evoked a sense of familiarity in Kyorin. He mused, 'Why does this wound look familiar? '{A/N: bc you died the same way before. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯}

The words, though soundless, echoed in the leader's fading mind. His eyes rolled back, his body collapsing into the gurgling stream, the water washing over him in a dark, blood-streaked current.

As Kyorin stood over the lifeless body of the Exile leader, a sudden, sharp pain shot through his mind. It was like a thousand needles piercing his consciousness, jolting him to his very core.

He gasped his vision blurring, his body teetering under the crushing weight of exhaustion and the shock of everything that had just transpired. His limbs gave way, and he felt himself collapsing, bracing for impact with the cold, unforgiving ground.

But instead of the hard earth—*thud*—his fall was broken by something soft.

Groggily, Kyorin opened his eyes and blinked through the pain. His body rested against a familiar form, one that brought a wave of unexpected warmth through his chilled, weary frame.

A sheep stood beside him, its soft, familiar presence unmistakable. His right eye, once swirling with the dark, foreboding lotus pattern, slowly returned to its natural pale yellow hue. His lips trembled as he mouthed a name in silent recognition, "Xiao Niú."

Xiao Niú, the sheep, gave a soft "Bah" as if acknowledging her name. She nudged her head under Kyorin's limp arm, showing surprising strength as she hoisted him onto her back.

Despite her small size, she carried him with determination, her hooves splashing through the muddied ground in a steady rhythm. 

Through the rain, Kyorin's half-closed eyes caught glimpses of the swirling sky above. Dark clouds churned, yet there was an odd calmness to them, more of an omen than a threat. His mind, too tired to grasp answers, drifted as Xiao Niú pressed forward toward the village.

The rhythmic gait of the sheep and the soft patter of rain against his skin lulled Kyorin into a trance. His pain and fear began to fade, replaced by a fleeting sense of peace. 

"ROAR!"

Suddenly, a thunderous roar echoed through the sky, shaking the earth as thick clouds blanketed the world. But this storm felt different—gentle, not menacing.

The rain that fell seemed to carry with it a profound emotion as if the earth itself was shedding tears of joy. Each droplet cleansed the land, bringing a quiet comfort, and the wind whispered with a sense of serenity.

Across the world, people paused, feeling the warmth of the rain on their skin. Mothers held their children closer, animals moved softly, and humanity lifted their heads to the sky. It was as if the universe itself had shifted, and in the calm of the storm, something unspoken had changed forever.

The Resonators found themselves instinctively looking upward, sensing a shift in the air. Yet, as their eyes searched the empty sky, unaware, their Tacet Marks began to pulse with an eerie, otherworldly light. In unison, a single thought echoed in their minds: "Something has changed."

In the world's shadowy corners, where darkness roiled, figures in red and white stood unmoving, their anticipation palpable. The sire's voice pierced the silence, grave and reverent: "The shackle to the second awakening has loosened. It seems something may have surfaced, or perhaps... resurfaced"

Far away, the Sentinels—guardians of the realms' balance—sensed a shift in the air. Scattered across distant lands, their shared thoughts echoed in unison: "Something pleasant is happening."

It wasn't a clear message, but a wave of reassurance, as though something long-awaited had begun. The shift was beyond their control, yet it felt oddly soothing.

But in the shadowy corners of the world, where the Threnodians dwelled—beings who revelled in chaos and lamented the lost powers of forgotten ages—the rain carried a different message.

For them, it brought a chill, a piercing unease. Though it fell softly, it carried a foreboding that disturbed their hearts. Unspoken thoughts rippled through their ranks: "Something unpleasant has awakened."

Among the Threnodians, Overthrax, the Threnodian of War, noticed this presence on islet that was closeHuangloong. With a deep, rumbling voice, it resolved, "This one shall see who this is thyself."

Rising from its slumber, Overthrax commanded a horde of TDs, its booming voice cutting through the stillness: "Go. Purge that place."

Under the shared sky, where rain fell with a mix of calm and foreboding, the world seemed suspended in a moment of tense anticipation. Two forces stirred beneath the storm—one marked by cautious hope, the other by rising dread.

The rain, more than mere weather, symbolized a profound shift in existence. As it persisted, Sentinels and Threnodians alike prepared for what was to come, aware that something greater than themselves had begun.

In the distant village of Yáng Niú, Xiao Niú, the loyal sheep, pressed on, racing through the rain with Kyorin on her back. Her small but resolute legs carried them toward the village, her wool soaked but her spirit unwavering. She was determined to bring Kyorin home.

However, Yáng Niú was not as they had left it.

Chaos reigned in the village. From the crimson-stained lake emerged twisted figures known as Tds, their aura thick with menace. Dark and otherworldly, these creatures brought devastation in their wake. Villagers screamed in terror, fleeing or standing frozen as their world was torn apart.

The TDs wreaked havoc with ruthless efficiency. Houses crumbled into debris, and the village's vibrant essence was replaced by the echoes of ruin. Blood mixed with the falling rain, turning the peaceful storm into a scene of utter destruction.

Amidst the carnage, the villagers fought desperately but were no match for the dark forces. Hope seemed to slip away with each passing moment as the TDs continued their merciless assault.

Yet, above the stream, Xiao Niú, carrying Kyorin, pressed forward, unaware of the devastation awaiting them. The storm's gentle rain fell on, indifferent to the horrors unfolding below.

At the heart of the village, where chaos reigned and destruction unfolded, the withered tree stood as a silent witness to the turmoil. Its gnarled branches and leafless limbs seemed to tremble with an unspoken tension, not from the storm above, but from the entity within it—a presence both ancient and formidable.

As the village around it burned and the cries of the villagers echoed, the entity within the tree stirred. 

'How long has it been? O Crimson Shepherd,' the entity mused, her thoughts swirling in the quiet vastness of her mind.

Her consciousness drifted back to the distant echo of her late master's words: "The truth doesn't seek validation, DEVA. The time will come. You and Sol III will both bear witness to that future and the story that will unfold."

As DEVA's consciousness stirred, her gaze swept across the blood-stained shores of the lake. The corpses of sheep lay in grotesque piles, casualties of the relentless TDs. Carnage and devastation sprawled in every direction, yet her disdain for the chaos around her was palpable.

A cry shattered the silence—a distant, desperate bleat.

"BAAHHH!"

A lone sheep charged toward the village, hooves drumming with frantic urgency. Her wail was filled with a foreboding sorrow as if it sensed the doom ahead. On her back lay a boy with flowing navy hair, motionless, seemingly unconscious—Kyorin.

DEVA's eyes narrowed in recognition. 'This child…'

*RUMBLE!—CRACKLE!*

Lightning ripped through the sky, striking the withered tree at the lake's centre and igniting it in flames. At that moment, the sheep, Xiao Niú, leapt desperately toward the islet. But the TDs were swift. In a cruel twist, a blade sliced horizontally through the air, cleaving the sheep in two.

Kyorin, however, was spared. His form was flung through the air, crashing hard against the burning tree. He lay motionless, seemingly lifeless, as the flames crackled and hissed around him.

DEVA's gaze was drawn to the fire's heart. A shadow emerged from the blaze, initially formless but soon revealing the unmistakable silhouette of her former master. Her heart tightened as she muttered, "Kurian"

As the shadow of her former master vanished, the TDs surged toward the islet in the lake's centre. Their mission: to eliminate the last remaining person in this forsaken place, as commanded by the Great Thernodian of War, Overthrax.

The boy lay by the burning tree, and from the flames, a scythe materialized—DEVA herself, ancient and radiant. She floated down, landing gently in Kyorin's outstretched hand.

The moment his fingers touched the blade, a surge of power coursed through him, igniting the Tacet Mark on his body as the inscription on the scythe glowed. Prompting him to jolt back from unconsciousness.

His eyes fluttered open, dazed, breath ragged. As he gazed at the weapon, his mouth formed a silent question: "Who are you? "

To be continued...