Long before the empire rose, before kingdoms carved their names into the land, the realm belonged only to the wind and sky—stars drifting above, and the men brave enough to chase them.

  Among those wanderers walked a man without a name, without a clan. He came from the western backlands, or so the stories claimed. Born on a night without a moon, beneath a sky scattered with stars, he arrived quietly—an unknown soul beneath the cosmos.

  They called him Zaydeno—“the one who speaks to the stars.” But no one remembers whether that was truly his name… or the title the stars gave him.

  Zaydeno was no king. Not then. Yet people followed him—not for land, nor coin, but for something older. Something deeper.

  They became known as the Starwalkers—those who followed wind and starlight across the unknown. Under his guidance, they crossed lands unmapped and unspoken, tracing the silent pull of constellations and the whispers of fate itself.

  There were days of hardship. Days when illness swept through their camps. When the cold bit and food ran thin. But they pressed forward. Step by step, they endured.

  And with every step, they grew stronger.

  It is said that on the edge of the world Zaydeno climbed the shattered spire of Vel-Rahm, a mountain said to touch the gods. There he burned his blood into the stone and carved a single oath.

  “Let those who bear my name walk with fate—not behind it. Let them see what others fear to see. Let them never kneel to false stars.”

  When he came down from the mountain he became blind, but he saw more than ever.

  He passed into legend that winter, some say he died, others say he became a star himself. His followers took his name as their own.

  Thus was born the Clan of Zaydeno—not of blood, but of oath.

  Generations had passed since the days of the first Starwalker, but the blood of Zaydeno had only grown stronger.

  Most descendants proved themselves through the Rite of Fate—a sacred trial marking those worthy of carrying the name and walking among the stars. In their culture, it was more than a rite of passage. It was adulthood.

  In the modern era, the Zaydeno clan was led by a man named Halsen, believed to be the direct blood descendant of the First—Zaydeno himself, five generations removed. Under his leadership, the clan had become more structured, more civilized—but no less restless. Their conflicts with rival clans had spread across the realm, yet they never stayed rooted in one place. Movement was in their blood. Destiny was not a destination.

  Halsen had five children.

  The eldest, Lew, age twenty-one, was a prodigy in warfare. A marked Starwalker by rite and reputation, he had earned command of his own warband by sixteen. That same year, he led a strike against the House of Ylvaran during a territorial dispute.

  The second-born, Serenya, now eighteen, embodied diplomacy. Poised, eloquent, and sharp beyond her years, she averted open war at fourteen by unearthing a bribery plot within an imperial envoy and blackmailing the instigator into silence.

  Then came Dren, the third sibling, fifteen and quiet by nature—an enigma even within his own family. Yet at eleven, he uncovered a traitor in their ranks by tracking subtle discrepancies in the clan’s supply routes.

  The second daughter of Halsen—Lyneya, age eleven—was once known for her gentle charm and disarming kindness. She smiled easily. Spoke softly. People believed she was destined for grace, not grit.

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  Then she vanished.

  She disappeared during the Star Trial, the Rite of Fate. All they found was her scarf—soaked in blood. Her body was never recovered.

  And the last of Halsen’s children?

  The youngest?

  You.

  Tagen.

  Named after your grandfather, as if legacy could be passed down like a title. Expectations were high. Another wild Zaydeno bloodline, they whispered. Another prodigy.

  But instead… you came frail.

  A body too delicate for illness. Too fragile to keep pace with a clan that never stayed still. A walking contradiction in a family forged from storms.

  People whispered. Not about your future—but your origin.

  And him?

  The boy beside you now?

  His name was Linto.

  And whether the world acknowledged it or not—he was your friend. Your only true one.

  PING!

  Memory Threads: Synced

  Cognitive Patterns: Stabilized

  Instincts: Reintegrated

  Identity: Dual-State Accepted

  Partial recall successful.

  Core memories restored. Emotional load adjusted.

  Further access locked until conditions are met.

  I had left my old world behind—after winning a championship, no less—without shedding a single tear or celebrating the victory. And yet now, in this fragile body, as the memories settled into place, all I could feel was the slow warmth of tears trailing down my cheeks.

  Not mine.

  This body’s.

  This child’s.

  And somehow… it still felt like they were mine.

  It was strange. A little embarrassing.

  But the memories mattered. They meant something. If this life was permanent—if this body was mine for good—then what I’d just remembered wasn’t a burden. It was a lesson. A tether.

  “Uh… are you… crying?” Linto’s voice broke the silence, soft and unsure.

  He hesitated, glancing down like he’d said something wrong.

  “Was… was it something I said? I—I didn’t think it was that bad.” He gave a nervous laugh, the kind you regret halfway through saying it.

  “I’m okay,” I sniffed, brushing my face with the back of my hand. “Why’re you hiding like that? You look ridiculous back there.”

  He blinked, then quietly stuffed the bomb-like thing back into his robe pocket.

  “Um… I saw you with the other boys earlier,” he murmured. “I thought maybe they… invited you to play. But then they came back without you, so I—uh—I kinda panicked. Thought maybe you got lost. Or worse.”

  He looked away, tugging at his sleeve. His posture curled in like he was trying to vanish into his own clothes.

  I looked at him—really looked at him.

  His voice trembled. His eyes looked glassy. The way he was fidgeting…

  Yeah. He’d been scared.

  He cared.

  And for someone like me—someone like Tagen—that meant more than I could say.

  “Did Father know about this?” I asked quietly.

  “Uh… your father’s still in that meeting with the seers,” Linto replied, eyes flicking off to the side. “And… I don’t think the boys would, um, tell anyone. About you. Being left out here, I mean.”

  He rubbed his arm again, shoulders tense. as if he was blaming himself for letting it happen at all.

  This kid…

  Tagen’s only friend. And the only one who came back for him.

  Eventually, we kept walking—slow pace, no real direction. I probably should’ve been thinking about whether another six-legged wolf was going to jump out and maul us… but I wasn’t.

  Instead, we talked.

  Which, for the record, was the first actual conversation I’d had with a kid since… well, since I’d been locked in my room for months grinding games and dodging real life. But Linto was easy to talk to. Nervous, yeah, but not in a bad way. I figured it was just his natural default setting—twitchy, hesitant, soft-spoken. Nothing worth pointing out. Last thing I wanted was to make him even more awkward than he already looked walking next to me.

  “How long were you hiding back there?” I asked, tilting my head. “You were just… standing like a statue.”

  He offered a crooked smile, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve.

  “I’m not really sure. I didn’t mean to hide or anything. I was gonna step out, but… when I saw that Azotyl, I… kinda froze.”

  So that was its name—Azotyl. The first creature I’d seen in this world. They say your first monster sticks with you. Guess mine had six legs and anger issues.

  “You had that look,” I said, nudging his arm. “Like you were two seconds from chucking that thing right at its face.”

  He blinked at me, confused. “What?”

  “The bomb. The weird metal orb thing. You were gonna throw it, weren’t you?” I grinned. “That’s kind of insane. But also… kinda brave.” I let out a small laugh.

  “I thought about it,” Linto said, rubbing at his temple. “But even if I did throw it, it probably wouldn’t have done much. It’s more for distraction than damage, really.”

  My curiosity spiked crazily. “Still… that bomb thing was pretty cool,” I muttered, leaning in slightly. “Can I see it again? Just for a second?”

  God, I was trying so hard to sound like a regular kid. Just a curious, innocent, totally-not-obsessed child. But honestly? I wasn’t faking it.

  I wanted to see that bomb thing again.

  There was something about it—about him—like he’d stepped out of a game. The kind of character that hucks explosives with a grin and an over-the-top laugh. What would you even call that class? Bomber? Trap rogue? Demolition baby?

  Yeah, okay, no. That one stays in the brain vault.

  I almost laughed at myself. Okay—not almost. I did. Quietly.

  “Sorry,” I said under my breath. “Forget that last part.”

  But before Linto could even reach for the bomb, something shifted behind us. I felt it. Not just heard it. The sound of footsteps that weren’t ours—but felt it in the air, in the pressure at my back.

  My first thought? Wolf. Again.

  But then—

  A hand.

  A sudden touch, light but undeniable, right between my shoulder blades.

  And just like that, my smile vanished. Wiped clean. Replaced by that cold, crawling fear that coils in your gut before your brain catches up.

  Who—?

  I didn’t know.

  Not yet.

  Not unless I forced my frozen body to turn and see.