GROUP 7: Eclipse Division: The Origin, page 15
Guess Kael forgot about their top student when mentioning that not getting too smart line.
Nyra Vale — The Queen of Darkness.
It must have been the Neurosonic Veil that hid her identity earlier.
Her steps don’t even make a sound — her own nanobot floor moves for her. Her dress is alive, millions of tiny nanobot spheres moving like metallic waves around her body, responding to her pulse. Her skin is ice-pale under the neon floodlights, her eyes blacker than the void, reflecting stars that aren’t even there.
Her hair — gods — her hair isn’t even hair. Each strand infused with ferrofluid filaments, tied back in a fusion-core bun that glows faintly at the center, like she’s literally wearing a reactor on her head.
She’s beauty weaponized.
And I’m about to get obliterated by it.
Kai’s voice echoes in my head: “Remember, play it cool, follow the plan, don’t die.”
Yeah. Great advice, buddy.
I’m about to wave when—
WHAM.
The world spins. My stomach flips.
Oh.
I’m upside down.
And flying.
At roughly 100 miles per hour.
Straight toward a wall made of the same nanobot steel from inside the Academy.
The crowd loses its mind — roaring, laughing, half in awe, half in pity.
I catch a glimpse of her: standing still, lazily holding up one hand, the other on her hip. Not even blinking.
A telekinetic goddess bored out of her mind.
Why is she so pretty? Why has gravity left my system? Why are the walls—oh great—the walls are avoiding me again.
The nanobots shift out of the way as if trying not to touch me. I promise I showered this morning. Whatever, Aetherbots.
BOOM.
I hit the ground hard enough to make my soul leave my body for a second.
Silence.
For a moment, the world thinks I’m finished. Even the cameras turn to her, following their queen.
Perfect.
Because in this shadow — no one’s looking.
And that’s my cue.
I slip my Ecliptite arm over my mouth. A small pill ejects from the yellow port.
Zephyra.
It hits my pharynx and dissolves like thunder.
The surge is instant — electric veins lighting up under my skin, a halo of static sparking down my arms. The energy tastes like lightning and ozone, burning and alive.
Every hair on my body stands. The ground trembles under my boots.
The crowd gasps as the air starts to shimmer.
I raise my arm.
The water particles in the wind obey.
I form a current beneath me, twisting it into a spiraling wave and thunder, riding it like a board made of living electricity.
“Try to manipulate this, Noctyra.”
The storm roars to life.
The crowd hears it from underneath.
I break through the Nanowalls with static and charge at Nyra.
Lightning spirals around me, slicing through her shadows as I launch forward — faster than thought, faster than fear — straight toward the Queen of “Darkness.”
This round?
It’s mine.
56. Queen of Darkness, Part II
JK.
She got me. Again.
As soon as I surfed that lightning wave like the badass I thought I was, she flicked her wrist—just once—and a convergence of nanobots from her dress detached like a swarm of metallic hornets.
They shot through me in an instant, slicing through my body like microscopic bullets. The wave vanished beneath me, lightning missing her by miles, and I crash face-first into the ground like a broken comet.
The crowd roared with laughter.
I groaned, staring up at the floating arena lights, wondering why I ever thought mixing lightning, water, and atomic power was a good idea.
Then I felt it — the Aetherborn blood pumping through my veins, healing the wounds almost instantly. My cells shimmered with faint white light, knitting themselves back together. I forced the blood to obey.
Come on body, is this all you’ve got?
I pushed myself up, sat criss-cross-applesauce, and started meditating right there in the middle of the arena.
The laughter got louder.
The announcer’s voice cracked over the speakers:
“Aaaand it looks like Akira’s decided to take a quick nap meditation session mid-fight, folks! Maybe he’s manifesting a new divinity—called ‘surrender!’”
The crowd howled.
Even Nyra smiled. She just stood there, arms crossed, tilting her head ever so slightly — amused.
Oh. My. Gods.
She’s smiling.
YOOOO LET’S GOOOOOO!!!
Okay okay okay, focus Akira, focus.
If there’s one thing my mother taught me about power, it’s 静寂 (Seijaku), or “tranquil silence.” Used in Zen to describe peace within turbulence — the calm center that remains even when the storm rages around you.
Perfect for now.
Who knew my mother’s childhood punishments for me when I had too much energy would come in handy at a time like this — a time where death may very well be knocking on my door.
I take inventory — mental diagnostics, Kai-style:
Blue — Aquyra. Water. Ice. Crystals. Calm.
Yellow — Zephyra. Air. Wind. Lightning. Propulsion.
White — Auralis. Atomic Power. Amplification. Molecular manipulation.
Wait—
Atomic power.
Molecular manipulation.
That’s it.
That’s how you beat an overpowered telekinetic.
I shoot my focus straight toward her hands — if she needs them to manipulate matter, that’s her anchor. I conjure a sudden burst of Zephyra energy, winds spiraling around her wrists with electricity pulsing like invisible cuffs.
She winces. Her fingers twitch — but nothing happens.
No backlash.
Success.
The crowd gasps as her telekinesis falters for a moment.
She sends her nanobots toward me again, but this time, I’m ready.
I focus on the atomic vibrations within the nanobots themselves — they hum at the same frequency as the miniature fusion reactor at the base of her head. I match that frequency, invert it, then expand their molecular bonds.
boom.
Tiny fireworks erupt midair, shimmering with silver dust. The crowd explodes in cheers.
I smirk. The nanobots stop coming.
I start walking toward her, every step radiating confidence.
She takes a small step back — the first hint of surprise I’ve seen from her.
“I think this is checkmate,” I mutter.
Then I stop walking.
Because I’m not walking anymore.
I’m hanging.
Midair.
Unable to move.
SOMEHOW—
SOMEHOW—
She managed to manipulate a single hair strand—one—so fine I couldn’t even see it, strong enough to lift me like a puppet, and another wrapping around my neck.
She smirks, her obsidian eyes glowing faintly violet.
“Forgot what it felt like to use this one.” She says softly. “What’d they say your name was again? Akuma?”
She leans in slightly, smiling just enough to make my heart explode.
“I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
I try to summon lightning—just a spark, anything—to burn through the strand.
Nothing.
Oh right.
This is my first time using three pills.
All in the same hour.
My soul gives up before my body does.
The world fades to white, my heartbeat echoing through the static.
The last thing I hear before everything goes black—
—is Nyra chuckling.
And honestly?
That made it all worth it.
56. The great freak-out.
I’m freaking out.
Aura’s freaking out.
I’m freaking out.
“IS HE ALIVE!??”
Aura barks twice — not reassuring.
The announcer’s voice booms overhead:
“Aaand that’s the end of Round Two, folks! Looks like our mysterious new contender has just been… politely annihilated by Chronos Academy’s very own Nyra Vale! Don’t go anywhere—he’s still got one last Entrance Exam and he may still be breathing!”
Some of the audience sighs, boos and leaves. Others more intrigued.
I grab Aura by the harness. “Oh no oh no oh no, I made a monster and now the monster’s dead!”
Aura growls and bites at my pant leg again, dragging me down until now I’m the sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the grass.
“Okay okay okay…” I breathe. “It’s fine. It’s all gonna be okay. He’s survived worse. He’s survived me.”
Aura lets out a tiny “boof,” curling up in my lap.
I pat her head. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s probably fine. Probably.”
The holo-screen above flickers back to the arena—
And I see Akira.
Lying motionless.
Nyra standing over him.
Her hand glowing faintly with void energy.
What is she doing? Isn’t the fight over?
“Oh gods…” I whisper. “He’s flirting with death again.”
57. The Man Who Became a Star.
I wake up staring at the sky.
A whoosh hums behind my head.
I look back — nothing.
Could’ve sworn Nyra was above me a few seconds ago—hand above me harnessing dark energy. But I could have been dreaming. Something about me feels… lighter now, but I can’t put a finger on it.
I look back at the sky.
Well—at least I think it’s the sky. It’s glowing too white, too sterile. The air smells like disinfectant and ozone.
Then the ringing fades, and I realize I’m not outside.
I’m on an EMT spreader, floating down one of Chronos Academy’s medical corridors. The lights glide past above me in perfect rhythm, like the heartbeat of the machine carrying me.
I try to move my fingers. They twitch. My whole body feels like it’s been struck by a thunderstorm, frozen solid, then reheated in a microwave.
Guess that’s what happens when you throw three divinities and Aetherblood into a human body.
Even the Aetherborn blood inside me hums like static, trying to keep the current flowing. Every nerve screams—but I’m alive.
Barely.
“I’m… still here,” I whisper.
The med drone scanning me blips, almost sassily, as if to say, “For now.”
Then Cassian walks up beside me, hands behind his back, calm as ever. His glasses glint under the white light.
“Oh good,” he says, voice echoing in my head again. “You’re awake.”
“Y-yeah,” I croak. “Barely.”
He checks his wrist console, expression flat as stone. “You’re up again in five.”
I blink.
“…five?”
He doesn’t look up.
“Five.”
“Five!???”
He finally glances at me like I’m the idiot. “Five minutes. You’re an Aetherborn, that’s all you need.”
Right.
Most Aetherborn heal completely after five minutes.
I’m not most Aetherborn.
The Aetherborn blood is just keeping me alive — a borrowed miracle with an expiration date.
Before I can argue, the stadium lights dim again. I hear the crowd’s energy surging through the walls.
And then — the announcer’s voice, amplified across the city:
“AAAND FOR OUR FINAL ROUND OF TODAY’S ENTRANCE EXAMS—WE HAVE… wait—who? What? I’ve never heard of this student in my life… are you sure he goes here? He’s stronger than Nyra? Are you serious right now???”
The audience starts murmuring. Confused. Excited.
“Okay, okay—OUR NEXT HERO FOR THE ENTRANCE BATTLE… ARKEEEEEENNNNNNN VAAAAAALLEEEEEEK!!!!!”
The cheers don’t sound like cheers anymore. They sound like shock.
I sit up instantly—my head pounding.
No. That’s impossible.
Arken Valek.
That name’s not supposed to exist anymore.
The Radiant. The man who became a star.
The one who burned so bright it killed him—and entire armies.
He was the reason they banned awakening experiments after age 24. The man who proved that too much Divinity in a mortal body tears reality apart.
And yet…
I look out past the curtain into the stadium.
It’s him.
Standing there in the middle of the arena, calm, composed — ageless.
Same white hair. Same sun-forged armor pulsing with gold veins of light.
He’s… glowing.
No—he is light.
Every step he takes hums like a star breathing. The entire stadium dims just to make room for him.
“How…” I whisper. “How is he alive?”
Cassian doesn’t answer.
He just looks out at the arena, then back at me. There’s something in his eyes — respect, maybe fear.
“Time’s up,” he says. “Get out there.”
He turns and walks away.
I glance down at my right arm — the black pills.
The Ecliptite metal hums, rippling faintly with the same frequency I heard in the Halo Below. The sound of the Strays. The echo of the void.
“What did you put in this thing, Kai…” I mutter under my breath.
I grip the compartment port — a pill clicks out, black energy spiraling through its core like a captured eclipse.
I hold it in my palm, feeling the weight of what’s next.
And then, with the stadium lights flaring white and the crowd chanting a name that should have died a century ago—
I walk out.
58. The Radiant and the Void
This time… hit different.
I don’t know why. Maybe it was the silence before it started, the hum in the air, the way my heart synced with the sound of thunder overhead. Or maybe—
—it was the crowd.
They were cheering for me.
For me.
Not for the academy, not for a Sector, not for some elite prodigy they’d worshipped since birth. For a random guy who crawled his way out of a hospital bed and threw himself back into hell.
And for the first time, I got it.
That’s all of us, isn’t it?
Every person out there—kids, students, adults, even parents clutching their children—just waiting.
Waiting for a sign.
Waiting for hope.
Waiting for someone to show them that maybe, just maybe, they can fight too.
That’s all being a hero really is.
Not perfection. Not power.
Just fuel.
Fuel for someone else’s fire.
I smiled, breathing in the electricity of the moment. “Alright then,” I whispered. “Let me burn bright enough for all of you.”
And then it hit me.
Oh crap.
My parents are watching this.
My sister is watching this.
They literally think I’m on vacation in Thailand eating mangoes right now—or at least they did.
“Ohhhh shiiiiiiit,” I mutter under my breath.
I glance at one of the hovering broadcast drones. It zooms in. I grin and wave.
“Hi Mom! :D”
The crowd erupts.
Guess I’m grounded for life.
No pressure though. Now I really can’t lose.
The announcer’s voice crackles overhead:
“FINAL ROUND COMMENCING IN—3… 2… 1…”
THUNDER.
Arken Valek is gone.
Then he’s there.
A streak of gold and white slams into me before I even register it. He moves like light that decided to take human form. His punch stops a centimeter from my jaw—enough to make the air shatter around us.
He mouths a single word.
“Sorry.”
And for a heartbeat, I see it.
The fear in his eyes.
The regret.
The sorrow.
Like he’s being forced to do this.
Like something—or someone—is pulling the strings.
He lunges again. Fists glowing, wings flickering like dying suns.
I weave through his attacks easily at first, the rhythm of my training with the Strays kicking in. They’d been unpredictable, feral, instinct-driven. This was the same.
I sidestep. Dodge. Duck. Counter.
Every hit feels like dancing with a nuke that’s pretending to be a man.
The Aetherblood still pumping through me sharpens my senses, lets me see the afterimages of his movements before they happen.
But then—
His expression twists.
“This won’t cut it,” he mutters, over and over. “They’ll get to me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”
His voice breaks.
His divinity bursts.
He stops midair, trembling, and then explodes in white.
The blast sends me flying—my body ragdolling through the air until I crash into the bleachers, shattering them like glass.
The crowd goes silent for a moment.
Then erupts into chaos.
“GET BACK IN THERE!”
“COME ON, NEW GUY!”
“DON’T DIE YET!”
Hands grab me—students, fans? Strangers—and throw me back toward the arena like a sacrifice to the gods.
I land on my feet. Barely. My bones ache. The ground hums like it’s about to split open.
Then I see him.
Arken floats above the field now, Radiant beyond reason.
Three halos spin above his head, orbiting like miniature suns. Four enormous, white-glowing wings unfurl from his back, cutting through the storm.
Every atom of his body is light.
Every breath he takes vibrates with divine frequency.
And for the first time, I understand why they called him the man who became a star.
I’ve read about this moment.
The transformation that annihilated an entire army.
The one that ended the old wars.
