(Planet Forgrenn)

(Heliosynth solar system)

Amidst the rusting hulks and metallic skeletons of a forgotten era, sprawling across the disheveled landscape of Forgrenn's most infamous scrapyard, young Jyan fidgeted with impatience. His lean silhouette cast a rebellious shadow upon the corrugated ground as the dying crimson rays of the system's twin suns fought their descent beyond the horizon, setting the heavens ablaze.

Jyan, with eyes the color of red rubies, dark spiky pink hair in a black headband, gazed upon his interstellar motorcycle—a sleek chrome beast that hummed a chorus of silent promises, its antigravity thrusters emitting subtle cerulean pulses, eager for the void beyond the atmosphere. Yet, here on the gravelly outpost of adolescent dreams, the seventeen-year-old was anchored by the gruff tones of Old Garrick, whose voice cracked like the pollutants that smeared the orange sky above.

"Listen here, lad," Garrick barked, his aged face a complex topography of wrinkles and scars forged from a lifetime amidst the refuse of space. "There's more to riding these beasts than just throttling up and shooting for the stars. It's about respect—the cold grip of the void don't forgive no arrogance."

Jyan shifted his weight from one boot to the other, pretending to absorb the rivulets of wisdom pouring from the old man's parched lips. His mind, however, raced across nebulous tracks, yearning for the cascade of starlight against his face shield, not these pedantic lectures. Still, a chorus of prudent echoes simmered beneath his veneer of indifference—truths inscribed upon his spirit after countless laps around Forgrenn's jagged moonscape.

"The celestial codes ain't just fluff and protocol," Garrick continued, one calloused hand gracing the sleek frame of Jyan's machine as if skimming the edges of a cosmic scripture. "Each rule is a birthed from the blood of them that danced with recklessness and lost. Remember it."

Jyan nodded shallowly, his facade of ennui barely concealing the kernel of care sewn deep within him. The old timer's lessons were engraved in the marrow of his bones—a doctrine living in the silent thrum between mechanical heartbeats. Yet, the restless pulse of youth whispered siren calls, hastening his departure from Garrick's seasoned tutelage.

'Sooo so so boring.' Jyan thought to himself. 'When's the action gonna start?'

"And don't go treatin' spaceways like some riding trial, boy. Them pathways are serpents—capricious and twisted," Garrick's voice grew stern, exacting every enunciated word like a mantra cast to save Jyan from the cold embrace of oblivion. "You deviate a hair's breadth from your charted route, and the sector patrols will have you grounded before you can blink."

A breeze, heavy with the weight of distant sunsets, stirred the air, carrying with it the mechanical incense of oil and decay that perfumed the scrapyard—a perfume of calculated risks and bold trajectories. Jyan exhaled, a silent acknowledgment of Garrick's wisdom, his gaze locking onto the holographic gauges that projected from the bike's control column.

"Alrighttt alright, old man Garrick," Jyan conceded with an unearned confidence, vigorously tossing his tousled hair, "I hear ya. But this ain't my first orbit, you know. I'll stick to the codes. I'm the best, you know this."

Garrick eyed the lad, a half-smile cracking his weathered facade. "Just remember, boy, it's a thin veil 'tween the stars and the scars. Keep your wits sharper than your turns."

With a nod, a smirk, and a heart clandestinely heavy with gratitude, Jyan ignited the engine, its core awakening with a resonant purr that vibrated into his very soul. The old man stepped aside, shielding his eyes against the burgeoning gale as the motorcycle levitated, defying the graveyard of humanity's past.

Jyan grinned, "Thank you, old man Garrick. I'm truly inspired. I will definitely not be reckless."

With a devilish grin etched across his youthful face, Jyan twisted the throttle to its apex, engaging the overdrive function that made the antigravity turbines wail like banshees piercing the silence. The motorcycle bounded forward, an incandescent comet blindly loyal to the rebellious whims of its rider.

Garrick, stunned into action, threw his leg over his own tarnished and battle-scarred bike—a relic against the younger boy's marvel—but no less potent in the hands of the seasoned spacer. With a guttural roar, he chased after Jyan, his voice lost in the cacophony of engines and the rush of wind. "Slow down, you fool boy!" he bellowed, anger permeating his usually controlled demeanor, grappling with the fear clawing at his chest.

Jyan laughed, "Hell yeah! This is what I'm talking about.."

'The rush..the drive..everything!'

The chase thundered through the labyrinthine corridors of rusted space freighters and derelict cruisers that marked Forgrenn's infamous Bone Yard. Giant metallic carcasses, once proud vessels of the galactic lanes, now eternally moored amongst the detritus, bore silent witness to Jyan's brazen flight.

"Jyan! Pull back on the igniter pulse! Now!" Garrick's voice managed to break through the barrier of the boy's reckless abandon. The radios linking their helmets created an intimate bubble of calm amidst the storm.

But Jyan was far from yielding; he was savoring the adrenaline liquefying his veins, adhering to the lie as masterfully as he adhered to the saddle. "I—I can't figure it out, Garrick! It's not slowing!" The fib cascaded from his lips, as natural as navigating the high tide of cosmic waves back when he first learned to ride.

As they shredded through the planet's atmosphere, the sights and smells of Forgrenn intensified around them. The evening sky, a canvas of violet and dusky blues, stretched endlessly above, adorned with the twinkling of early stars and the streaks of space cruisers etching their trajectories in the heavens. The air was a pungent cocktail—an amalgamation of smelted metals, ozone from the ion thrusters, and the sweet tang of Alten fruit carried from the nearby market districts by the evening breeze.

Neon signs blazed in a myriad of alien scripts, illuminating the downtown areas where the denizens of Forgrenn—cybernetic traders, weary miners, and droids of every configuration—converged in a symphony of life that throbbed to the beat of the galaxy. Hovering billboards flashed with the latest advertisements for laser splicing tools and the newest model of jump-drive engines promising to open the doors to farther, unexplored realms.

Through this chaos they raced, Jyan the harbinger of mayhem, eyes ablaze with the fierce joy of unfettered freedom, the cacophony of his ride melding with the urban orchestra. Garrick, beacon of the past, bore down upon the boy, his wisdom clothed in ire. "Level off, dammit! The retro-adjuster—it's right there!"

The metallic taste of fear finally tinged Jyan's palate for a split second. Not from Garrick's admonishments, nor from the imminent danger of his velocity, but from the thought of losing this ascent—the wild surge of speed, life in its purest form.

"WOOOHOO! Hell yeah!" Jyan exclaimed in excitement.

Forgrenn loomed around them, not just a backdrop, but a living entity. The steel skeletons of obsolete ships that shadowed the alleyways, the thrumming of commerce from the city's beating heart, the sporadic light flashes from automated security drones ensuring a semblance of order—all combined into a single mighty pulse.

Then, suddenly, a burst of intuitive clarity sliced through Jyan's pretense as he spied an especially tight passage ahead. Neatly winding down the bike's momentum with practiced ease, he feigned a hard-earned victory over the controls. "Got it! Got it, Garrick—I'm slowing down!" he announced brazenly, still drinking deeply from the chalice of his charade.

Behind him, Garrick's relief was swiftly usurped by skepticism. But Forgrenn's relentless embrace moved to curtain their escapade, swallowing the pair in the dense folds of its cosmic dance. Ahead, twilight's embrace muted the roar of engines, muting the chase to a sigh, an ephemeral whisper in the grand space opera that was Forgrenn.

Jyan's smirk of triumph lasted but a moment as the flashing of authoritative purple and gold lights splashed across the facades of metal and neon, casting a resplendent glow of impending retribution on his escapade. The sleek, unmistakable silhouette of a sector patrol interceptor cut his path, its sirens a discordant symphony to his adrenaline-fueled rush. And there, emblazoned on the interceptor's hull, was a symbol he had come to both revere and dread—the badge of the sector patrol.

"Ah shit." His heart sank, not into fear, but annoyance as the cockpit hissed open, revealing the figure who stood as a proverbial spanner in his escapades—none other than Yuna, his sister, draped in the crisp uniform of a sector patrol captain. Her stern gaze pierced through Jyan, the telepathic barbs of sibling chastisement already flying furiously. She had light pink straight hair, and dark blue eyes with freckles.

"Jyan," she started, "You know better than to break speed laws in a green zone."

With the impeccable timing of cosmic comedy, Garrick's bike came to a halt beside Jyan's, spitting exhaust like a disapproving elder waking from a nap. His glare melded with Yuna's as they stood sentinel over Jyan, both pairs of arms folded in synchronized reproach.

"But Yuna, I—"

"Save it, little brat," Yuna cut him off, tossing her helmet under her arm. "You're going to learn the value of safety regulations and respecting green zones."

"No no please no! Not this again."

She pointed to the nearby auto-scrub shop, bustling with vehicles of all shapes and sizes, from compact ground hoppers to voluminous cargo haulers, each leaving a trail of space road dust and cosmic grime.

"For the next hour," she declared with a judicial air, "you'll be washing every ship, bike, and floater that comes through 'Scrub & Shine'. No tech assistance. Hand wash only."

Jyan's jaw dropped. His hands, once gripping handlebars with youthful defiance, now dangled limp with disbelief. "An hour? Come on, this is absurd!" he protested, but the words rang hollow knowing the futility of resisting the united front of sector law and familial overwatch.

"Should have thought of that before lighting up the sky like a rogue comet," Garrick remarked with a gruff chuckle that said he was enjoying this more than he probably should.

Jyan huffed, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he grabbed a sponge and approached the first in line—a particularly portly shuttle that seemed to glisten with a thick layer of orbital debris. Garrick and Yuna took up residence on a pair of old crates, prime seats for the show. They exchanged a glance that carried a history of such incidents, a mirth barely contained as they settled in to supervise Jyan's penance.

Jyan thought, ''Yipee this is so fun. I need something to pull me away from here.'

With every slosh and swipe of filmy water against hulls, Jyan begrudgingly carried out his punishment. His features twisted in comedic consternation, a pout plastered across his face as soapy rivulets marred his clothes. Passersby couldn't help but snicker at the sight—Forgrenn's newest junior janitor scrubbing with fervor reserved for star-racers, not star-washers.

From his sudsy servitude, Jyan shot ocular daggers at his sister and Garrick, only to be met with the popping of a shared snack and stifled guffaws. Yuna, every bit the authoritative captain, nevertheless couldn't hide the glint of amusement in her eyes.

The hour trudged on, an endless parade of vehicles each seemingly dirtier than the last, while Jyan's grumbles became a comedic staple for all who frequented 'Scrub & Shine'. Bystanders began to time their visits, hoping to catch a glimpse of the spectacle—the speed demon tamed, sponging down vehicles in a futile war against the encroaching grime.

By the time the hour concluded, Jyan's rebellious sheen was replaced by a soapy slick, his defiance dampened by water and humility. Sponges down, he faced Yuna and Garrick, his preen deflated, but a reluctant smile played on his lips—an admission of the day's hilarity.

"Alright," Jyan conceded, wiping his brow, "maybe I have some scrubbing up to do...in more ways than one."

Garrick burst into a heartfelt, rumbling laugh, and even Yuna couldn't help joining in, her laughter a melodious counterpoint to the scrapyard rhythm around them. True to the rhythm of Forgrenn, discipline and family had woven a tale of speed, consequence, and the joy found within.

Two figures draped in the multi-pocketed overalls typical of the Forgrenn merchant class idled by a nearby stack of energy cells, casting sidelong glances at Jyan as he scrubbed diligently under the watchful eyes of his sister and Garrick. Each held a half-eaten skewer of sizzling Keelik meat, the spicy aroma mingling with the oil and steel scent that blanketed the thoroughfare.

"He's at it again, ain't he?" mused the first, a grizzled old-timer with a cybernetic eye that flickered with the same luster as the overhead neon. "That Jyan... always giving the sector patrol a run for their credits."

The second, younger with an intricate web of circuit tattoos crawling up his neck, nodded, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Gotta admit, though, it's good entertainment—better than the holodramas they're cookin' up lately. Last week, heard he outmaneuvered a whole squadron through the Asteroid Fields of Tarsis. Kid's got moves."

"The Fields of Tarsis, eh?" chuckled the elder, a glint of admiration breaking through his grizzled facade. "That's no easy feat. Pity his antics don't sit too well with the ordinances. Green zones are a no-fly buzzkill, but they keep the peace, keep this place from turning into a crashers' playground."

The young merchant sighed, wiping a hand across his brow which left a faint smear of engine grease. "True enough. Makes sense—they've been tightening the belt on speed laws ever since the Great Freight Smash where they were having crazy races in the middle of street last cycle, and all those people died. Plus, those new flux density regulations on the outskirt lanes are a beast to keep up with."

A momentary silence fell between them, punctuated only by the voices of the bustling market and the shrill cries of creatures in nearby stalls. The elder leaned in, his voice taking on the conspiratorial tone of one about to impart forbidden knowledge.

"You hear about the Neighbor's Nebula project they've been workin' on? They're takin' about knackling the nebula's cloud currents, using 'em for renewable energy sources."

"Yeah!" the younger agreed, his eyes lighting up with the fervor shared by countless Forgrenn citizens intrigued by cosmic engineering feats. "Bound to revolutionize the energy sectors here. They say just one good nebula storm can power the lower city sectors for a ten-cycle. Sustainable as you get, 'cept for the Torgin wind farms."

"Right, right, but if they pull it off, we might just see Jyan and the other young daredevils racin' through energy storms 'stead of our shipping lanes," the elder pointed out with a wink, entirely too pleased with the thought.

They watched on as Jyan feigned exasperation with elaborate gestures, eliciting laughter from some of the observers and shaking heads from others. Yet it was clear, the troublemaker had become an unofficial mascot of Forgrenn's chaotic charm.

"Kid's got spirit, no doubt. Just needs to learn how to channel it without runnin' afoul of the law," the young merchant added.

"Just might, if Yuna and Garrick keep him on this short leash," the elder said, as they both chuckled and shook their heads in unison.

The two merchants turned their attention back to their own wares and discussions, their conversation a testament to the intricacies of Forgrenn's society—a tapestry woven with the threads of regulations and the vibrancy of those who danced along its edges.

Yuna leaned back against the wash bay's aged durasteel wall, arms crossed as she watched her brother serve his humorous penance, her face a mix of sibling amusement and official sternness. Garrick, a hulking shadow beside her, sipped from a bulbous flask, his eyes never leaving Jyan, as if expecting him to bolt at any minute. The energy of the bustling Forgrenn market swirled around them, a cacophony of shouts, engine roars, and the perpetual hum of commerce and conversation.

"You know, I heard Kanaon's making his return today," Garrick mentioned casually, his voice low and tinged with respect.

Yuna's eyebrows rose ever so slightly—a motion imperceptible to most, but a look of genuine surprise to anyone who knew her well. "Kanaon? The Starblade himself?" She had heard the stories, as had every child growing up in the Heliosynth solar system. Legendary tales of adventure and heroism that bordered on myth.

Garrick nodded slowly, "Yeah, that's the scuttlebutt goin' around. They say he went out to do battle with a rogue constellation—some kind of sentient star cluster that was drifting towards Heliosynth, its gravitic pull wreaking havoc on the outer comets."

"Only rumors," Yuna replied. "But if they're true, that's not just any rogue constellation. That'd be the Prodigal Cluster. Stories say it appears every few eons, bringing with it a storm of celestial anomalies. No one's sure if it's a natural occurrence or something... more sentient."

Her tone carried a hint of the skepticism that came with her position, always grounding her thoughts in the reality that her duty mandated. Yet, there was a trace of awe; Kanaon, after all, was a hero of legend, his deeds the fabric of Heliosynth's cultural mythos. Yuna respected the power of such symbols.

Garrick chuckled softly, "Sentient or not, if Kanaon did indeed face it, it explains why even the space-faring folk have been cautious lately, sticking close to the trade routes lined with pulse-tethers and away from the unpredictable drifts."

"His ship, the Horizon Runner, hasn't seen Forgrenn's drydocks in cycles," Yuna mused, her thoughts adrift amidst memories of vivid holocards depicting Kanaon's sleek vessel as it danced through cosmic battlegrounds. "If he succeeds, it would stabilize the sector—no telling how many lives that could save."

Sighing, Garrick peered up at the sky, a few early stars poking through the twilight haze. "Wish we knew more. It's the unknown that breeds the most potent rumors. Some say Kanaon can surf solar waves, others that he's tamed black hole currents. Next, they'll claim he shot the moons of Macabria with a slingshot."

Yuna let out a rare, small laugh at Garrick's hyperbole. "It's those stories that give people hope, though. Heroes like Kanaon—whether their tales are tall or true—they inspire. They're the reason kids like Jyan race across the skies."

Garrick raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning upwards slightly. "Speaking of racing across skies, let's hope our little speed demon here channels some of that inspiration into remaining on the right side of the law."

Yuna looked back to Jyan, who was finally finishing up the last of the ship washes, her expression softening. "Well, if Kanaon can keep the Heliosynth safe from rogue constellations, surely Jyan can stick to racing in the designated zones-."

The moment Garrick's attention diverted to the mechanics adjusting a merchant's anti-grav sled, Jyan saw an opportunity. There was a blur of movement, then where Jyan once toiled, there was only the echo of motion, a trail of dampness leading away from the makeshift wash bay.

"What the—" Yuna's voice was incredulous as she spun around, her hand automatically reaching for the electro-tonfa secured at her belt. "Garrick, he's gone!"

Garrick spun on his heel, the flask slipping from his grasp and spilling its contents into the thirsty ground. "Blast it, not again! That kid's got legs like a Zentari sprinter!"

Their frustration was met by the roar of a speeding motorcycle, its engines screaming above the market din as it weaved with reckless abandon through the throngs of pedestrians and stalls.

"That's him!" a woman cried out, a hand outstretched towards the retreating figure on the bike, her other clutching the strap of a child beside her. "He took my bag!"

The sudden cry pierced the air like a flare. Without skipping a beat, Jyan was already in motion. His face lit up with a grin that was equal parts mischief and thrill. Finally, an exit from punishment that even Yuna had to appreciate.

The chase was on.

Forgrenn's cityscape became a blur as Jyan's speed defied belief. His legs pumped with the power of piston engines, pushing him forward with incredible speed—so swift that he was keeping pace with the low-flying cycle, their shadows cast as fleeting ghosts upon the iridescent roadways below.

The thief, realizing he was being pursued not by the usual sector patrol, but by a formidable sprinter, began firing over his shoulder. The sharp zing of charged projectiles sliced through the air as Jyan, driven by adrenaline, twisted and turned, dodging them with breath-taking agility. Each shot that missed him seemed to only spur him on faster, hungering for the capture.

The thief exclaimed, "Stop following me! It's annoying!"

Jyan replied, "I'M ANNOYING?! Are you crazy? You're the one stealing, that's annoying!"

"You don't even care!"

"Uhhh, of course I do!"

'I don't know if I care, I just found a good reason to get out of Yuna and Garrick's punishment!'

Stallholders and bystanders leapt aside, their goods and conversations tossed into disarray as Jyan bounded past, a militant devotee to velocity. The chase whipped through the Trader's Crescent, a sector adorned with the banners of a hundred worlds, its floor shimmering with the ads of a thousand products. Passersby expressed their shock in a babble of alien dialects, the chase becoming an anarchic symphony as the rhythmic thuds of Jyan's steps kept time.

"Stop right there!" a mechanized voice commanded from above, as sector patrol drones dipped from the upper reaches of the trade sector, their blue and red lights strobing a beat of urgency. But the motorcycle's engine answered back with a growl of defiance, throttling even harder.

Jyan felt the buzz of excitement. This was what he lived for—the chase, the risk, the speed. His eyes glinted, and with a surge of strength, he pushed himself harder. Forgrenn's architecture, a mishmash of neon-lit plasteel and organic constructs, streaked past in a fluorescent smudge.

Ahead, the thief weaved a path through the Bridge of Unity—a broad expanse where Forgrenn's sky lanes merged, a symbolism of the planet's many cultures. But there was no unity in pursuit. Jyan drew a deep breath and with a focus that made time slow, he pivoted sharply and launched himself forward with explosive force.

His fist clenched as his smile got wider, his punch meeting the ground, where Forgrenn's tough street composite met an unexpected adversary. The ground cratered, shards of synth-concrete bursting upwards, the shockwave radiating outwards in a circle of disruption.

The motorcycle's back wheel caught the edge of the upheaval, the sudden jolt causing the bike to buck. The thief, unprepared for such an elemental assault, was catapulted forward, flipping through the air as the bike crashed down in a cacophony of sparks and shattered components.

THOOM!

The thief, spitting dirt from his mouth and shaking off the stunning flip from the bike, stumbled to his feet. Adrenaline painted his fear into a corner of aggression. He drew back a wizened fist sheathed in a frayed glove—a leftover relic from a brawler's past.

Yuna and Garrick, now mere steps away, watched on with a semblance of exasperation and readiness. Jyan stood poised, an impish glint teasing the depths of his youthful eyes. He knew this dance too well—the thunderous heartbeat, the opponent's snarl, the electrified air whispering of impending impact.

The thief lunged, muscles tightened into a spring of desperation, his fist rocketing towards Jyan's face—a telegraphed but powerful strike meant to incapacitate. In an almost serene counter, Jyan side-stepped, the punch cutting through the air where his head had been moments before. The thief's momentum barreled forward, unguided and futile.

With the grace of a Forgrenn hawk and the precision of a master duelist, Jyan's body swiveled, his own fist pulled back then thrown forward. The connection was inevitable—a finely tuned symphony where every note of power was harnessed into that single, devastating punch.

His fist connected with an audible crack, with the crunch of air imploding on itself. The force was elemental, a hurricane contained in the span of knuckles.

Onlookers gasped, their eyes wide as the thief was catapulted like a meteor torn from orbit. He smashed through the first building, a rain of shattered glass and frag-rubble marking his incredulous passage. The second building's smart-fiber wall absorbed the impact and then recoiled, catapulting him further until he crashed into a refuse pile by the third structure—a hard but non-lethal landing in a shower of scrap and flimsy-plast.

"By the stellar rings," a nearby patroller whispered, his eyes fixed on the skyward flight of a man turned projectile.

Garrick simply shook his head, the beginnings of a rueful smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Like I always say, there's a storm in that kid's fists."

Yuna pinched the bridge of her nose, maintaining her composure whilst acknowledging the inevitability of the scene. "A storm that should come with a warning label," she muttered, though not without a touch of pride.

The bystanders, meanwhile, had erupted into fervent chatter, their previous shock evolving into excited recounts of what they had just witnessed. The sector patrols rapidly surrounded the scene, drones whizzing past to secure the perimeter and to assess the thief's condition, much to their bewilderment.

"Is he—Will he be okay?" one of the bystanders managed to ask, directing the question to a Whisper, the hovering med-drones that immediately went to work.

"His vitals are stable," the Whisper replied mechanizedly, as its sensor-limbs scanned over the prone thief. "Subdural mitigation fields were enacted. Suspect will be detained upon stabilizing."

Yuna nodded approval at the patroller's quick crisis management. "Good. Let Justice be served without malice."

'Jyan.'

Jyan, now walking back to them, wore a half-grin and outstretched hands as if to say, 'What else did you expect?' But his chest heaved with the weight of his deeds; it was one thing to possess power, another to control it.

"Jyan," Yuna began, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We need to talk about the right way to apply that... talent of yours. Mom and dad told you specifically not to use it to harm others."

"Huhh? He attacked me first! I can't defend myself? You would've curbstomped him."

"I know I would've. You should've left him to me, not even chasing after him, you're putting yourself in too much danger."

"Yuna, I'll be fine. I'm the best."

"You say that now, and what will happen if your-."

"Nooo. Won't happen."

"I promsied mom and dad that I would watch out for you, and uncle Garrick promised to make sure to also keep you in line. You keep getting into stuff with sector patrol everyday, I care about your well being."

"Tch."

"It's fun to you, to be in danger, to be in a rush of action, but there's a time to chill, okay?"

"Hmm.."

"Don't be like that, brat."

"..Mmm." Jyan silently mumbled.

Yuna grabbed his ear, "So do you wanna scrub more cars?"

"OW! OW! OW! Okay! Okay! Let go of my damn ear!"

Yuna let him go, crossing her arms.

Jyan looked away, saying, "Sorry."

"What was that?"

"I said SORRY."

"Yeah that's more like it."

Garrick rumbled in agreement. "Subtlety, kid. It's not just a word in the dictionary. It's something you might wanna practice."

Jyan exclaimed, "Stop ganging up on me!"