The black, dragon-like creature—an imposing blend of mechanical and biological elements—slammed hard against the cage wall with a metallic thud that resonated through the arena. Sparks scattered like fireflies, and the impact sent shockwaves through the crowd. Spectators flinched, some losing their balance and toppling onto the floor, only to scramble back up, their faces lit with wild excitement.
"This is it, folks!" boomed the announcer's voice, full of energy. "The championship match is in full swing here at the Mecha Battle Arena in the Expositor sector of Kion!"
The dragon, steered by its visibly tense owner, unleashed a roar that reverberated through the stadium. The sound, raw and feral, was followed by a surge of fire that erupted from its maw, a cascade of molten heat aimed straight at its opponent.
Across from it stood Arden Floral Thorn, the mechanical behemoth, a creature with the sturdy frame of a colossus. Flames licked its metallic skin, but it stood firm, its red eyes glinting, unwavering in its resolve.
"Look at that resilience!" the announcer shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the cheers. "Thorn's durable structure is absorbing those flames like they're nothing!"
Arden stood at the edge of the arena, arms crossed and gaze intent. He appeared calm, his expression a mask of cold focus, though his eyes tracked every move with hawk-like precision. The Thorn, as if sensing its master's silent command, quivered slightly before planting its massive limbs more firmly on the ground.
"Come on! Show us what you've got!" The announcer's voice rose with the excitement that charged the arena.
The Thorn responded, releasing a shockwave that rippled outward, extinguishing the dreads's flames mid-air and sending it staggering back. Gasps rose from the crowd as the tables turned.
Arden's eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of approval. The Dread, recovering from the shockwave, soared upwards with an effort, spewing fireballs in a flurry, each glowing ember a desperate strike. The Floral Thorn remained rooted, its body emitting a low hum as if bracing for what was to come.
The owner of the Black Dread, a wiry man with clenched fists and sweat dripping down his temples, gritted his teeth.
It was a match he hoped to win, but when he saw the thorns wires begin to dance, he feared the worst."Dodge it, Darius!" he yelled, his voice cracking with tension. The dragon responded and when it knew what was going on, it began weaving erratically, each movement strained.
But even though it seemed to have had no problem dodging as it gradually went on, it was unaware that Thorn was choreographing it to come dangerously close.
It was caught!!
The Floral Thorn tensed, a mechanical whirring coming from deep within its core. "Brace yourselves, people!" The announcer's tone was at a fever pitch. The thorn released a shockwave that crashed into the dragon like a giant invisible hand, sending it spiraling down to the arena floor. Dust and metal debris burst upwards in a cloud, momentarily obscuring the view.
The crowd erupted in cheers, and Arden stood unmoving, watching as the dust settled. The Dread lay motionless, battered and sparking, its black-scaled body slick with the sheen of hydraulic fluid.
"It's over!" the announcer shouted. "The Black Dread is down! What a performance by Arden and his indomitable Floral Thorn!"
The Black Dreads owner, shoulders slumped and face drawn in defeat, sighed heavily before stepping forward. His eyes held a mix of disappointment and reluctant respect as he handed over his creature's controls. Arden met his gaze for a moment, expression unreadable, then nodded as if acknowledging both the battle and the effort it took to get there.
"Looks like you put on quite the show," the announcer said, making his way toward Arden with a grin. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, catching the arena lights.
Arden's only response was a brief dip of his head, his face remaining calm, almost detached. Yet, when he glanced at his toad, a subtle spark of pride warmed his usually impassive eyes. The crowd continued to chant his name, the sound washing over him in waves.
---
Meanwhile, the roar of the crowd echoed from a device far removed from the arena—a cellular phone clutched in a gloved hand. The owner, perched on the wing of an airborne craft that was cigar-shaped and blue, it's wing was like a transparent oval ring to all angle of its midpoint. He
sat with his back against the cold feeling metal, the wind whipping around him. His eyes reflected the light of the phone as he watched the feed with quiet fascination.
His is a striking figure with medium-length dark brown hair styled in a carefree, messy fashion that adds to his rugged charm. His piercing grey eyes, framed by the tousled locks, exude a near-feral intensity, hinting at a wild spirit beneath his composed exterior. He boasts a well-groomed mustache and beard, rounded to perfection, which accentuates his strong jawline and adds an air of maturity to his comely visage. His brown skin radiates health and cleanliness, a testament to his vitality and lifestyle.
As he sits, he embodies a confident demeanor, relaxed yet self-assured, suggesting a man comfortable in his own skin. Around his neck hangs a rectangular necklace that emits a soft, mesmerizing wave of azure light, hinting at a deeper significance or power that he carries with him. This unique accessory complements his overall appearance, making him an intriguing presence, both inviting and slightly enigmatic.
This young man was known as Seval...
A slight smirk pulled at Seval's lips as he watched the crowd chant the champion's name. With a flick of his thumb, he closed the browser and locked the phone, slipping it back into his pocket. He looked up at the sky, thick with clouds that veiled the sunlight, casting a muted glow over everything. The clouds were dense, an almost tangible fabric above the vast blue expanse.
He exhaled, the sound mingled with the whistle of the wind, and leaned back with an easy confidence that defied the precariousness of his position. The structure beneath him held firm, as if even the forces of nature respected his presence. Ahead, bathed in the soft dance of sunlight, an island floated like an untouched gem in the sky. It shimmered, each movement graceful and impossible to track with the naked eye.
Seval's expression shifted as he studied the ethereal island, his brows drawing together. His left brow twitched as the familiar weight of frustration set in, So he turned away.
"Maybe I haven't grown after all, he thought, jaw tensing. Or maybe I never will. " He complained
A sudden, powerful voice resonated from beneath, rippling through the aircraft and across the sky. "Peace be to the honorable caller."
Seval's eyes narrowed slightly, recognizing the tone. He leaned forward, shifting his posture to face the unseen presence. The wind seemed to hush as he spoke, his voice measured. "It's been a while. Is there something you need of me?"
The voice responded, deep and resounding with a note of sorrow, "It is my apology for the terror wrought upon your people."
A dry chuckle escaped Seval's lips. He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head. "Not my people. No need to apologise twice, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.." He paused, his tone softening. "How's your nesting ground holding up?"
A silence fell, broken only by the hum of the craft as it glided forward. Then the voice returned, tinged with a rare warmth. "Praise be to your compassion for my future posterity."
Seval rolled his eyes, a slight smile curving the corner of his mouth. "You can't just answer directly, can you?" but it answered his question anyway.
The voice continued, the timbre easing, as if a weight had been lifted. "Wherever the need arises, anytime, anything—I will come. You need only call."
The sound of the words faded, and Seval felt the presence recede, slipping away into the vastness until it was gone. He breathed in deeply, letting the quiet return, his smile shifting from one of sardonic amusement to something more genuine.
"Good for him," Seval muttered, eyes flicking back to the island, now a distant glimmer. For a moment, he stood motionless, savoring the peace left behind by the encounter. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the sky.
He pushed himself upright, muscles taut with renewed energy. With one last glance at the horizon, he turned and stepped into the aircraft's interior. The ship hummed as it adjusted course, carrying him away, leaving the mysterious island and its secrets to another day.
---
In the bustling halls of Longmoor Academy, a prestigious private institution in Ferboint, students were hard at work honing their artistic skills. Vibrant splashes of color adorned the canvas as young artists immersed themselves in their projects. Today was special; they had a renowned guest monitoring their progress—Wendy, a celebrated artist known for her extravagant and detailed paintings.
She has a captivating presence with long, flowing amber hair that cascades down to her lower back, catching the light and adding warmth to her appearance. Her vivid green eyes are both fiery and nurturing, reflecting a depth of emotion that speaks to her passionate yet tender nature. With a fair, vibrant complexion that seems to glow with life, she carries an aura of health and vitality.
Dressed in a flowing green dress that complements her eyes, she exudes a harmonious connection with her surroundings. A sun hat, now removed, rests gracefully in her hands, revealing her face and accentuating her poised and confident bearing. Every movement she makes is imbued with an air of maturity and unwavering support, embodying the perfect balance of fierce protectiveness and maternal care. Despite her warmth and inviting presence, there's a subtle fire within her that hints at a spirited side, ready to ignite when those she cherishes need her most.
Wendy moved gracefully through the classroom, her long, flowing dress trailing slightly behind her as she walked. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, taking in the eager faces of the students. She paused at a girl struggling with her landscape painting, her smile radiating warmth. "Try to blend those colors a bit more smoothly," she advised gently, leaning closer to demonstrate the technique with her own brush. "And remember, the light should always guide your brush."
The girl nodded, her brow furrowing in concentration as she watched Wendy's expert movements.
The teacher beamed, gratitude evident in her wide eyes. "Thank you so much for taking the time to share your wisdom with our students," she said, nearly breathless with appreciation.
Wendy waved her hand dismissively, her friendly smile still in place. "It's my pleasure! These kids have so much potential; I'm happy to help." She straightened, taking a moment to bask in the creative energy of the room, her own excitement bubbling beneath the surface.
After a productive session, the class took a short break, laughter and chatter filling the air like the vibrant colors on the canvases. Wendy stood sipping her tea, savoring the fragrant warmth, when something caught her eye at the corner of the room. She turned to the teacher, a spark of curiosity lighting up her features. "Can you give me a moment?"
"Of course!" the teacher replied, stepping aside with an understanding nod.
To her delight, it was Seval, his presence a captivating blend of calm and confidence. "Seval!" she exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across her face. Her voice carried an undertone of excitement, like a long-lost friend reconnecting. "I'm so glad to see you! Were you able to set foot on the island??"
"...I tried," he replied, his voice low yet steady, a hint of unease contrasting through his typically reserved demeanor. He shifted his weight slightly, hands tucked casually into his pockets, but his posture doesn't quite radiate that confidence.
So Wendy went into hug him, "Dear, Dear things will be fine as long as am around." Her whispers commits to its duty of making him look brighter.
"Glad that helped!" She praised even herself when she released him in order to judge her results.
But there was still something, something that made her inch again.
Wendy leaned closer, her expression turning curious, eyes narrowing slightly. "Have you encountered anything else? You seem… more enlightened." She tilted her head, studying him as if he were a complex painting.
He shrugged slightly, a flicker of mockery crossing his features. "You know, people would eventually start staying away from you if you continue talking to that thing, right?" Wendy teased, her brow raised, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"I'd be curious to know what it's like to be feared that way," he replied, a hint of amusement dancing in his tone. A playful smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"But it wouldn't save you the worry," she retorted, her playful grin widening as she leaned back slightly, arms crossed, clearly enjoying their banter.
Seval took reign and shifted the topic, his voice dripping with playful snark. "Are you having a good time? Mentoring the rich kids, huh? Must be a treat." He raised an eyebrow, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.
Wendy laughed softly, the sound melodic and light. "Public academies are similar. Once their interest is piqued, it feels like being worshipped—even by those who aren't yours." Her tone was thoughtful, a hint of nostalgia playing across her features as she remembered her own experiences.
Seval nodded thoughtfully, recognizing the truth in her words. "I get that," he said, his eyes twinkling with understanding, the corners of his lips curving into a knowing smile.
He continued, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned closer, "Now… am I allowed to say that ever since my mum kept taking your flowers away, you weren't quite keeping up with your own schedule of care?" He feigned seriousness, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Wendy feigned offense, her eyes narrowing playfully as she placed her hands on her hips. "What was that? Care to repeat yourself?" she challenged, lips twitching in barely suppressed amusement.
With a laugh, he reached into his bag and pulled out a neatly wrapped lunchbox, the vibrant colors of the bento peeking through the paper. "I was preparing this when I left. Make sure to put a lot of nourishment and love into the meal," he instructed, handing it to her with a mock-serious expression.
Wendy rolled her eyes, an amused smile tugging at her lips as she took the lunchbox. "Emphasizing the last part a bit much, aren't you?" she teased, raising an eyebrow, her playful demeanor intact.
"Sweetheart," he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he playfully palmed her head, "remember to take your time and don't eat it all in one bite." He winked, stepping back as he watched her with a playful challenge in his expression.
"I'm not a child!" she shouted, mock indignation flashing in her eyes. She made a move to chase him, lunchbox in hand, the corners of her mouth struggling to maintain seriousness.
Seval burst into laughter, darting away as she playfully swung the bento in his direction. "You'll have to catch me first!" he called back, the sound of his mirth echoing through the hall, infectious and bright.
Wendy stopped, watching him fade into the distance, her expression softening with a mix of affection and exasperation. She sighed with a smile, shaking her head. "That boy…" Her heart warmed at the thought, and she couldn't help but chuckle, the noise mingling with the vibrant energy of the academy.
As the echoes of laughter faded, Wendy turned back to the classroom, feeling the weight of her joy settle warmly within her. She knew moments like these were the true essence of art—the connections made through creativity and camaraderie, and today, Seval had reminded her of that truth.
---
In the southwestern sector of Ferboint, about 23 miles away, lay Sandy Bay, a picturesque isle renowned for its vibrant white sands that shimmered under the sun's rays. At the western corner of this idyllic spot stood a quaint little tech store called Pirate George, run by the local Adam Wensler.
A distinguished man with jet-black hair threaded with subtle gray, a testament to the passage of time etched into his appearance. His dark brown eyes, deep and contemplative, seem to hold the weight of countless experiences, yet they shine with an undiminished warmth. Though slightly aged, his dark complexion radiates strength and vitality, conveying the resilience of a man who has weathered many seasons.
Dressed in attire befitting an aristocrat—tailored and elegant with intricate details—he embodies timeless sophistication. His manner is open and inviting, exuding a welcoming aura that draws people in and reassures them. Despite the clear markers of age, he carries himself with dignified poise, suggesting an unwavering connection to the cycles of life. This is a man who respects and supports the passage of time, finding beauty in the balance between change and constancy, offering wisdom and comfort to those around him.
However, the shop remained closed today, as Adam had decided to take some personal time—though it was safe to say he hadn't neglected some necessary maintenance on it.
He busied himself at the small double dock he had constructed a few days earlier, a makeshift yet sturdy platform adorned with assorted tools and fishing gear. Moored alongside it was a small steam engine, its hull gleaming under the midday sun. Adam was already at the dock, equipped with two finishing rods, a net, and an ice box that he placed carefully in the boat.
Just then, Seval approached, carrying a bucket filled with organic scraps he had gathered from the locals in Ferboint. His brow was furrowed in concentration, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead as he navigated the sandy path to the dock.
Once on board, the scene shifted to them setting off from the coast of Sandy Bay, gliding smoothly over the crystal-clear water, then veering behind the island and further north. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow on their journey.
As they released their hooks into the water, Adam leaned back against the boat's edge, exhaling a long, relaxed sigh. His expression softened, and a smile creased his face. "There's nothing quite like the outdoors," he said, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Surrounded by water, with the sight, sound, and smell of the ocean breeze—always clears away any growing stress."
Seval chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "You've said that way too many times during our outings," he replied, a playful smirk on his lips. He closed his eyes, letting the tranquility wash over him. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he visualized the ocean, its vastness undulating like a canvas before him. Each distinctive tone of the waves, every gentle push and pull of the currents beneath the boat, seemed to resonate within him.
As he immersed himself in the moment, particles akin to glowing orbs began to form beneath the surface, gradually morphing into faces. It should have seemed chaotic, but Seval wore a serene smile, his inner world painting a vivid picture.
The peace was short-lived, though. A sudden whiff of the salty sea air, thick with the unmistakable scent of fish, made him open his eyes with a scowl. "The ocean will always be stinky, though," he said, wrinkling his nose in exaggerated distaste.
Adam laughed heartily, shaking his head. "You'd think you would have been vomiting and convulsing by now with that keen sense of yours!"
"Honestly? I've been through worse," Seval replied, his tone lightening. He shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back against the boat with a relaxed posture. "You just get used to the minor things more easily."
Adam's expression shifted to one of concern, his brows knitting together as he glanced sideways at Seval. "I'm glad you're taking the time to think of the little ones," he said softly. "But they can't stand you going on those strange adventures that always put your life at risk."
Seval nodded, his demeanor growing somber. "It may be so," he admitted, a shadow passing over his features. "But part of that helps me cope, you know?"
Adam's tone softened further, understanding evident in his eyes. "You've put yourself ahead for your friends and even for people you owe nothing to."
Seval pondered this for a moment, the lines on his forehead deepening. "Isn't that just because they raised me right?" he countered, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
"True," Adam replied, nodding slowly. "But it also took your own personal growth to do so."
Seval sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustration flickering in his expression. "I just don't know if I have the capacity to be inactive."
Adam studied him for a moment, leaning slightly closer, his voice contemplative. "You're not just thinking about yourself, are you? It feels like there are more empty pages filled with the ink of Ben, ready to turn to the next chapter."
"Yeah," Seval replied, gazing out at the water, a wistful expression crossing his face. "It does feel like that, especially since I've always provided consultation regarding the unknown—something the masses fear."
Adam chuckled, the sound warm and encouraging. "Save the archaic cryptic sayings for the old heads," he teased, and Seval laughed, the weight of the conversation lifting slightly as they continued to fish.
Their banter flowed easily, lightening the mood until Adam suddenly felt a tug at his rod. His eyes widened with excitement, a grin spreading across his face as he pulled back. "I think I've got one!" he exclaimed, the tension of the moment electrifying the air around them.
Seval turned, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, but he found his eyes wondering all the way up towards the cosmos.
He began to hum to himself within this moment of pulse that Adam who started to observe this ask "is something round?"
Seval who was snapped back in reality, looked at him and said that "am not sure..."