The soft rays of morning sunlight streamed through the cracked blinds, spilling golden light across the cluttered living room. Arin groaned, rolling out of bed and stretching until his joints popped with satisfying cracks. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and wandered into the living room, his bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor.
The sight that greeted him was a battlefield of chaos. The couch was upside down, papers were scattered on the coffee table, and an empty mug sat precariously at the edge. His grandfather's old armchair was piled high with clothes he hadn't bothered to fold.
Arin sighed deeply, running a hand through his messy hair. "This place looks like a tornado hit it," he muttered, his voice gravelly from sleep. He made a mental note to tackle the mess later. "First things first—training."
The streets outside pulsed with life, a kaleidoscope of movement and sound. Hover buses glided effortlessly above magnetic tracks embedded in the roads, their hum low and soothing. Thin trails of blue light followed their paths, marking their routes like glowing veins through the heart of the city. The air was fresh and faintly tinged with the sharp scent of ozone—a byproduct of the teleportation rings stationed at every major intersection.
Arin walked briskly down the street, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. His boots clicked against the smooth, synthetic pavement that absorbed the city's vibrations, reducing noise pollution to an almost serene level. Above, sleek towers reached for the sky, their glass exteriors shimmering with embedded solar panels that powered everything within.
It was a world transformed, a far cry from the chaotic, polluted Earth he had learned about in his history classes. Back then, the planet was drowning in smog, with cities crumbling under the weight of overpopulation and environmental neglect. He remembered the holographic slides vividly—the sprawling highways clogged with gas-powered vehicles, the rivers choked with garbage, the once-blue skies turned a sickly gray.
But everything had changed after the meteorite.
The meteorite, an otherworldly mass of crystalline metal, struck Earth nearly two centuries ago. It brought devastation but also transformation. The mineral properties of the meteorite seeped into the Earth's core, altering its magnetic fields and triggering a wave of genetic mutations among the population. Those who adapted became known as the Kyrexi—humans with enhanced abilities that defied the laws of nature.
Arin's gaze flicked to a holographic advertisement floating above a nearby building, depicting a Kyrexi performer dazzling a crowd with her luminous, shifting skin. Her hands emitted trails of light as she danced, her movements hypnotic. While Kyrexi were celebrated for their abilities, Arin's heart tightened as he thought of his own shortcomings. Born to two powerful Kyrexi, he was expected to carry the same gifts. But he didn't.
Not even a spark.
At the intersection ahead, a teleportation ring dominated the plaza. These rings were marvels of modern engineering, made of a semi-translucent alloy called aetherium. The material shimmered like liquid mercury under the sun, refracting light into a spectrum of colors that danced across its surface. The ring's inner edge pulsated with a constant swirl of energy, its soft hum a reminder of its power.
Arin paused for a moment, watching a steady stream of people queue up. Those in a rush skipped the hover buses altogether, stepping into the teleportation rings to reach their destinations instantly. The rings operated on a precise molecular disassembly and reassembly process, breaking down the user's body into data and transmitting it to a receiving ring at the desired location. It was as seamless as stepping through a door—but not without its quirks.
"I've heard some people get nauseous their first few times," Arin recalled someone saying once. "But it's worth it if you're late for work!"
Near the base of the teleportation ring, a display screen showed a map of the city, glowing with potential destinations. Lines of glowing light stretched between various points, representing active routes. A faint beep-beep accompanied each passenger as they scanned their IDs, stepping into the ring and disappearing in a flash of blue light and a brief whoosh.
Arin stepped forward, his pulse quickening slightly. The idea of being broken down into raw data and reassembled had always felt a bit... unnatural to him. Yet it was routine now, as normal as taking an elevator. He took a deep breath and joined the line.
When his turn came, he stepped into the ring, feeling the cool energy wash over him like an electric breeze.
He barely had time to blink before the world shifted around him.
Whoosh!
For a moment, the world seemed to blur, colors and sounds merging into a brief, disorienting swirl. Then, with a soft pop, it all snapped back into place.
He adjusted his jacket and stepped onto the clean, polished pavement, the gym's towering facade gleaming in the morning sun.
The gym's entrance doors slid open with a soft hiss, and Arin stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of sweat and disinfectant, a mix he'd come to associate with hard work and determination. Music pumped through the space, the steady beat of bass setting a motivating rhythm.
He approached the front desk, where an instructor stood, arms crossed, his muscles bulging beneath a fitted shirt. The man looked up, his eyes scanning Arin's lean frame with thinly veiled skepticism. A smirk curled the edges of his lips.
"You here to sign up?" the man asked, his voice gruff but edged with sarcasm. "Or just lost on your way to the library?"
Arin met his gaze, unfazed. "I'm here to sign up. For a year."
The instructor let out a low chuckle as if Arin had just told a joke. "A year, huh? That's ambitious. You sure you can even lift a broomstick, kid?"
The comment stung, but Arin didn't let it show. Instead, he handed over his ID card and credit chip with an unbothered expression. "I'll manage," he replied flatly.
The man leaned on the counter, clearly not ready to let the moment go. "We don't have featherweights here, you know. Machines don't come with a 'beginner-beginner' mode. Hope you don't expect me to come running every time you get pinned under a barbell."
Arin gave a tight smile, his voice calm. "Thanks for the warning. I think I'll be fine."
The instructor processed the transaction, shaking his head with exaggerated pity. "Alright, kid. It's your money." He handed Arin a keycard for the lockers. "Try not to strain yourself walking to the machines."
Arin ignored the snide remark, pocketing the keycard and heading toward the training area. He had no time for childish taunts.
The training area buzzed with energy. Machines of all shapes and sizes filled the space, their metallic surfaces gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The steady whir of treadmills and the rhythmic clank of weights being lifted filled the air, accompanied by occasional grunts of effort.
Arin walked past a group of men crowded around a bench press, their loud encouragement punctuated by the metallic clatter of weights. As he approached the free weights section, the same instructor appeared again, leaning casually against a machine.
"Let me guess," the man said, loud enough for those nearby to hear, "starting with the baby dumbbells? One kilo each, maybe two if you're feeling brave?"
A few nearby gym-goers chuckled, but Arin didn't bite. He grabbed a pair of moderate weights from the rack, ignoring the stares and whispers around him.
"You know," the instructor continued, his tone dripping with mockery, "determination's great and all, but you might want to start with cardio. Wouldn't want you breaking anything—especially yourself."
Arin calmly set the weights down and looked at the man, his gaze steady but devoid of any emotion. "Thanks for the advice," he said simply, before picking up a heavier set of weights and moving to an empty corner.
The instructor raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Suit yourself, featherweight," he muttered, turning to walk away.
As Arin began his routine, the voices and laughter faded into background noise. He focused on his movements, each lift and curl a silent defiance of the doubts thrown his way.
He had no time for words. Only action.