Chapter 1: A Broken Beginning
The city of Zenith gleamed like a monument to humanity's triumph over the cosmos. Spires of polished steel pierced the clouds, their surfaces shimmering with streams of bio-luminescent energy. Hover-cars zipped through the air, leaving trails of neon light, and holographic advertisements flickered over every surface, promising eternal youth, genetic perfection, and the power to rival gods.
But beneath the city's brilliance lay a shadowed underworld—a place where the forgotten and unwanted fought for scraps. And in a crumbling orphanage on the outskirts of Zenith, a boy named Kael endured a life of unrelenting pain.
Kael was twelve, though his gaunt frame and hollow eyes made him look far younger. His black hair hung in messy tufts, unwashed and uncared for, and his pale skin bore the marks of endless abuse. His foster father, Jerik, was a failed cultivator, a bitter man who drowned his shattered ambitions in cheap synth-alcohol.
"You're useless," Jerik snarled, his voice slurred from drink. The man towered over Kael, a dark silhouette in the dimly lit kitchen. "Just a leech sucking up my rations."
Kael pressed his back against the wall, his small hands trembling as he tried to stifle his fear. "I… I can help," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Jerik's laughter was harsh and mocking. "Help? You can't even fix a single conduit without screwing it up. You think you'll ever be worth anything? You're nothing. Less than nothing!"
The blow came swiftly—a sharp crack across Kael's face that sent him sprawling to the floor. Pain flared in his cheek, but he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Tears blurred his vision as Jerik's heavy boots stomped away, the man muttering curses under his breath.
Kael lay there for a long time, the cold floor pressing against his skin. His stomach growled, a constant reminder of the meals he often went without. The orphanage received government stipends for each child under its care, but Jerik spent most of the money on himself, leaving Kael to scavenge what scraps he could find.
He curled into a ball, clutching his knees to his chest. He didn't cry—he had learned long ago that tears only made things worse. Instead, he stared at the faint glow of the city through the cracks in the window, his mind drifting to the stories he had read about cultivators.
In this world, cultivation wasn't a mystical art as it had been in ancient times. It was a science, a fusion of biology and technology. Genetic engineering had unlocked the secrets of human potential, allowing individuals to strengthen their bodies, enhance their minds, and wield abilities once thought to belong only to gods.
But the path of cultivation wasn't for everyone. It required resources—bio-serums, neural implants, nanite infusions—and for someone like Kael, resources were a distant dream.
Still, the thought of it kept him alive. He imagined himself standing tall, his frail body transformed into something powerful. He would have the strength to fight back, to escape this hell.
"I'll get out of here," he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse but resolute. "I'll get stronger, no matter what it takes."
The next day, Kael woke to the sound of Jerik's shouting. Another argument, another broken bottle. Kael moved quickly, slipping out of the small room that served as his sleeping space. His bare feet made no sound as he crept toward the orphanage's back exit, his heart pounding with the fear of being caught.
Outside, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and industrial fumes. The city's underbelly was a maze of rusted pipes, broken machinery, and flickering lights. Kael made his way to a scrapyard he often visited, a place where discarded tech and bio-components were dumped by the corporations that ruled Zenith.
"Morning, runt," called a grizzled old man sitting by the scrapyard's entrance. The man's name was Garran, a retired scavenger with a mechanical arm and a face full of scars. Despite his gruff demeanor, he was one of the few people who treated Kael with a modicum of kindness.
"Morning, Garran," Kael replied, his voice quiet but steady.
"Looking for parts again?" Garran asked, raising an eyebrow. "You know most of the good stuff's already been picked clean."
Kael nodded. "I'll find something. I always do."
Garran chuckled, shaking his head. "Suit yourself, kid. Just don't get yourself electrocuted."
Kael climbed over the piles of scrap, his sharp eyes scanning for anything valuable. He knew how to spot conduits that still had charge, processors that could be salvaged, and bio-gel cartridges that hadn't dried out. It wasn't much, but it was enough to trade for food or the occasional trinket.
As he dug through the junk, Kael's thoughts wandered. He dreamed of finding something miraculous—a piece of ancient tech that could change his life. He had heard rumors of devices left behind from the early days of bio-cultivation, relics from a time when humanity was still discovering its potential.
"Just one lucky break," he muttered to himself. "That's all I need."
Hours passed, and Kael's hands were covered in grime by the time he found it. At first, it looked like a simple metal sphere, no larger than his fist. But when he touched it, the sphere pulsed faintly, a soft blue light emanating from its surface.
"What is this?" Kael whispered, his heart racing.
He turned the sphere over in his hands, noticing intricate patterns etched into the metal. It didn't look like any of the tech he'd seen before. Carefully, he pressed a small button on its surface.
The sphere opened with a hiss, revealing a vial of liquid that glowed with a vibrant, shifting hue.
Kael stared in awe. He had seen bio-serums before, but nothing like this. The liquid seemed alive, swirling and pulsing as though it had a will of its own.
"Kid!" Garran's voice jolted Kael from his thoughts. The old man was standing at the edge of the scrapyard, waving frantically. "Get back here! Now!"
Kael frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Corporate drones," Garran hissed. "They're sweeping the area. If they catch you with that thing, you're dead."
Kael's blood turned cold. He glanced at the glowing vial in his hand, his mind racing. This was valuable—far too valuable to leave behind.
Without thinking, he tucked the vial into his pocket and ran.
Back at the orphanage, Kael hid the vial beneath a loose floorboard in his room. His mind buzzed with questions. What was the serum? Why had it been discarded? And why did it feel… alive?
He didn't have answers, but one thing was certain: this was his chance. Whatever the serum was, it was powerful, and Kael was determined to use it.
As he lay on the hard floor that night, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, a flicker of hope ignited in his heart.
For the first time in years, he allowed himself to dream.