"Get lost, street rat!" a man bellowed, hurling a rock toward Erie. The jagged stone sailed through the air, barely missing his head. "Stop coming to my stall, you orphan!"
Erie flinched but kept walking, his jaw tightening. The insults had become a daily routine, the mistreatment growing worse with each passing day. He tried to ignore it—tried to convince himself that words couldn't hurt him. But today was different. Today, something in him snapped.
His steps slowed. He turned back, his gaze locking onto the rock that had nearly hit him. Bending down, he picked it up, rolling it between his fingers before gripping it tightly. His hands were wrapped in torn, dirtied bandages, the once-white cloth now stained brown with dried blood. His fingers trembled, but not from fear.
Then, without a second thought, he threw the rock back.
The stone struck the merchant's stall, knocking over a crate of fruit. Apples and pears tumbled onto the dirt road, some rolling beneath the feet of passing pedestrians.
"I'm not a street rat!" Erie's voice rang out, raw with frustration.
The merchant's eyes flared with fury. Before Erie could react, a worker stormed out from behind the stall, his expression twisted in disdain. In his hand, he held a long whip, its length already glowing with a red-hot hue.
"You filthy orphans need to learn your place!" the man spat. "No family, no ability, no money—you're nothing! Just leave already!"
With a flick of his wrist, the whip cracked through the air, slashing toward Erie.
Too fast.
Erie barely had time to move. In a last-ditch effort, he yanked his bag of clothes in front of him as a shield. The impact struck hard, the searing heat slicing through fabric and flesh. Pain exploded across his chest as he was knocked off his feet, crashing onto the ground. His bag flew from his grasp, its contents spilling across the street.
"What's going on?" Another merchant stepped out from a nearby stall, his gaze shifting to Erie. His lips curled in disgust. "Is that the street rat causing trouble again?"
Onlookers began to gather, whispering amongst themselves. A few hesitated, their instincts urging them to help.
Then Erie stirred, pushing himself up, and his unruly orange hair slipped into view. His striking amber eyes burned with defiance as he looked up.
The moment one of the pedestrians recognized him, she recoiled. "Oh… it's him." Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly backed away.
A few snickers rippled through the crowd.
"Emily almost helped that street rat."
"I didn't know it was him! I didn't know!" the girl, Emily, shouted, her voice cracking with embarrassment as she disappeared into the growing mass of people.
Erie grit his teeth, fingers curling into the dirt. Shaking his head, he forced himself onto his knees, clutching his chest. A long, pulsing red mark ran across his skin where the whip had struck. He took a shaky breath, standing fully despite the pain. His scattered clothes lay in the dirt, trampled by indifferent passersby.
"Not again," he muttered, exhaling sharply.
It was his birthday today.
He had wanted nothing more than to go home, celebrate quietly, and be left alone. Maybe—just maybe—someone would treat him with kindness, just this once. But that was nothing more than a foolish hope. He knew better. Orphans like him—those without families, without abilities—were treated like filth. And Erie had it even worse because he never backed down. He never let the slander slide.
Slowly, he gathered his belongings, shaking the dust from his clothes. As he reached for the last of them, his fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. The golden pendant gleamed in the afternoon light, the symbol of a sun engraved at its center.
Erie stared at it for a moment before sighing. "I miss you, Mother… but why give me this?" He looped the chain around his neck, letting the pendant rest against his chest, and picked up the rest of his clothes.
By the time he looked up, the crowd had already dispersed. Life went on, and Erie was nothing more than a momentary spectacle.
He adjusted his bag and continued walking.
As he passed through the streets, he saw people moving in groups—some dressed in green, others in purple. They laughed and talked easily with one another, their camaraderie effortless. Some held themselves with an air of authority, while others joked freely. Erie watched them, feeling the weight of his solitude. He had no group, no place where he belonged.
He was just an orphan. Just a "street rat."
By the time he reached home, exhaustion had settled deep into his bones. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside and dropped his bag onto the floor. His house was small—three bedrooms, two bathrooms—but only one room was furnished. The living room was cluttered with old, taped-up chairs, a broken TV, and a fridge stocked with little more than rotten fruit and instant noodles.
He sighed and made his way to the kitchen, eyeing the makeshift birthday cake he'd thrown together from a bag of pancake mix he'd scavenged from a donation pile on the roadside. It wasn't much, but it was something.
His gaze drifted to the worn book resting on the table. He picked it up, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. "This book talks about the pendant," he muttered. He skimmed the last few chapters before scoffing. "But it reads like a fairytale." He closed the book, examining the cover illustration of a man with wings and a halo, clad in golden armor. The figure's orange hair and eyes mirrored Erie's own, with a sun hovering above his head.
"Ugh! What is with this pendant?" Frustration bubbled over, and he yanked the pendant from his neck, hurling it across the room. "You're supposed to give me powers!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the empty space.
"Shut up in there, street rat!" a random voice shouted from outside.
Erie glared toward the window and slammed it shut, muttering to himself, "Screw him."
Erie yanked the pendant from his neck, snapping the string in half. Holding it tightly in his palm, he felt a sudden warmth pulse through his hand. A soft glow radiated from the golden surface, sending a tingling sensation up his arm.
"I can tell you have power…" he muttered, tossing the pendant into the air and catching it effortlessly. He twirled it around his fingers, studying its smooth texture.
His amber eyes narrowed. How do I activate you? Blood? A ritual? A chant?
He had tried everything, but nothing worked. No hidden abilities surfaced, no secret knowledge awakened—just silence.
Frustrated, he turned his gaze back to the book. "This thing reads like a diary, explaining how the pendant was created, but I've never heard of half the stuff in here." He flipped through the pages, scanning the faded text. His brows furrowed. "What the hell is a 'God Crystal'?"
With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. His fingers brushed against the remote sitting on the counter. He grabbed it and switched on the battered television, static flickering across the screen before the news report cut in.
"Breaking news! We are witnessing sightings of a long-defeated enemy—the Simians. Over 300 years ago, humanity triumphed over this hybrid race of gorilla-like beings, marking the start of our current calendar: 344 After War. However, recent reports confirm Simian activity alongside a self-proclaimed 'Sun Warrior' and other alien forces."
Erie sat up, his grip tightening on the remote.
The screen shifted to grainy footage of an ongoing battle. Simians—towering humanoids with thick fur—rampaged across an open battlefield, their forms shifting into massive, hulking apes. Their raw power was overwhelming, their energy blasts tearing through entire city blocks.
The news anchor's voice continued: "Since the resurgence of the Simians, more alien races have emerged, threatening planets across the galaxy. Earth has become a battleground once again. For those unfamiliar, the Simians are a war-driven species that once demanded humanity surrender their planet. When we refused, war broke out. Our conventional weapons were useless against them, and when our armies failed, humanity resorted to a global draft, forcing every able-bodied person to fight."
Images flashed across the screen—ruined cities, orphaned children, soldiers barely holding the line.
"The war lasted over a decade. Millions perished. With no hope left, a select few humans awakened mysterious abilities, shifting the tide of battle. And when they believed they could only wield a single ability… a new discovery changed everything."
The footage transitioned to a live fight. A man blurred in and out of existence, teleporting rapidly around a Simian warrior. The beast, mid-transformation, reverted from its ape form to a human-like state, its hair turning a blazing red. The air around it shimmered with heat, its power amplifying beyond its previous form.
Then, in a flash, the Simian struck. A single kick to the chest sent the man hurtling toward the ground, carving a crater into the battlefield.
Erie leaned forward, heart pounding. Is that really a human fighting against them?
Just as it seemed over, the man reappeared behind the Simian, his eyes flashing from silver to green. In an instant, his hair changed to match—silver shifting into a glowing emerald. Without hesitation, he unleashed a concentrated energy blast, vaporizing the Simian on the spot.
"And with that, humanity's true evolution began. More individuals began to develop a second ability, some even awakening a third. This newfound strength reignited hope, allowing humanity to push back and reclaim their world."
But the cost was high.
"Though the war ended, society was never the same. Orphans flooded the streets. Schools lacked teachers. The balance of power shifted. Those with a single ability were considered average. Those with two were given leadership roles. And those with three or more became the new elite—icons of power and influence. Meanwhile, those with no abilities at all… were cast aside."
Erie's hands clenched into fists. He didn't need a news report to tell him that. He had lived it.
The broadcast continued, cutting to a government official standing before a massive crowd.
"Today, we mark the birth of the first recorded Fusion—a being capable of merging abilities beyond anything we've seen before. As threats continue to rise, we must prepare for the next war. Effective immediately, another global draft is in motion. All eligible individuals must report for evaluation."
The screen cut to black.
Erie sat motionless, the pendant still warm in his hand.
Then—voices.
He heard murmurs outside his home. Someone was yelling.
Curious, he walked over to the window, pushing it open slightly.
"You have to accept!" a voice called out.
Erie frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"
No answer. Just the same words, repeated like a mantra. "You-Have-To-Accept!"
Irritated, he shut the window and turned away. "Why can't they just leave me alone?" His fingers tightened around the pendant as frustration welled inside him. "Accept what? That you're all terrible people?"
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I accept that."
Then, something changed.
A faint glow surrounded him. A circle of light traced itself beneath his feet, expanding outward in intricate patterns.
Erie's breath hitched. "What the—"
Before he could finish, the pendant jerked free from his grip, floating before his chest. Its golden surface pulsed wildly, the light intensifying.
Then—pain.
A blinding flash engulfed him.
"AHHHHHH!" Erie screamed, his body convulsing as an unseen force pulled at him. He clawed at his chest, but the pendant burned against his skin, sinking into his body.
His vision blurred. The world around him twisted. Then—
Darkness.
His body hit the floor, motionless.
A voice echoed in his mind.
'Welcome to the Sun Warrior System.'
'Erie Sunheart.'
'Height: 5'11. Weight: 179 pounds.'
'Race…'
Everything faded.