"Get lost, street rat!" a man bellowed, hurling a jagged rock toward Erie. The stone sailed through the air, narrowly missing his head. "Stay away from my stall, you orphan!"

Erie flinched but kept walking, his jaw tightening. Insults like this had become routine, the mistreatment worsening daily. He tried to ignore it, convincing himself words couldn't hurt him. But today was different. Today, something inside him snapped.

He stopped and turned back, his gaze fixing on the rock that had nearly hit him. Bending down, he picked it up, rolling it between his fingers before gripping it tightly. His hands, wrapped in dirtied bandages, trembled—not with fear, but with anger.

Without hesitation, he threw the rock back.

It struck the merchant's stall, toppling 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 shouted, his voice raw with frustration.

The merchant's eyes flared with fury. A worker stormed out from behind the stall, his expression twisted in disdain. In his hand was a long whip, its length 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!"

With a flick of his wrist, the whip cracked through the air, slashing toward Erie.

It was too fast.

Erie barely had time to move. As 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 grazing flesh. Pain exploded across his chest, and he crashed to the ground. His bag flew from his grasp, spilling its contents into the street.

"What's going on?" Another merchant stepped out from a nearby stall, his gaze landing on Erie. His lips curled in disgust. "Is that the street rat causing trouble again?"

Onlookers began to gather, whispering amongst themselves. A few hesitated, instinct urging them to help.

Erie stirred, pushing himself up as his unruly orange hair fell into his eyes. His striking amber gaze burned with defiance as he looked around.

A woman in the crowd gasped, then quickly recoiled. "Oh… it's him." Her cheeks flushed as she backed away.

A few snickers rippled through the group.

"Emily almost helped that street rat!"

"I didn't know it was him!" Emily cried, her voice cracking with embarrassment as she disappeared into the crowd.

Erie gritted his teeth, his fingers curling into the dirt. Shaking his head, he pushed himself to his knees, clutching his chest. A red welt pulsed where the whip had struck, but he forced himself to stand despite the pain. His scattered clothes lay trampled in the dirt.

"Not again," he muttered under his breath.

It was his birthday today.

He had hoped for a quiet celebration—maybe even a moment of kindness. But that was nothing more than a foolish dream. He should have known better. Orphans like him—those without families or abilities—were treated like filth. And Erie had it worse because he never backed down. He refused to let the insults 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. A golden pendant gleamed in the afternoon light, a sun symbol 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. Then, he picked up the rest of his clothes.

By the time he looked up, the crowd had already dispersed. Life went on, and Erie remained nothing more than a passing 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 quickly 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."

Exhaustion had settled deep into his bones by the time he reached home. 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 went 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 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."

He picked up the pendant from the floor and studied its smooth surface. "I can tell you have power…" he muttered. "But how do I activate you? Blood? A ritual? A chant?"

No matter what he tried, the pendant remained silent. No abilities surfaced, no hidden powers awakened. Just silence.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, grabbing the remote from the counter. The TV screen flickered to life, static giving way to a grainy news broadcast.

"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 leaned forward, his grip tightening on the remote.

The screen shifted to grainy footage of an ongoing battle. Simians—towering humanoids with thick fur—rampaged across a battlefield, their forms shifting into massive, hulking apes. Energy blasts erupted from their hands, 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 non-disabled person to fight."

Erie's gaze remained locked on the screen, his body tense.

Images of ruined cities, orphaned children, and weary soldiers flashed across the broadcast.

"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 shimmered around it as its power amplified.

Then, in one swift motion, the Simian struck. A single kick sent the man hurtling to the ground, carving a crater into the battlefield.

Erie leaned forward, his heart pounding. "Is that really a human fighting against them?"

Before it seemed over, the man reappeared behind the Simian, his eyes flashing from silver to green. In an instant, his hair shifted to a glowing emerald. Without hesitation, he unleashed a concentrated energy blast, vaporizing the Simian.

The anchor's voice returned. "And with that, humanity's true evolution began. Individuals began to develop secondary abilities, and some even awakened a third. These advancements reignited hope, allowing humanity to reclaim their world."

The broadcast then cut 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 went black.

Erie sat motionless, the pendant warm in his palm.

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 slammed the window shut. "Why can't they just leave me alone?"

His fingers tightened around the pendant. Frustration boiled over as he whispered to himself, "Accept what? That you're all terrible people?"

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Fine. 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 everything faded as His body hit the floor, motionless, A voice echoed in his mind.

'Welcome to the'