In a quiet corner of the Outer Districts, far from the gilded halls of government and the warring syndicates, a young man named Juno Mave lived a life so ordinary, it bordered on invisible.
He worked days at a scrap repair shop, fixing broken drones, bikes, and synth tools. Lived alone in a single room stack unit with flickering lights. Ate the same vending machine meals every night. No powers. No prospects. No legacy.
Just a name nobody remembered.
But everything changed the moment he stepped into Lot C-17 of the district's abandoned ruins.
He hadn't gone there to explore. He was chasing his stolen toolbox, taken by a local gang and dumped somewhere between twisted metal and forgotten tech. His boots crunched over dust and broken rebar, his breath fogging in the cold air of a collapsed world.
Then, deep inside a sealed off maintenance tunnel, he found it.
Or rather it called to him.
It was a blade but not forged by human hands.
It wasn't steel or alloy or carbon. It had no handle. It wasn't glowing or humming or covered in runes.
It simply was.
A line so thin it could hardly be seen, yet so absolute it hurt to look at. Hovering above a collapsed generator, embedded in air itself.
Juno reached out.
The moment his skin brushed it, reality screamed.
His vision burned white. Then black. Then the shape of the world reformed but it was different now.
His hand clenched around the blade. It was weightless. Yet it carved a split in the world around him just by existing.
The wall in front of him? Gone sliced through without resistance, the stone parting as if it had never been whole.
The suppressor drone flying toward him? Severed. In half. No sparks. Just clean, absolute erasure.
He didn't swing it.
He just thought it.
And the world obeyed.
Over the next days, Juno tested the blade naming it quietly in his head: "Divide."
He discovered that:
No material could withstand it.
No energy blocked it.
No force resisted it.
No power no matter how divine, mutant, or mechanical remained active after contact.
When Divide touched something, its rules stopped applying.
In one instance, a local enforcer tried to arrest him. Juno swung lightly and the man's forcefield, armor, weapon, and power enhancements all vanished with a hum, like they had been illusions.
Word spread quickly, even though he didn't speak of it.
They called him "The Man Who Cut the Sky," after a video clip leaked showing him sever a military drone that had been cloaked in anti-physical shielding.
The military dispatched a unit.
He didn't run.
He walked into their formation, blade idle at his side.
One by one, their suits failed. Their weapons clattered. Their powers blinked out.
He didn't kill anyone.
He just left them powerless.
But as Juno stared at his reflection one night, he realized something terrifying.
Divide wasn't just cutting the physical.
It cut rules. Concepts. Cause and effect. One slash could erase a contract. A memory. A law of reality.
And it wanted more.
He started dreaming. Visions of a prison, deep beneath the earth.
Three figures sealed in a void.
One with blood that healed worlds.
One with power that broke them.
One with time in his veins.
Juno didn't know why.
But he knew the blade did.
He set out under moonless skies, with no allies, no plan just Divide in hand, and a single goal written across his heart
"I will free them."