Soon, Brent had his butler escort him to Dan's house. Brent, however, had personally come to the launching to bid him farewell. A few hours later, the unmistakable hum of the spaceship's engines reverberated through the air, a low, mechanical pulse as it prepared for takeoff. Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the capital city of the Leion Kingdom, a modest house stood in the shadow of the sprawling urban landscape—a quiet sanctuary nestled amidst the endless hum of the kingdom's growth. Though the house was simple, its surroundings spoke of peace, the smell of freshly tilled earth drifting through the air, a stark contrast to the ever-bustling streets nearby.
In this humble dwelling, an old man sat hunched over a newspaper, his brow furrowed as he scanned the pages for any news of his missing grandson. His other granddaughter, Alina, shared his concern. For a month now, Dan had been untraceable, a void in their lives that no amount of searching could fill. They had reached out to the mayor—nothing. Their efforts had been met with silence. All they could do was wait, and the waiting gnawed at their hearts.
The grandfather, despite his age—late seventies, though his presence suggested the vitality of someone much younger—had the air of a warrior, a man forged by years of resilience and quiet strength. His sister, a high school student, was equally troubled. She had questioned every soul in the village about Dan's whereabouts, only to receive the same helpless answer: nothing.
The stillness of the house shattered when the door creaked open. Alina entered, swiftly shedding her shoes before stepping inside. Her gaze met her grandfather's, the unspoken question passing between them as naturally as the air they breathed.
"Did you hear anything about Dan?" Alina's voice trembled with the weight of her worry.
Her grandfather shook his head slowly. "No. It's been quiet—like the days before. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before."
The question had been asked so many times over the past month that it had become almost a part of the furniture, its familiarity only adding to the ache in Alina's chest. With a deep sigh, she retreated to her room, her thoughts spiraling. This wasn't the first time Dan had vanished into the wilds. A year ago, he had disappeared into a jungle, seeking to push his limits, only to return months later, lost and disoriented. The media had clamored for answers, and even the mayor had orchestrated a rescue mission. But this time felt different—Dan had been gone for an entire month. Not a single word.
The neighborhood had started to buzz with rumors about Dan's reckless nature. His striking appearance—well-built, handsome—had made him a subject of fascination, a mystery to be unraveled. Alina had caught glimpses of the neighbors watching him, their eyes full of strange curiosity, whispering about him as though he were a puzzle to be solved. The thought bothered her, but she dismissed it quickly. After all, this was Dan's world, and she was merely a spectator.
Sitting by her window, Alina watched the sun begin its descent, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet. Her thoughts drifted in tandem with the shifting light. When is he coming back? she wondered. There's so much to explain. He promised to decorate the roof before Christmas. He better do it before then, or who will?
But despite her playful musings, the weight of worry pressed heavily upon her chest. A person didn't just vanish for a month without a trace.
Then, without warning, the ground vibrated beneath her feet, followed by a low rumble that seemed to resonate in her very bones. For a heartbeat, Alina thought it was an earthquake. But then, the light around her began to shift, becoming brighter, more intense. Her pulse quickened. Without thinking, she darted upstairs to Dan's room, threw open the door, and rushed to the balcony.
What she saw took her breath away.
A spaceship, massive and sleek, hovered over the suburban rooftops, its smooth contours gleaming in the setting sun. The ship's presence was almost unreal, its size too immense for the small neighborhood to contain. Alina's heart raced as she struggled to grasp the magnitude of what was happening before her eyes.
Then, as if defying all logic, a figure leapt from the ship, plunging toward the earth. Time seemed to slow as Dan descended, his movements fluid and effortless, as though he were a shadow, drifting through the air with unnatural grace. When he landed, the force of his descent sent a shockwave rippling through the air, rattling the ground beneath him. The crowd, already gathering in stunned silence, gasped in unison.
Dan had jumped—a feat that could only be achieved by someone whose body had been honed to perfection, someone who had mastered the arts of movement and control. His leap, seemingly impossible, marked him as something more than human. A warrior, an adept, perhaps even an esoteric being who could bend the laws of nature itself.
As the ship vanished into the sky, Dan turned and waved nonchalantly at the onlookers, his expression calm, even indifferent to the awe-struck faces staring up at him. The crowd stood frozen, as if they had just witnessed the impossible.
"Is it... Dan?" a voice whispered from the crowd.
The son of the neighboring family, the one who had been missing for weeks. As the crowd stirred, whispers spread like wildfire.
Alina's heart leaped as she ran downstairs, her voice filled with relief. "Brother's back!"
Her grandfather, his face a mixture of astonishment and relief, rose slowly from his chair, his movements unhurried but deliberate, drawn by the hope of seeing his grandson after such a long silence. When Dan stepped through the door, a rare smile spread across his face—a fleeting but genuine expression of happiness after weeks of uncertainty.
Alina, overcome with emotion, ran to him, leaping into his arms in an embrace that seemed to erase the distance of the past month. The entire neighborhood, still watching, saw the reunion unfold, but Dan paid them no mind. His focus was entirely on Alina.
With a quiet laugh, he swept her up effortlessly, carrying her inside as though nothing had happened. The questions could wait. The storm of curiosity would come soon enough. But for now, he was home.
Inside, the air was thick with the unspoken questions that hung like a heavy mist. Dan's grandfather spoke first, his voice a mix of concern and frustration. "Where have you been? You missed your exams! You've failed the year. You'll have to repeat it!"
Dan waved it off with a careless gesture. "It doesn't matter. There's something bigger on my mind."
He didn't offer much explanation—just that he had been training again, lost in the wilderness, pushing himself beyond his limits. He had become disoriented, cut off from communication, but eventually, a group of experts had found him, bringing him back to safety.
His family, relieved to have him home, didn't press further. They could see the toll of his journey in his eyes—the strain, the weight of solitary pursuit. But they understood. For Dan, the pursuit of strength was everything.
As the summer days unfolded, Dan sat with his sister and grandfather, the quiet of the meal offering a rare moment of peace. His sister, still focused on school, remarked, "If you skip another two years, we'll be in the same class!"
Dan laughed, the tension of the day briefly lifting. But as dawn approached, the atmosphere shifted. Without a word, Dan stood, already preparing for his next departure. The quiet of the early morning settled around him as he activated a sleek device—a gift from Brent.
In a flash, he dashed toward the nearby field, his form barely a blur against the rising sun. Moments later, he was gone, leaving behind only the whispers of a restless spirit and the promise of a journey yet to unfold.
Dan's boots thudded softly against the smooth metal of the airship's floor as he prepared for his descent to the nearest ruined planet—Asher. It was no ordinary craft. This airship, the latest model, could slice through the stars, crossing vast stretches of space in the blink of an eye. The sleek, dark hull shimmered with an almost ethereal gleam as it navigated through the void. Within an hour, he had crossed the distance, reaching the barren world with ease. A quick journey across light-years—no wonder it was so expensive. The price of such technology was staggering, and as he looked out at the crumbling surface of Asher below, he couldn't help but wonder when he might ever be able to afford such a marvel.
As he descended into the atmospheric haze, he steeled himself. He had heard the stories, knew the reputation of the Noon planets—once lush with life, now nothing but hollowed-out ruins. Asher was no exception. It had been ravaged by the very monsters it had once known. Now, it was little more than a desolate wasteland. The land was a twisted tangle of disease-ridden air, poisonous plants, and the remnants of civilizations long lost. The Dukedom had abandoned any notion of restoration. Now, only the brave, the desperate, and the outlawed sought refuge here. A place where warriors tested their strength, and illicit deals flourished in the shadows.
He tucked the airship neatly into his ring, a trinket of unimaginable value, and scanned the surroundings. The landscape stretched out before him, barren and unforgiving. Crumbling ruins stood like forgotten sentinels, their walls twisted and fractured under the weight of time. Giant banyan trees reached up like monstrous, skeletal arms, their roots gnarled and coiling in unnatural patterns, strangling what little earth remained. Shadows stretched unnaturally long beneath them, like dark specters hiding the world's secrets. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, as though even the wind had long abandoned this forsaken place.
The absence of life struck him first. No chirping birds. No rustling animals. The silence of the forest felt almost suffocating. His eyes flicked across the vast emptiness. The immense trees towered above him, their roots twisting toward the sky, creating a labyrinthine jungle beneath. It was as if the earth itself had become a living creature, contorting and shifting into something unrecognizable.
Dan's fingers tightened around the straps of his pack. He had prepared well for this journey—enough provisions to last him for several weeks. Still, guilt gnawed at him. He had emptied the house's stock for the month. And those gold coins he'd taken—he could only hope they'd be enough to keep him going for the next few years. His sister would likely be upset, though. He hadn't left a word behind.
But there was no time for regret. The pull of the forest, the call of something deeper within it, tugged at him like an invisible thread, urging him to press forward. He stepped into the undergrowth, where roots and vines threatened to trip him with every movement. The ground beneath him had vanished, replaced by a chaotic tangle of tangled roots—so thick they resembled the sprawling fingers of some ancient, slumbering giant.
The forest seemed to hum with a strange energy, a barely perceptible vibration that buzzed at the edge of his senses. It felt... wrong. As though something beyond his understanding lay hidden beneath the surface of the land, veiled in darkness. He moved carefully, gliding through the entangled growth, but every step felt like a struggle against an unseen force. Nature itself seemed to fight back, as though it resented his intrusion.
Still, he pressed on. His senses prickled, and with each passing moment, the pull toward the heart of the forest grew stronger. A whisper, soft at first, called out to him—a voice on the wind, distant and foreign. It was not a voice spoken aloud, but something far more ethereal, reverberating in his mind, urging him forward.
Without thinking, he activated his Sky Drift technique. His body surged upward, leaping from one massive tree to another, the familiar sensation of wind rushing past him giving him a fleeting sense of invulnerability. The speed, the rush—it was a feeling he had mastered long ago, a technique honed through years of training. The canopy blurred beneath him, and the forest seemed to move with him, twisting and warping as if aware of his presence.
But even as the wind carried him forward, a strange weight pressed on him. The further he went, the more he could feel his power draining. His aura seemed to evaporate into the dense air, like water poured into the sand, absorbed and lost. At first, he thought it was just the fatigue from his swift travel, but as he pressed deeper into the forest, the sensation grew stronger, undeniable. It wasn't exhaustion—it was something more.
The trees loomed higher now, their roots twisting like serpents beneath his feet. The canopy above darkened, the once bright sky swallowed by the oppressive shadows of the foliage. The air grew thicker, harder to breathe, as if the very life around him sought to smother him. The pressure increased, and for the first time, Dan felt the weight of something ancient, something powerful, closing in on him. It was as though the forest itself was alive—conscious of his presence and seeking to consume him.
Eventually, the sunlight vanished entirely, swallowed by the thick expanse of leaves. The path ahead became cloaked in shadow. Only faint glimmers of light, soft and strange, illuminated the way—tiny, glowing flowers scattered across the ground, their luminescence flickering like distant stars. They glowed in a myriad of colors—red, blue, yellow—casting an otherworldly glow that seemed to shift the very atmosphere. The landscape around him became surreal, like something conjured from a dream.
The deeper he ventured, the stronger the pull became, a magnetic force drawing him inward. His aura had nearly drained to nothing, but still, he didn't hesitate. His body was fatigued, his powers fading, yet the need to uncover the mystery at the heart of this place overpowered his fear. With a surge of resolve, he invoked his Golden Break technique. The winds around him roared to life, swirling in a fierce, determined gust, carrying him forward as though it, too, was aiding him in his quest.
As the wind whipped around him, he realized how far he had come. The world around him had shifted—no longer just a forest, but something far deeper, more profound. The sensation of being outside time, of being on the verge of crossing into another world entirely, pressed upon him.
And then, through the overwhelming silence of the forest, a voice echoed in his mind. It was soft, distant, but unmistakable. Something—or someone familiar.