They say the stars are watching us.
If that was true, then on this night—
they didn't just watch.
They answered.
The city should've been asleep.
Streetlights hummed low. Windows were dark. Even the wind felt lazy, drifting between buildings without purpose.
On a rooftop that didn't belong to them, three boys sat with their backs against a rusted railing.
Tojo Akatsuki leaned forward, elbows on his knees, black hair a mess like he hadn't decided who he wanted to be yet. His eyes were fixed on the sky, not relaxed—focused. Like he was waiting for something he couldn't name.
Ozaru Kuruzama sat beside him, broader, steadier. His posture was instinctive, balanced, like a fighter who never truly rested. He wasn't looking at the stars. He was watching the space between them.
Behind them,
Kentarou Kizame lay flat on his back, chewing candy and staring upward with fake confidence.
"You ever think the stars are staring back?" Kentarou muttered.
Tojo snorted. "If they are, they picked the worst planet to be interested in."
Ozaru didn't smile.
"Stars don't stare," he said quietly. "They wait."
Kentarou rolled his head toward him. "Bro, that's creepy. Stop."
Silence settled again. Comfortable. Familiar.
Then Tojo felt it.
A pressure.
Not fear. Not danger.
Recognition.
His chest tightened, like something had brushed against his heartbeat.
"…You feel that?" he asked.
Kentarou scoffed. "Feel what?"
Ozaru was already standing.
The sky had changed.
Not darker. Sharper.
The stars looked closer than they should've been—edges too clean, light too focused, like the universe had leaned in.
Then the sky split.
A streak of fire tore across the heavens, violent and screaming, ripping through clouds like they were paper. It wasn't a shooting star.
It was falling.
The rooftop shook.
"What the hell IS THAT—!?" Kentarou yelled.
The object burned brighter as it descended, and for a moment Tojo could swear it slowed—like it was looking back.
Then it vanished beyond the city.
The impact came a second later.
A thunderous boom rolled across the skyline, windows rattling, alarms screaming into life.
Ozaru was already moving. "We're going."
Kentarou shot up. "ARE YOU INSANE!?"
Tojo's legs were shaking, but he stood anyway. "If we don't… we won't sleep again. Ever."
Kentarou swore under his breath. "You both owe me my life."
He followed.
The crater was still breathing when they reached it.
Smoke curled upward. Heat warped the air. The ground had been torn open like something clawed its way through the planet itself.
Tojo swallowed. His chest burned again—stronger this time.
Something wanted him here.
A sound came from the crater.
Wet. Heavy.
Breathing.
The earth shifted, and a shape rose from the smoke.
Jagged. Wrong. Not fully solid.
Its body looked like stone wrapped in shadow, veins of black energy pulsing around a core that burned red. Gravity bent subtly around it, like reality didn't want to touch it for too long.
The pressure hit them all at once.
Kentarou staggered back. "N-nope. Nope. I'm out—"
He turned and ran.
The thing lifted its head.
And looked directly at Tojo.
At Ozaru.
Not hunger.
Recognition.
Ozaru's fists clenched. "That thing… isn't from here."
The Voidspawn roared.
The sound wasn't just loud—it crushed. Tojo's knees buckled. His lungs burned.
Then the air hummed.
Two lights rose from the crater's heart.
One crimson.
One sapphire.
They hovered, pulsing like living hearts.
Tojo couldn't move. His chest felt like it was splitting open.
Ozaru whispered, "These… aren't objects."
The stones reacted.
The crimson light surged toward Tojo.
Pain detonated in his veins. Not heat—finality. Like every possible ending collapsing into one.
Destruction.
Not rage.
Not chaos.
An absolute.
The sapphire light moved differently. It drifted, circling Ozaru, pressing against him gently—then violently, flooding his mind with branching futures, endless outcomes stacking on top of each other.
Creation.
Not gentle.
Not kind.
Overwhelming possibility.
Both boys screamed as the Stones fused with them.
The Voidspawn lunged.
Tojo didn't think.
His arm moved.
Black-red light erupted—not wide, not wild. A precise line.
The Voidspawn's upper body vanished.
Silence slammed down.
Tojo stared at his hand, horror flooding his face. "What did I just—"
The Voidspawn's body reformed.
Smoke pulled back together. The core flared.
Ozaru's breath caught. "It regenerated…?"
Tojo's vision blurred. His body wasn't built for this. His legs gave out.
The Voidspawn struck.
A blade of crimson light carved through the night.
The creature split cleanly in half—core severed, existence erased.
A figure landed between them and the ashes.
Silver hair. Cold eyes. A uniform marked with symbols neither boy recognized.
A warrior.
Her wrist glowed faintly as she lowered her blade.
"Genesis Galacta," she said calmly.
"Crimson Sever."
The Voidspawn did not return.
The girl turned to them, gaze sharp enough to cut.
"…The Stones chose you?"
Tojo blinked, still shaking. "Okay—either I'm dead, or the universe just made a terrible mistake."
Ozaru didn't speak. He was staring at his hands, breathing hard.
Far above them, unseen, the pulse spread.
Across planets.
Across systems.
Every Genesis wielder felt it.
And in the dark heart of space, a figure opened his eyes.
Golden-red.
Creation. Destruction.
Finally.
"…So," Nexarius murmured, voice echoing through a black citadel.
"They've awakened."