A modest house stood beside a gentle river, its surface shimmering beneath the soft morning light. The trees along the forest's edge swayed in a slow wind, their leaves whispering above the quiet village of Persetta.
Inside, the home was warm. A soft rug stretched across the living room's wooden floor, where a small boy lay on his stomach—black hair tousled, eyes bright as polished amethyst.
Tona Norasachi.
He giggled to himself, lost in imagination, clacking two small sticks together as he reenacted a battle between unseen heroes and villains. Each tap echoed with the certainty that the world in his mind was real.
On the couch behind him sat his parents—Tukami and Siena Norasachi. His father had a messy middle part with blonde hair. His eyes were speckled brown, and his frame was large. His mother possessed long dark strands—clearly where Tona had gotten his black hair from. Her eyes were a soulful green color that lived like an overgrown jungle. Their voices were low, careful not to disturb the boy's play.
"What do we do?" Tukami murmured, his eyes fixed forward.
Siena didn't answer at first. Her gaze stayed on their son, brows drawn tight. Her voice trembled when she finally spoke.
"I don't know. But his strength… his Solena capacity… it isn't normal, Tukami." She swallowed, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. "The APC will notice eventually. And when they do—"
She hesitated, her breath catching.
"They'll kill him… They don't know what he is... or that he even exists," she whispered. "But I won't let them take him into that program."
The word itself felt poisoned.
"If they get someone like Tona—especially young—there's no telling what kind of weapon they'd make out of him. I fear for the world if that happens."
Tukami looked away then, jaw tightening. His gaze settled on a painting above the fireplace—a portrait of the three of them. Smiling. Unburdened. Before fear had a place in their lives. Siena continued.
"The council has already started, Tukami. The extermination. They'll find him at all costs..."
"Then we don't have a choice," he said quietly.
He turned back to her, voice steady with resolve he didn't truly feel.
"I've already spoken with Kokei. If it comes to it… he'll take care of Tona."
Siena's eyes filled, tears slipping down her cheeks before she could stop them.
The sound of her breath changed—just enough for Tona to notice.
The sticks clattered to the floor as he scrambled to his feet and hurried over.
"Mama? Why're you crying?"
Siena forced a smile, brushing at her cheeks though the tears kept coming.
"Oh, nothing, honey. Just something in my eye."
Tona climbed into her lap and wrapped his small arms around her. Siena held him close—perhaps a little too tightly—while Tukami watched in silence, his hands closing into fists.
Night settled softly over the house, laying a hush across the river and the dark trees beyond. Crickets sang faintly at the water's edge. At the front door, Tukami and Siena stood cloaked and ready to leave. Their son stood barefoot in the doorway—sleepy-eyed, but awake enough to know something wasn't right.
"Where are you going?" Tona asked.
Tukami bent down and gathered him into a firm, steady hug. His arms lingered, holding the boy just a little too long.
"I love you, little guy," he murmured. His voice was warm, but tight around the edges. "Always remember that. Okay?"
Tona nodded, confused, but smiling up at him.
Siena knelt next, pulling Tona close, her body trembling as she held him. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
"Stop crying, Mama," Tona protested, scrunching his face. "You'll get a puffy face!"
A small laugh escaped her—thin, fragile, but real. She cupped his cheeks in her hands. "Kokei is going to take care of you for a while, okay?"
Tona nodded, unsure what this would mean.
"That heart of yours, Tona… it's your greatest gift," she whispered. "Never forget that. Be strong. Be kind. And remember…"
She pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"Mama and Dad love you. Forever and always."
They stood, turned, and stepped into the night. Tona watched from the doorway as their silhouettes crossed the yard and disappeared beyond the trees. The pale moonlight glinted off their cloaks one final time—then they were gone.
Morning came with the sound of the river and sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead. Tona—now older—stood near the riverbank, sweat running down his brow. He held his hands out, concentrating hard. A flicker of violet energy shimmered between his palms… then fizzled out.
"Darn it," he muttered, kicking a small rock into the river with a splash.
Behind him came the slow crunch of footsteps on grass.
An elderly man made his way down the slope—one hand gripping a cane, the other holding a sandwich wrapped in cloth. Kokei's face was wrinkled, his posture bent, but his eyes were sharp and watchful as ever.
Tona spun around and hurried toward him.
"Mr. Kokei! I told you—just call me and I'll come over. You shouldn't be walking this much."
"Oh, hush," Kokei said, waving him off. "I ain't that old yet."
He paused, coughing into his sleeve.
"…Well. I hope not, anyway."
Tona stifled a laugh, took the sandwich from his hand, and supported him gently back toward the house.
After settling Kokei inside, he returned to the riverbank. As he reached for the sandwich, he noticed a small bird perched on top of it, pecking away.
"Hey! Shoo!" he scolded.
The bird fluttered back to a branch, tilting its head as if unimpressed.
Tona sighed. Then he tore off a piece of the bread and tossed it toward the bird.
"…Here. You're lucky I'm in a good mood," he muttered.
The bird swooped down eagerly to snatch the crumb.
Tona sat by the river and took a bite of the sandwich, staring out across the flowing water. The breeze played through his hair.
He was alone now. It had been years since his parents left, without word or explanation. He never got the reason, but their words stuck with him. He kept moving, eager to find them again. The pieces of his past refused to fade.
Later that afternoon, he returned to training. His expression sharpened with focus. With a sweep of his arm and a surge of violet Solena, several shimmering portals formed around him—seven in total—leading to scattered points along the riverbank and into the surrounding woods.
His technique—place-jumping—wavered at the edges, unstable and taxing. Sweat beaded along his brow as the gates flickered.
A soft rustle of grass behind him gave Tona a slight startle.
A man stood at the edge of the treeline, arms folded, observing quietly.
Startled, Tona quickly dismissed the gates, cutting off the Solena flow with a snap of his fingers.
"I-It's nothing," Tona stammered. "Just playing around."
The man raised a hand peacefully.
"No need to hide it," he said with a calm smile. "I mean you no harm."
Tona narrowed his eyes. "Mama told me to be careful around strangers. Who are you?"
The man placed a hand to his chest with a slight bow.
"My name is Maro. Your ability simply caught my attention."
Tona relaxed—slightly. "I'm trying to learn how to control those portal... thingies." They jump to nearby places, but it's hard to keep 'em all steady. My Solena goes crazy when I try too many at once."
Maro stepped closer. "I understand. Actually, I'm an ability user myself."
He held out his hand. A tiny, feathered phoenix—glowing with purple and blue flames—materialized, flapping gently as it floated toward Tona. It's orange eyes resembled an internal pyre. The boy's jaw dropped.
"Whoa!" he breathed.
The phoenix perched on Tona's arm, its heat soothing but wild. Tona's eyes sparkled.
Maro chuckled at the boy's awe.
"As for your struggle," he said, "you should know—Solena isn't just energy. It's a lifeforce. It's connected to your soul, and your feelings feed it. Anger gives it power, but not precision. Calm brings control. Understanding that balance? That's where mastery begins."
Tona blinked, absorbing every word.
"Feelings control Solena…?" he repeated.
"Exactly," Maro said. "Even now, many full-grown ability users still struggle with the concept. Took me years to figure it out."
Tona scowled.
"Fine. I'll keep trying—even if it pisses me off."
Maro raised an eyebrow. "That tongue's a bit bold for someone your age."
Tona giggled, unabashed.