Arc III.5: “Zero”
Chapter III: “Ground Zero”
Episode III: “Life of Lyte”
[Planet Kaelos]
Fleeing the ruin of Utopia, Raida and Carrie ran until the stars felt unfamiliar—until Kaelos filled the viewport like a red-brown blade, its sun burning harsher than anything Solaris ever knew.
Raida didn’t take his eyes off the planet. “Are you sure about this?” His voice stayed steady, but his shoulders didn’t. “I thought you were a fugitive.”
The ship shuddered as it cut into Kaelos’ airspace—heat licking the hull like a warning.
“It’s fine,” Carrie said. Not confident—decisive. “We need somewhere our kids can breathe without barriers. Somewhere, the Universe doesn’t remember our names yet.”
She tightened her hold on Kyte, who slept too lightly, ribs rising like they might forget how.
“And,” she added, quieter, “I still have a stash here.”
Akira sat on the floor between them, rolling a ball back and forth with both hands as if the ship wasn’t carrying the last intact pieces of their life.
Kai leaned against the wall, eyes half-lidded, pretending he wasn’t watching every tremor in the hull. “She’s right. On Kaelos, at least we can get work.”
Raida’s brow lifted. “Conquering other planets?”
“Bounty boards,” Kai corrected. “Odd jobs. Guard work. Hunting. Kaelos pays anyone willing to bleed for coin.”
Carrie snorted. “He means survive.”
Raida glanced sideways. “And what do you know about Kaelos?”
Kai’s mouth twitched. “I did my studies. Unlike you, I took my lessons as a Sage seriously.”
Raida huffed a short laugh. “Heh… alright. You got me there.”
A warning tone chirped—Kaelithian patrol frequency.
A harsh voice cut through comms. “Unregistered vessel. Identify. Now.”
Raida’s hand hovered near the console—instinct from too many hunts. Carrie touched his wrist once: don’t escalate.
“Refugees,” Carrie said into the comm, voice smooth. “Former Sages of Utopia. Requesting entry.”
Silence. Then: “Utopia is dead.”
Carrie didn’t blink. “Utopia is uninhabitable. That’s why we’re here.”
The patrol ship slid into view—dark metal, heat-scarred, a Kaelithian emblem burned into the plating. Sensors raked them like teeth.
“Name,” the voice demanded.
Carrie exhaled once. “Carrie.”
Another pause—long enough to feel like a verdict.
“Land at Grid Seven,” the patrol finally said. “No sudden Yield spikes. No weapons drawn. If you lie, Kaelos will correct you.”
The comm cut.
Kai muttered, “Warm welcome.”
Raida watched the patrol ship peel away. “Kaelos hasn’t changed.”
Carrie didn’t look away from Kyte. “Neither have I.”
[Six months later]
Kaelos didn’t heal you.
It sharpened you.
Their home wasn’t a palace or a barracks—just an old stone structure tucked between cliffs where the wind screamed but didn’t carry rumors. Carrie’s stash had been real: rations, tools, spare cloth, old credits… and a sealed case wrapped in warding tape that Raida never opened in daylight.
Akira turned three under a sun that didn’t care about birthdays. He learned to run on red sand. He learned that the sky could be orange. He learned that adults stopped smiling too fast.
Kyte didn’t learn much at all.
Some mornings, he breathed fine. Some mornings, his chest fought him. And every time he cried, Carrie looked like she was about to break something sacred.
That was why the pod center happened.
Not because they wanted it.
Because they couldn’t lose another child to a world that already took everything else.
[Kai and Akira]
Akira didn’t understand exile.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
He understood games.
He sprinted across the sand with his ball tucked under one arm, giggling as if Kaelos wasn’t a planet built for war.
Kai watched him run—then, without warning, stepped into Akira’s path and stole the ball with a clean, effortless flick.
Akira gasped as if it were a betrayal. “Hey!”
Kai’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened at the edges. “You let your guard down.”
Akira puffed his cheeks and charged, tiny feet kicking up red dust.
Kai lowered into a stance—light, controlled—then “lost” the ball on purpose, letting it roll right back into Akira’s hands.
Akira’s grin returned instantly. Victory meant everything at three years old.
Raida watched from the doorway, arms folded. “You’re teaching him?”
“I’m keeping him alive,” Kai replied, tone flat.
Carrie stepped beside Raida, eyes on Akira. “He’s a child.”
Kai’s gaze lingered on Akira a second longer than it needed to. “So was I.”
Akira ran to Kai again, holding the ball up like an offering. “Again!”
Kai exhaled once, quietly. “Again.”
[Another day – The Market]
Kaelithians tested boundaries the way they tested blades.
It started with stares—then comments—then a pair of younger fighters at a market stand laughing too loudly at Carrie’s accent and Akira’s golden eyes.
“Hey,” one of them called, grin sharp. “The traitor’s back.”
Carrie didn’t flinch.
“Thought you were supposed to conquer Utopia,” the other added, stepping closer. “Ins,tead you came back with a Utopian husband, a half-blood kid—”
“And a failure on your record,” the first one finished, voice bright with cruelty. “Elite warrior, huh? What happened? You go soft?”
Carrie’s aura pressed outward—controlled, quiet, enough to make the air feel heavier.
Raida stepped beside her, calm as a wall. “Walk away.”
They didn’t.
Not until Kai spoke from behind them.
“If you want a fight, pick one that doesn’t end in embarrassment.”
The taller one scoffed. “And who are you?”
Kai’s smile showed no warmth. “A problem.”
They left. Fast.
And by sundown, the story had already reached the wrong ears.
[The King’s pardon]
Later, a Kaelithian authority—an older warrior with scarred knuckles and a sun-burned cloak—met them at the edge of town. Not friendly. Not hostile. Assessing.
“Carrie Lyte,” the warrior said, tasting the name. “You’re a fugitive.”
His eyes didn’t flicker to a document or a pad—he didn’t need one.
“You had the Utopia assignment. Used to be an elite blade. But instead, you’ve returned with a Sage, and children carrying foreign signatures.”
He finally met her gaze. “Kaelos remembers its blades.”
Carrie’s eyes stayed level. “I’m a mother.”
The warrior looked at Akira—then at Raida—then at Kyte’s shallow breathing.
“Kaelos doesn’t care where you ran from,” he said. “It cares what you become here.”
A pause. Then, quieter:
“The King will see you.”
Carrie’s jaw tightened. “To arrest me?”
“To decide if you’re still Kaelithian,” the warrior answered. “Or just a ghost wearing our skin.”
[Audience – Kaelos’ Throne Hall]
The hall wasn’t polished like a syndicate throne room.
It was carved from heat-dark stone and old pride—built to last, not to impress.
The Kaelithian King sat above them—broad-shouldered, weathered, eyes like sun-cured iron.
Carrie stood straight, refusing to bow like she was begging.
The King studied her for a long time. Then he spoke.
“You were sent to Utopia as an elite blade,” he said. “Kaelos’ spear.”
A murmur rippled through the Kaelithian onlookers—some of it pride, most of it accusation—judgment disguised as tradition.
“And you returned without victory.”
Carrie didn’t speak.
The King’s gaze slid to Raida—then to Akira, who stared up at the room like it was a mountain that had learned how to breathe.
“You brought strength home,” the King continued, voice even. “And you brought a future.”
Carrie’s eyes narrowed. “My ‘future’ is what your soldiers were mocking.”
The King didn’t deny it. He didn’t apologize.
Instead, he leaned forward slightly, and the hall quieted at once.
“Kaelos is not a gentle world,” he said. “We honor victory because we must. But we do not exile power when the universe is sharpening its knives.”
His eyes locked onto Carrie.
“You are pardoned.”
A sharp inhale moved through the chamber.
“Not forgiven,” the King added, colder. “Pardoned. Conditional.”
He lifted one hand—authority, not mercy.
“You will not bring war to my people. You will not raise your children against Kaelos. And if enemies come for this planet…”
His voice lowered, heavy.
“…you will stand with us.”
Carrie held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded once.
“I will stand,” she said. “For my children.”
The King’s mouth twitched—almost approval. Almost warning.
“Then live,” he said. “And make them worthy of the sun.”
[Kai and Draco – The Training Yard]
Kai found Draco the way you found most Kaelithians worth fearing—
By following the sound of impact.
A ring of fighters had gathered around a bare patch of stone where the heat shimmered off the ground.
At its center stood a Kaelithian with scars like old lightning and a stance like carved law.
Draco.
He didn’t posture. He didn’t show off.
He moved—once—and his sparring partner hit the ground as if the planet had decided.
Kai stepped closer, unimpressed on the outside. Interested underneath.
Draco’s eyes flicked to him. “You’re not from here.”
Kai didn’t flinch. “I’m here now.”
Draco gestured with two fingers. “Show me your form.”
Kai exhaled and moved—Sage-trained footwork, disciplined, efficient.
He slipped in close, angled for a clean strike to the ribs—economical, correct—
And Draco wasn’t there.
Not dodging. Not retreating.
Just a half-step that stole Kai’s line and put a forearm across his throat.
Kai’s boots scraped stone as Draco drove him down—controlled, effortless—until Kai’s back kissed the ground.
A beat of silence. The ring held its breath.
Draco released him. “That’s not Kaelos,” he said. “That’s survival.”
Kai’s jaw tightened. “Same thing.”
Draco stepped into Kai’s space—close enough to be a threat without acting like one.
“No,” Draco said. “Survival dodges. Kaelos breaks what threatens it.”
Then Draco shifted Kai’s stance with one push—correcting angles, grounding weight, aligning Flow with the strike line instead of the fear line.
“Kata is structure,” Draco said, voice low. “And Verse is intent.”
He tapped Kai’s chest once. “If your intent shakes, your body lies.”
Kai’s eyes narrowed. “Teach me.”
Draco studied him—then nodded toward the ring.
“Draconic Kata Verse,” he said. “You learn it the hard way.”
Kai stepped into the circle.
And for the first time since Utopia fell, he trained without running.
[Later]
That night, Raida opened the sealed case for the first time under Kaelos’ moonlight.
The Heart of Utopia didn’t shine like treasure.
It pulsed like a living oath.
Carrie’s jaw tightened. “You’re really doing it.”
“If we keep it,” Raida said, “we become a beacon.”
He looked at their children asleep on the floor mats. Akira curled around his ball like it was proof the universe could still be soft. Kyte’s breathing stuttered in his sleep.
“And if someone takes it,” Raida continued, voice rougher now, “we become a footnote.”
Carrie crouched beside Akira, brushing hair from his forehead. “He’s three.”
“He’s Utopia’s last safe vessel,” Raida whispered. “And you know it.”
Kai stood near the doorway, arms folded. He didn’t interrupt. He just watched like he was memorizing the shape of the moment.
Raida placed the Heart against Akira’s chest—gentle, reverent—and let his own Flow guide it inward.
Not forced. Not rushed.
A seal, not a weapon.
Akira’s eyes fluttered open. For a second, his pupils caught a gold light that wasn’t Kaelos’ sun.
“Papa…?” he murmured, half-asleep.
Raida swallowed hard. “Go back to sleep, Akira.”
The Heart sank into him like it had been waiting.
Carrie’s hand covered Akira’s chest, trembling.
“If this ruins him…” she began.
“Then it ruins me first,” Raida said.
[The next morning]
The pod center smelled like sterilizer and warm metal—too clean for a planet that loved scars.
Rows of nurturing pods lined the chamber, each one humming softly, each one holding someone’s hope.
Kyte was so small in Carrie’s arms that the technicians hesitated before taking him, like they were afraid he might break from being handed over.
“He’ll grow stronger,” one of them said. “The pod will stabilize his meridians, keep his Flow from collapsing under strain.”
Carrie nodded as if she believed it. Like nodding could make it true.
Kyte’s fingers twitched once as they laid him inside.
Raida leaned close. “We’ll be back. I promise.”
The pod sealed with a quiet hiss.
Carrie didn’t cry.
But her aura shook—just once—like a storm trapped behind glass.
[Later — Akira’s dream]
“Look,” a woman laughed—warm, close, bright as a memory. “He looks just like you.”
A man beside her rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. “Hehe… you think so?”
“I know so.” She leaned in until her smile filled Akira’s whole world.
“I can’t wait to see how they grow up.”
Akira tried to speak, but his mouth felt too small.
The woman’s fingers brushed his cheek anyway—gentle, impossible.
“Akira will be a great big—”
The dream cracked.
Cold rushed in.
A heartbeat that wasn’t his—the Heart of Utopia—thumped once beneath his ribs.
[The Day of Judgment]
“Move.”
A shadowed figure slammed a child into a Drift Sphere and keyed in coordinates with shaking hands. “Get out—now.”
A woman grabbed his arm. “I’m not leaving without you.”
His voice broke, just once. “Our son needs you.”
The facility screamed—metal tearing, earth buckling—ships shattering outside like glass in a storm.
“…Dammit,” the man whispered. “We’re already out of time.”
The Sphere sealed.
Then it launched—alone—into the dark.
[Next Time on Lyte of Utopia]: “Rikito Ken: Origin”
[Yield Levels]:
Raida: 20,000
- Post-Training: 30,000
Carrie: 20,000
- Aether Resurgence: (Surge): 50,000
Akira: 2,000
Kyte: 5,000
- Weakened: 5
Kai: 8,000
- Post-Training: 15,000
Draco: 100,000