Seven years ago.
The classroom smelled of fresh chalk and polished wood. Sunlight slanted through tall windows, painting golden stripes across the rows of small desks.
Ten-year-old Koya sat near the back, legs swinging under the chair, eyes wide and bright. She loved this lesson—the first one every new section got. It felt like the start of something big.
Teacher Immira stood at the front, hands clasped behind her back. She wasn't tall, but when she spoke about the Golden Globe, she seemed to fill the room.
"Listen carefully, children," she began, voice steady and warm. "This is the most important thing you will learn today. Maybe the most important thing you will ever learn here."
She walked to a large map hanging on the wall—old parchment, edges frayed, continents drawn in faded ink. A single glowing circle pulsed softly in the center: the Golden Globe.
"Outside these borders," she said, tracing a finger along the invisible line that surrounded their home, "the world is not kind. After the gods vanished, a tyrant rose. His name is Ekekiri. He claimed the shattered kingdoms with an iron fist and a power called disbelief—a flow so dark it can unravel hope, twist truth, make people forget why they ever fought. Almost everything beyond our walls bends to him now."
A few children shifted uncomfortably. Koya leaned forward.
"But not everything," Immira continued. "There are still places the gods shielded before they disappeared. Hidden pockets. Safe havens. The Golden Globe is one of them."
She touched the glowing circle on the map. It brightened, sending soft light across the room.
"Long ago, when Ekekiri's shadow first spread, the goddess Onwura—the guardian of earth and morals—wove her final protection around this land. Her energy still lingers in the soil, in the air, in the very wards that surround us. As long as that energy holds, his disbelief cannot fully reach inside. He cannot see us clearly. He cannot send armies without them weakening at the border. He doesn't even know we exist—at least, not yet."
Koya's hand shot up.
Immira smiled. "Yes, Koya?"
"How many people live here?"
"One and a half million souls," Immira answered. "And room for more if we ever need it.
"We are governed by the four elders—Water, Spirit, Iron, and Light. They are the pillars that keep our laws fair and our defenses strong. They is also the Golden Guardian, our shield and our hope. She sees with the mind what eyes cannot."
A boy in front asked, "Do we fight him? Ekekiri, I mean."
Immira's expression grew serious.
"We prepare. We send scouts—small teams of our best flow users—beyond the wards. They watch. They listen. They search for any weakness, any crack in his rule. And when the time comes… we will be ready."
She stepped closer to the class.
"That is why you are here. In two years, most of you will enter the Flow Academy. There you will learn what flow truly is: the pure energy that moves through every living thing, circulating like waves through the body. It comes in countless forms—water, light, iron, lightenen, nature, and more. Some of you will become battle-flow users, standing on the front lines against beasts, demons, or whatever threat comes. Others will be support— healers, builders, protectors of the innocent."
Koya's eyes shone. She imagined herself with a weapon, strong, useful. Not weak. Never weak.
Immira's voice softened.
"The Golden Globe has always been a sanctuary. But nothing in this world is certain forever. That is why we train you. Not to live in fear—but to live prepared. So that when the day comes, you will stand tall."
The bell rang. Children stood, chattering.
Koya stayed seated a moment longer, staring at the glowing map.
She felt safe.
She felt proud.
Present day.
Koya stood on the same training field she had once run across as a child, Ikua's arm resting across her shoulders like an old friend. The wards shimmered faintly in the distance—barely visible unless you knew where to look.
Anna leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, watching her.
"Two weeks left until Flow Bound," Anna said. "Time flies."
Koya exhaled slowly. "Yeah."
She glanced toward the Golden Tower. The spire caught the afternoon sun and threw long shadows across the grounds.
"I was thinking about the first lesson we ever had," Koya said quietly. "Immira standing up there, telling us about Onwura's protection. About how Ekekiri couldn't touch us. About how we were safe."
Anna tilted her head. "You sound like you're not sure anymore."
Koya looked down at the weapon. The runes were quiet today, but she could still feel the warmth from her last training session.
"I used to believe it completely. That nothing could reach us here. But lately…" She trailed off. "The dreams. The way the weapon reacts sometimes. It feels like something's trying to get in."
Anna stepped closer. "The wards are still holding. The elders say so."
"Do they?" Koya met her eyes. "Or do they just hope?"
A soft wind moved through the field, carrying the faint scent of earth and rain.
Anna was quiet for a moment.
"Then we make sure they hold," she said finally. "You, me, Cal, even Ra'an's annoying ass—we train harder. We get stronger. If Ekekiri ever figures out we're here… he'll find a place that's ready to fight back."
Koya let out a small breath, almost a laugh.
"You sound like Immira."
Anna grinned. "Good. She was right."
Koya lifted Ikua's arm, feeling the familiar weight settle into her bones.
"Flow Bound's in two weeks," she said. "If I can't control this thing by then…"
"You will," Anna cut in. "Because you've never stopped trying. Not once."
Koya looked toward the wards again. They shimmered—steady, golden, ancient.
For the first time in days, she felt something like hope flicker inside her chest.
But beneath it, cold and quiet, the memory of the crimson sky and the pursuing shadow lingered.
To be continued...