The sky was covered. Large ships hovered above, blocking out everything beyond as light gathered beneath them, condensing into a single point.
They broke the formation.
"His state is shifting."
"Don't let him stabilize."
"Attack. Full force."
The response came instantly.
"Hold the line."
"Reinforce the inner layer."
A beam of light descended from above, focused and cold. The pressure in the air surged as multiple attacks aligned into one.
It struck.
The outer barrier shattered instantly.
"Second layer—now."
Too late.
The inner layer collapsed under the same force. The light cut through everything in its path—
And reached him—
before it was complete.
He didn't move.
The energy inside him surged, unstable and on the edge of collapse. He was still stabilizing, and any disturbance now would break everything he had built.
They knew it.
They weren't afraid of him.
They were afraid of what came after.
That was why they attacked at full force.
His mind remained clear. No panic. No hesitation.
Only one thought remained.
He had already lost once.
Not like before.
His mind shifted.
Memories resurfaced.
—
Two thousand years earlier—
Night had settled over the city. The streets were quieter now, with most shops already closed. Only a few lights remained, casting a dull glow across the road while shadows stretched between buildings.
He walked at a steady pace, not rushing. There was no reason to.
The bag on his shoulder shifted as he adjusted it. The tools inside made a faint sound, worn from constant use. Repair work, maintenance—anything that paid. Most of the work he took wasn't standard. Small modifications, adjustments—things others avoided because they took too much effort for too little return.
Today had been long.
The first job started early in the morning at a small workshop, fixing worn-out machines that should have been replaced years ago. It took longer than expected, but he finished it. The second came in the afternoon, a repair call that should have been simple. It wasn't. One issue led to another, and he stayed until everything finally worked.
The third came at night. Physical work. Heavy, repetitive, and exhausting. By the time it ended, there was barely anything left in him.
Three jobs in a single day.
Even then, it wasn't enough.
He exhaled slowly as he walked, tightening his grip on the strap of his bag. The weight wasn't much, but after a full day, it felt heavier than it should. His body had already adjusted to this routine, not comfortably, just enough to keep going.
The road ahead stretched quietly. A few vehicles passed from time to time, their lights cutting through the darkness before disappearing again. He didn't pay attention to them. There was nothing there for him.
His thoughts moved slower than usual, dulled by exhaustion. Thinking required more effort than walking, so he let them settle and focused on the path ahead.
There were things waiting at home. Not work.
Responsibility.
The loans hadn't changed. If anything, they felt heavier each day. No matter how much he worked, the numbers stayed the same, constant and unmoving. It was no longer about clearing them quickly.
Now, it was about keeping up.
The street grew quieter as he moved further in. Fewer lights, fewer people. The buildings here were older, less maintained, but still standing. It wasn't unfamiliar.
He had seen worse.
Fatigue settled deeper into his body with each step, not sharp or sudden, just constant. The kind that stayed no matter how much rest he got.
He didn't stop.
Stopping only made it worse.
So he kept walking.
Back then, he thought working harder would be enough.
He had not always lived like this.
There was a time when things were stable. Not comfortable, but enough. A steady routine, a fixed income, and a place that could still be called home.
That changed when he decided to build something of his own.
It started small. A rented space and basic equipment, most of it second-hand. He repaired and modified what he could, pushing each piece to work better than it was meant to.
The idea was simple.
Improve what already existed, make it more efficient, reduce waste, and adjust the parts others ignored.
It worked.
Not immediately, but steadily. Small requests turned into regular work, and results began to speak for themselves. For the first time, things started to move forward.
He didn't keep it to himself.
Family came in first, then a few friends. People he trusted, people who needed work as much as he did. It felt natural to bring them in, and at that time, it felt right.
Work increased, and with more hands, things became easier to manage. Production improved, and orders became consistent. For a while, everything held steady.
Then it began to shift.
Small things at first. Delays that didn't make sense, mistakes that shouldn't have happened, materials going missing. Nothing serious, not at the beginning.
He noticed it, but didn't act. There were always explanations. Small problems were normal.
So he let it pass.
The changes didn't stop.
They grew.
The people he had brought in were handling most of the core work. Accounts, materials, and client communication had gradually shifted into their hands. At first, it made things easier. Later, it made things clear.
Information started leaking. Clients began to turn away. Some contracts failed without reason, while others were taken before reaching him.
It didn't take long to understand.
They weren't just leaving.
They were taking everything with them.
The same people he had trusted the most.
By the time he reacted, it was already too late. What had started as support had turned into control, and what followed was no longer within his reach.
There was no confrontation.
No open conflict.
Things simply shifted, slowly and quietly, until there was nothing left to hold.
The business didn't fall in a moment. It dragged. Orders reduced, income dropped, while expenses stayed. Losses followed, and soon after, the debt.
Everything that remained was tied to him, not them. They had already moved on.
He stayed, trying to hold what was already gone.
By the time everything ended, nothing was left.
No factory. No stability. Not even a place to call home.
Work became harder to find. His reputation had already been damaged, and no one was willing to take the risk. The few opportunities that remained paid even less than before.
At home, things grew worse.
His father's health declined slowly, worsened by stress and anger he couldn't release. His mother stopped working, not by choice, but because there was nowhere left for her to go.
He continued.
Not because he believed it would change anything.
But because stopping wasn't an option.
That night, he was returning late.
The road was quiet. Streetlights stretched along the path, their light uneven and dim. There were fewer vehicles at this hour, and even fewer people.
His steps were slower than usual.
Fatigue had settled deep into his body.
A sudden light cut across his vision.
He turned.
Too late.
The impact came fast.
His body was thrown off balance, hitting the ground hard. The sound didn't register fully. Only the force did, spreading through him before fading just as quickly.
Warmth spread beneath him.
Blood.
His vision blurred.
Footsteps approached.
Familiar.
He forced his eyes open.
Two figures stood there, looking down at him.
There was no panic in their expressions. No urgency.
Only recognition.
That was enough.
So it was like this.
His thoughts slowed. There was no anger, no resistance.
Only clarity.
If there is another chance—
The thought didn't finish as darkness closed in again.