The Voldragoons oath

The Voldragoons Oath

[Scene: A dimly lit armory, the scent of oil and metal thick in the air. The dull glow of Volnyte forges casts flickering shadows along the stone walls. Edric stands near the workbench, his armor battered from countless battles. He methodically removes his chest plate, revealing deep scratches and damaged plating. Across from him, The Regis’ daughter—Lady Avelia—watches, arms crossed, frustration clear on her face.]

Avelia: (scoffing, leaning against the stone wall)

“You’re an idiot, Edric.”

Edric: (calm, unbothered)

“I’ve heard.”

Avelia: (frustrated, but worried)

“You know they planned this, right? My brothers—” (she spits the word like venom) “They wanted this fight. They baited you. They knew you wouldn’t just stand there when their mongrel insulted me.”

Edric: (grinning slightly)

“And? What was I supposed to do, Avelia? Stand there while some gutter-born worm throws filth at you?”

Avelia: (gritted teeth, fists clenching at her sides)

“You could have let it go!”

Edric: (laughs, a rough, battle-worn sound, leaning against the forge, rolling his shoulders)

“Then I wouldn’t be me.”

Avelia: (glaring, then sighing, rubbing her temples)

“You always do this. You know my father’s sons hate you. They can’t touch you outright, not while the Regis favors you. But this? A duel? They can have you cut down in front of the entire court and call it honor.”

Edric: (low, steady, hands tightening around the damaged armor)

“Then I’ll win.”

Avelia: (exhales sharply, voice quiet)

“Even if you do, it won’t end here.”

Edric: (meets her gaze, something softer beneath the warrior’s mask)

“Avelia. They can hate me all they want. But no one—no one—disrespects you and walks away.”

Avelia: (looking down, biting her lip. Silence lingers between them. Then—muttering)

“Your armor’s a wreck.”

Edric: (smirking, lifting the dented chest plate)

“Took a few hits. Thought I’d let the bastard tire himself out before I knocked him flat.”

Avelia: (sighing, stepping forward, running her fingers along the damaged Volnyte seams)

“Reckless idiot.” (pauses, then quieter) “I’ll get it fixed. But you owe me.”

Edric: (tilts his head, smirking)

“Oh? And what’s the price for a favor from Hecthalla’s fairest?”

Avelia: (crosses her arms, arching a brow, flatly)

“Survive.”

Edric: (laughs, shaking his head, grinning)

“No promises.”

Avelia smacks his shoulder, turning toward the forge. Edric watches her go, expression unreadable. He picks up his sword, running a thumb along the edge as the firelight flickers in his eyes. The battle hasn’t even begun, but the game has already started.

Finally he came upon a shop where a young man with short brown hair was tinkering with a helm.

Edric had spent the morning searching for a smith, but every shop in the city was too expensive. He could’ve paid—Avelia had given him the gold—but he left it under her bed. He’d take a blade for her, but never her coin.

Frustrated, he wandered deeper into the lower districts, past the clean-cut forges of the noble quarter. Here, the air was thick with iron and smoke, the sound of hammers ringing through narrow streets.

Finally, he found it.

A rugged little shop, tucked between stone buildings, its walls darkened by soot. Inside, a short, brown-haired smith hunched over a workbench, tinkering with a battered helm, completely absorbed in his work.

Edric stepped inside, dropping his dented chest plate onto the counter with a heavy clang.

The smith barely looked up.

“If you’re here to haggle, take it somewhere else.”

Edric smirked.

He wasn’t here to haggle.

Xelric: If I give anyone else a discount Bronx is gonna kill me

Xelric’s head snapped up, his eyes widening as he finally took in the man standing before him.

A Voldragoon.

Not just any soldier—one built for war.

Before Edric could say a word, Xelric darted around him, hands moving fast, examining the battered chest plate, running his fingers over the dents and stress points. His sharp gaze flickered between scratches, melted edges, and impact fractures, his mind already reconstructing the damage, calculating the repairs.

He didn’t ask what happened. The armor told its own story.

Without hesitation, Xelric grabbed his measuring tool, tracing the Volnyte seams, noting every detail with obsessive focus.

“Huh.” He muttered, more to himself than Edric.

He’d never worked on a Voldragoon before.

And judging by the damage, this one wasn’t just standing in battles.

He was letting the enemy hit him on purpose.

Xelric: you must not be dodging very much this this is beat up but it’s a fine suit

(Xelric circles Edric like a predator eyeing a prize, hands already moving across the battered armor, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. He talks fast, words tumbling out before he can stop them, like he’s already seeing the finished project in his head.)

Xelric: (grinning, tapping the gauntlet plate with a sharp clank)

“Alright, first thing—Volnyte Pulse Gauntlets. Direct nerve-link. Every punch? Boom. Shockwave impact. You’re not just hitting someone, you’re sending them flying. Doesn’t matter if they’re wearing armor, doesn’t matter if they’re twice your size—when you land a punch, they feel it.”

(He barely waits for Edric’s reaction before moving to the underlayer, fingers running across the worn fabric, already mapping out modifications.)

Xelric: (talking faster, hands moving like he’s building it in real-time)

“The underlay? We upgrade it with Nanomesh—self-repairing, impact-absorbing. You take a hit? It hardens instantly, spreads the force across your whole body. No more cracked ribs. No more ‘hope this bruise doesn’t kill me later.’ You won’t even feel it.”

(He’s already yanking at the armor’s joints, testing flexibility, muttering under his breath. Then, he snaps his fingers, eyes flashing with realization.)

Xelric: (grinning wildly, pointing at Edric’s elbow joint)

“Now this—this is where it gets crazy. Landrid Skin Joints. Reinforced plating, layered muscle support—you’d have inhuman flexibility and strength. Imagine dodging mid-air, twisting at full speed, landing without losing momentum. Full armor, zero restriction. You move like you’re wearing nothing.”

(He steps back, rolling his shoulders, already onto the next idea, voice practically buzzing.)

Xelric: (dramatic, spreading his arms like he’s unveiling a masterpiece)

“And the plating—forget basic reinforcement. Volundr Reactive Plates. Expanding and tightening on command. Need to take a hit? Armor thickens. Need to move faster? Armor retracts. You control how heavy or light you fight. One second, you’re an unstoppable wall, the next—you’re faster than a damn Volt striker.”

(He finally exhales, eyes still burning with ideas. He crosses his arms, smirking.)

Xelric: (leaning in slightly, teasing)

Edric: look kid, I just need a patch right there clanking his finger on the damage.

(Xelric tumbled over in disbelief)

Xelric: Are you kidding me this is a nice suit but it’s gonna get you killed in this state.

Xelric: At least let me add the Volundr Reactive Plates.

Xelric: or the Landrid Skin Joints.

Edric: this is all I have Edric slams a few coins on the counter now hurry up I’m late for a duel.

Xelric’s Gamble – Unspoken Upgrades

Xelric stared at the small pile of coin on his workbench. Not much—just enough for a patch job.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna let a Voldragoon walk out of here with patched-up garbage.”

Edric probably thought he was getting a simple repair.

But Xelric wasn’t the kind of smith to do just enough.

He wasn’t just fixing the armor. He was upgrading it.

The Work Begins

The forge roared to life, the Volnyte core burning hot as Xelric worked.

He stripped the armor down, piece by piece, replacing damaged plating, reforging weak points, reinforcing the underlay. What should’ve been a basic patch-up became a complete overhaul.

And then—he went further.

Landrid Skin Joints. He integrated them into the frame, layered reinforcement, boosting agility without sacrificing strength. The armor would move as naturally as muscle, adapting to Edric’s body in a way he wouldn’t even notice—until he needed it.

Volundr Reactive Plates. Xelric smirked as he crafted the segmented plating, adjusting the mechanisms. The armor would shift with Edric’s combat style, expanding when he needed defense, retracting for speed. No manual controls. No learning curve. Just pure instinct.

It was beyond what Edric had asked for. Beyond what he had paid for.

But Xelric didn’t care.

Because when this armor hit the battlefield, when Edric realized what he was wearing—

That’s when the real fun would start.

By the time Edric returned, the armor was waiting for him, polished and flawless.

Xelric leaned back against his workbench, arms crossed.

Xelric: (casual, like he hadn’t just rebuilt the whole damn thing)

“There. Fixed it.”

Edric lifted the chest plate, inspecting it. The metal was pristine, reinforced, like it had never taken a hit.

He glanced at Xelric, mildly impressed but suspicious.

Edric: (raising an eyebrow)

“This looks… better than I expected.”

Xelric shrugged, forcing down a smirk.

Xelric: (mock boredom, looking away)

“Yeah, well. I don’t do sloppy work.”

Edric turned the armor over, running his fingers along the joints, testing the weight. Something felt different.

But he didn’t ask.

And Xelric? He wasn’t about to tell.

Not yet.

The Duel – Blood on the Wind

The field east of the city was alive with murmurs and whispers, the gathered crowd shifting, waiting.

This was where feuds ended. Where honor was won or buried.

Edric stood alone at the center, his cloak rippling in the restless wind, his fingers tightening around the grip of his sword. He exhaled slowly, clearing his mind, focusing.

The weight of his armor felt… different.

Lighter. Faster.

He didn’t understand why. Not yet.

A voice cut through the tension.

“Move aside.”

The crowd parted.

A tower of a man strode forward, clad in pristine Voldragoon armor, the metal gleaming with custom engravings. His tower shield rested comfortably on his arm, his short sword strapped to his hip.

Garth.

He moved with the confidence of a man who had already decided the outcome.

Garth: (smirking, voice carrying over the crowd)

“I’ll give you one last chance to back out.” (He adjusted his grip on his shield, rolling his shoulders.)

“You can slink away, find some other free city to waste your life in.”

Edric tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

Edric: (calm, firm)

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” (His hand rested on the hilt of his spear.)

“But I’m not going to offer you anything.”

(He stepped forward, voice lowering, eyes locked onto Garth’s.)

“You’re already dead.”

The First Move

Garth laughed, raising his shield, tapping his sword against it with a heavy clang.

Garth: (mocking, grin widening)

“That right? Let’s see if you can back that up.”

Edric didn’t wait.

Edric’s fingers brushed against the activation plate on the javelin’s shaft.

A soft hum vibrated through the weapon as the Volnyte core powered up, its seams flickering with faint, pulsing light. The internal stabilizers locked, adjusting for wind resistance, trajectory, and gravitational pull.

This wasn’t just a spear.

It was a guided weapon.

His grip tightened, and with a sharp exhale, he launched it.

The air cracked as the javelin shot forward, its Volnyte boosters igniting for a split second—not enough to make it a missile, but just enough to accelerate its deadly arc.

For anyone else, it would have been an instant kill.

But Garth wasn’t anyone else.

His helmet visor flashed, tracking the incoming spear. With inhuman precision, he twisted, shifting his weight just enough for the javelin to graze past his side, missing by inches before embedding itself into the dirt with a sharp thunk.

He didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he turned his gaze back to Edric and grinned.

Garth: (mocking, voice smooth as steel)

“That’s it?”

He slammed his sword against his shield.

BOOM. The sound echoed like a war drum.

“I expected more.”

(He didn’t charge. He held his ground, his stance unwavering. He was testing Edric. Waiting. Measuring his opponent.)

“I expected more.”

(He tightened his grip on his short sword.)

“I’ll come to you.”

Garth tightened his grip on his short sword.

“I’ll come to you.”

Then, his blade came alive.

A mechanical whine filled the air as the short sword split apart, revealing an oscillating Volnyte core. The edges of the blade extended and retracted at impossible speed, turning the weapon into a bladed piston, a weapon built for relentless, crushing offense.

And then—he attacked.

The first strike came in a blur—Edric barely dodged, twisting his body to avoid the razor-thin blade.

Then came the second. The third. The fourth.

Each strike extended and retracted mid-motion, the weapon adjusting in real-time, searching for gaps in his defense.

Edric’s sword clashed against the onslaught, sparks flying as he deflected each blow. Every block sent vibrations up his arms, each hit heavier than the last.

Garth’s grin widened.

Garth: (mocking, voice smooth as steel)

“Can’t keep up?”

Edric’s Assault

Edric moved.

His instincts screamed at him to dodge, roll, evade—anything but block.

Garth’s blade was everywhere.

It extended, retracted, struck, and struck again, hammering the air with a relentless rhythm. Each blow carved deep gouges into the ground, sending sparks and dust flying. The Volnyte pulse at its core hummed, adjusting its reach with inhuman precision.

Edric rolled low, barely avoiding a strike aimed for his ribs—too close. The next attack came from above, the blade snapping forward like a spear. He twisted mid-motion, feeling the heat of the energy passing just inches from his skull.

His footing slipped.

For the first time, doubt crept in.

I’m not going to make it.

Garth was too fast, too strong, too precise.

A single mistake and it would be over.

And then—he felt it.

A shift. A pull. His armor adjusting, muscles moving before he could think.

Another blade strike came blazing toward his throat.

Edric ducked—but he didn’t.

His body had already moved.

His stomach twisted. What the hell was happening?

But he didn’t have time to think. Garth was still coming.

Edric clenched his teeth.

His pike lashed out, cutting a clean arc for Garth’s exposed side.

CLANG!

The blade met steel.

Garth’s tower shield snapped into place, absorbing the strike like a fortress wall.

Edric shifted, slashing again—higher this time, a feint—then lower.

CLANG! CLANG!

Nothing got through.

Garth barely moved, absorbing each hit without effort. Then, with a slight shift of his weight, he twisted his shield and shoved forward.

Edric stumbled back from the force.

The crowd cheered.

Garth’s Taunt

Garth: (grinning, voice smooth, confident)

“Fast. Aggressive. But reckless.” (He shifted his stance, stepping forward.)

“You fight like a man who’s never been outmatched before.”

Edric gritted his teeth, then attacked again.

His pike flashed in a brutal flurry—overhand, diagonal, low sweep, rising slash.

Every strike was deflected.

Garth wasn’t just strong—he was fast.

And now, he moved.

Garth’s Counterattack

Before Edric could reset his stance, Garth exploded forward.

Garth’s tower shield slammed into Edric’s gut like a battering ram.

WHAM!

Then came the burst.

BOOM!

A Volnyte discharge detonated point-blank, sending a shockwave rippling through Edric’s body. His helmet’s HUD flickered, his ears rang like a bomb had gone off inside his skull. His vision blurred, muscles locked, balance shattered.

He barely registered the cheers of the crowd over the high-pitched whine in his head.

Garth grinned.

“Hah! That’s it?”

He rolled his shoulders, stepping forward with renewed confidence. This was easier than he thought. Edric was faster than most, sure—but it didn’t matter. Not against superior force.

“Stay down, kid. You’re making this worse for yourself.”

The force nearly cracked his ribs. His breath ripped from his lungs as he staggered back, but before he could even recover—

A blade flashed toward his neck.

Garth’s short sword swung in a vicious arc, the blade hissing through the air.

Edric barely dodged.

The wind split as the edge missed his throat by inches.

Then Garth’s fist crashed into Edric’s jaw.

CRACK!

Pain exploded through his skull.

Before he could react, a kick slammed into his chest.

Edric’s boots left the ground.

He hit the dirt hard, rolling from the sheer force.

The crowd roared.

And Garth loomed over him, his blade rising.

The Kill Strike

Garth: (grinning, raising his short sword, Volnyte humming as the blade extends)

“This is how a real warrior dies.”

(The short sword elongated, shifting into a thrusting spear, the tip crackling with stored energy. Garth stabbed downward, aiming straight for Edric’s heart.)

(For a split second—Edric saw his own death.)

The Armor Reacts

Then—his armor moved.

Not his body.

His armor.

The plating shifted, retracting just enough to allow him to twist faster than humanly possible. His muscles weren’t even working alone anymore.

His armor was adapting to him.

The Volundr Reactive Plates had kicked in.

Garth’s blade stabbed forward, aiming for the gap in Edric’s armor—

But it never reached.

The blade struck plate, dead center.

Then—the armor reacted.

A reactive Volnyte barrier flared to life, a pulse of energy bursting outward at the point of impact. The force rippled through Garth’s sword—metal groaned, cracked—

SHATTERED.

Jagged shards of Volnyte-infused steel sprayed across the dueling grounds, some embedding into the dirt, others clattering off the stone arena walls.

Garth froze.

His eyes locked onto the remains of his weapon—a hilt, a fractured stub of metal where his unstoppable blade had once been.

This is impossible.

The thought hit him like a second impact, hammering through his mind. His sword was designed to cut through anything—Volnyte-forged, reinforced for precision kills.

But now it was ruined. Gone in a single instant.

His stomach twisted.

Something was wrong.

Edric didn’t hesitate.

His hand shot out, grabbing his fallen spear from the ground.

With all his strength, he thrust upward.

The End

SCHLKT!

The spear’s tip punched through Garth’s helmet, through his skull, through the back of his head.

His body locked up.

The crowd went silent.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Edric ripped the spear free, letting Garth’s lifeless form collapse to the dirt.

Blood pooled beneath the body, soaking into the dust.

Edric exhaled, gripping his spear tight.

Then, finally, he looked down at his armor.

And now, he knew.

Xelric had saved his life.

Lara the Thief

Lara was another one of Bronx’s strays—except he hadn’t picked her up.

He had caught her.

In his rare metals storage.

Bronx had been locking up for the night when he heard a shuffling noise from the back.

His grip tightened around the broomstick in his hand.

“Who’s back there?” His voice was rough, warning. “You’d better come out. We’re close enough to the city for gunfire, and I’m packing.”

A soft chuckle echoed from the shadows.

Lara: (mocking)

“Don’t shoot, you big dope! You even know what you’ve got in here?”

Bronx: (gruffly)

”’Course I do.”

Lara: (stepping into view, arms crossed)

“Then maybe you oughta label some of this highly explosive if you plan on shooting the place up.”

Bronx narrowed his eyes.

Smart mouth.

And too confident for a thief caught red-handed.

Bronx: (shaking his head)

“Just come out. Or we’re about to find out how good my aim still is.”

Lara: (raising her hands in mock surrender)

“Okay, okay—look, I just needed something to eat.”

Bronx grunted, then slammed the broomstick hard against the floor, making her flinch.

Bronx: (growling)

“Your pockets are awful damn full for one meal, you little shit.”

Lara grinned.

Got him.

Bronx was ready to start screaming again—until his eyes landed on the storage room lock.

Still intact.

Not broken.

Not forced.

Bronx: (pausing, frowning)

”…Did you open this lock yourself?” (narrowing his eyes) “You a Volundr?”

Lara: (giggling, twirling a lockpick between her fingers)

“Nah. But I know my way around locks.” (smirks) “My family’s been locksmiths for generations.”

Bronx stared at her for a long moment.

Most thieves were sloppy.

Most couldn’t get past his locks.

And most sure as hell wouldn’t stick around and run their mouth after being caught.

Then, finally, he grunted.

Bronx: (gruffly, arms crossed)

“How’d you like a job?”

Lara’s New Life

Lara froze.

A job?

She had never once thought about a normal life since the Hierarchy drove her from her home.

She had spent years drifting, surviving by stealing and running—until she had ended up on this backwater frontier world.

But Bronx wasn’t offering charity.

This wasn’t pity.

It was an offer.

A way to finally stop running.

For a long second, she stared at him.

Then, slowly, she grinned.

“Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

One Year Later

Lara had been Bronx’s apprentice for a full year when he took on another stray—

A lost Volundr named Xelric.

A Risky Break-In

(Xelric and Lara crouch in front of a locked metal door in the dimly lit alleyway. Lara’s fingers work swiftly over the lock, her tools glinting in the low light. The distant sounds of the city’s parade celebrations echo in the background.)

Xelric: (hesitant, glancing around)

“Are you sure this is okay?”

Lara: (grinning, not looking up from the lockpicking tools in her hands)

“No. Of course not.”

(Xelric blinks, frowning.)

Xelric:

“Then why are we doing this?”

Lara: (chuckles)

“Because if I told you it wasn’t okay, you’d still be wasting your day in the forge.”

Xelric: (crossing his arms)

“I like the forge.”

Lara: (rolling her eyes, still focused on the lock)

“Yeah, yeah, we all know. But don’t you ever want a day off?”

Xelric: (shrugs)

“Sometimes. But I usually end up spending the day working on my suit.”

Lara: (groaning)

*“Ugh. Your life is depressing.”

(She pauses, giving him a sideways glance.)

“All that money you’re making with Bronx—haven’t you ever wanted more?”

Xelric: (firmly)

“Bronx pays me fair. And of course I do—I want my own shop. Inside the city.”

(Lara’s fingers pause for a moment before a dull thud sounds—the last tumbler falls into place.)

Lara: (smirking)

“Got it.”

(She stands, pushing the door open slightly, revealing a dark tunnel beyond.)

Lara:

“Okay, let’s go.”

Xelric: (hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck)

“Lara… maybe we shouldn’t. If we get caught, it could ruin my chances of getting into the Volundr Academy.”

Lara: (mocking gasp, placing a hand on her chest)

*“Oh no, not your precious Academy!”

(She smirks and gives him a playful shove toward the door.)

“Don’t be such a wimp—no one is going to see us. This leads to the sewer tunnels and then to the old factory. We can watch the parade from there.”

Xelric: (sighs, giving in)

“Alright. But when we go through the tunnel—no fights this time.”

(Lara dramatically throws her arms up.)

Lara: (mock-offended)

“That was not my fault!”

(Xelric gives her a knowing look.)

(Lara grins, grabs his wrist, and pulls him into the tunnel—the door clicks shut behind them.)

Parade Over the City - Xelric & Lara’s Banter

(Xelric and Lara sit on a rusted factory rooftop, overlooking the grand parade route below. The streets are packed with cheering citizens, their voices mixing with the rhythmic pounding of marching soldiers. Banners wave, drums echo, and towering mechs stand in ceremonial formation.)

Beyond the parade, Hecthalla sprawled like a metal behemoth, built in layers upon layers of its own history. Skywalks and hover-trams wove through its upper districts, sleek and efficient, while below, a maze of rusted scaffolding and crumbling infrastructure told the story of a city that had never stopped expanding.

Technology in Hecthalla was not restricted, only rationed. The wealthy lived in bio-synthetic towers, where glass shifted to tint against the sun and air filters kept out the factory smog. Neon sigils and kinetic holograms lit the skyline, advertising weapons, enhancements, and mercenary contracts.

But beneath them, the lower sectors told a different story.

Power grids flickered unreliably, their output stretched thin across miles of makeshift housing and repurposed industrial zones. Augmented workers hauled crates with outdated exosuits, their actuators wheezing from overuse. Scrap traders and rogue engineers bartered over salvaged tech, turning discarded military gear into tools of survival.

The Guild District stood apart—a fortress of industry, its forges burning with the deep orange glow of molten metal. Volundr artisans toiled under strict oversight, producing weapons, armor, and machines that would never be sold to the people who lived below them.

In Hecthalla, progress belonged to those who could afford it.

(Lara leans back, watching as the heavily armored Voldragoons pass below, their gleaming suits reflecting the city lights. Xelric, however, is focused—too focused—his eyes narrowing at the movements of their armor.)

Lara: (grinning, nudging him with her elbow)

“Alright, forge boy, what’s wrong with them?”

Xelric: (not looking away, frowning slightly)

“Huh?”

Lara: (mock sighs, waving toward the parade)

“C’mon, I see the look. You’re picking them apart in your head, aren’t you?”

Xelric: (reluctantly, eyes still fixed on the soldiers below)

”…Their Volnyte plating is inefficient. It’s too rigid—whoever designed it overcompensated for impact resistance and ignored mobility.”

Lara: (chuckling, crossing her arms)

“So you’re telling me the city’s most elite troops—the ones everyone is cheering for—are wearing clunky metal suits?”

Xelric: (grinning slightly)

“I’m saying if they had to fight in those, they’d be in trouble. The Landrid-skin joints are supposed to adjust with movement, but whoever set up the Volnyte distribution clearly didn’t understand pressure flow.”

Lara: (mock serious)

“So what you’re saying is, I could outrun them?”

Xelric: (deadpan)

“If they tripped over their own armor, sure.”

(Lara laughs, shaking her head, watching as the Volundr warriors follow in formation behind the Voldragoons. Unlike the heavily armored soldiers, the Volundr’s armor is sleeker, more refined—built for speed and precision.)

Lara: (tilting her head)

“Okay, and them? What makes the Volundr so special?”

Xelric: (watching them closely)

“They’re using real Volnyte tech. Their suits aren’t just reinforced armor—they’re adaptive, an extension of their own bodies. Every movement is mirrored and adjusted in real-time.”

(Lara hums, tapping her fingers against her knee.)

Lara: (grinning)

“So what I’m hearing is… their armor actually works.”

Xelric: (smirks)

“Basically.”

(The parade continues, cheers ringing through the streets. For a moment, the two just watch in silence—Xelric studying the armor, Lara simply enjoying the scene.)

Dreams of the Future

Lara: (glancing at Xelric, curious)

“So, all this talk about armor… what do you actually want?”

Xelric: (shrugs, still watching the city skyline in the distance)

“A forge. My own shop. In the city.”

Lara: (raising an eyebrow)

“That’s it?”

Xelric: (grins slightly)

“Not just any shop. A real forge. One that doesn’t shake every time a tram passes.” (pauses, more serious) “A place where I can create something that lasts.”

Lara: (chuckling, leaning back on her hands)

“Yeah, yeah, sounds very respectable. No desire to run off on grand adventures? No secrets to uncover?”

Xelric: (pauses, thinking)

“I don’t… remember much about before. Just glimpses.”

Lara: (softly)

“Like?”

Xelric: (frowning slightly, eyes distant)

“Playing by a stream… sitting at the edge of a forest with a friend my age. I don’t remember their face, just that… we would race sticks in the water and pretend they were ships sailing to far-off worlds.”

(He exhales, rubbing his temples.)

“Everything else is just… flashes. Smoke. Fire. Screaming.”

(Lara watches him for a moment before offering a small smirk, nudging him lightly.)

Lara:

“Well, you turned out alright, Xel.”

(Xelric smirks back, shaking off the moment.)

Lara’s Story

Xelric: (glancing at her)

“What about you?”

(Lara stiffens slightly, still watching the parade. She doesn’t answer right away. For the first time, her usual cocky demeanor seems to fade.)

Xelric: (watching her closely)

“Lara?”

(She exhales, leaning back on her hands, staring up at the sky.)

Lara: (finally, voice softer than usual)

“My parents were good people. They worked hard—too hard. We lived on a Hierarchy world. Poor, struggling, just like everyone else.”

(She pauses, her fingers idly tracing a pattern on the rusted metal beside her.)

“They wanted better for me, so they did something desperate. They sold themselves to a corporation—lifelong contracts, off-world work. The money they got… they gave it all to a smuggler they trusted. Someone who promised to get me out.”

(She lets out a bitter laugh.)

“Only… he didn’t. He kept me for himself.”

(Xelric tenses slightly, but says nothing, letting her continue.)

Lara: (voice steady but dark)

“I grew up running jobs for him. Smuggling, hacking, whatever he needed. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew that if I stayed, I’d never get free.”

(She finally looks at Xelric, smirking, but there’s no real humor in it.)

“So I waited. Waited until I was old enough, smart enough, fast enough. Then, when we landed on a mining colony, I left him there.”

(She leans forward, resting her arms on her knees.)

“And I crashed his ship here.”

(Silence stretches between them. The cheers from the parade feel distant now.)

Xelric: (quietly, after a pause)

”…Did you ever find out what happened to your parents?”

Lara: (shaking her head, looking away)

“No. And I don’t want to.”

(Xelric watches her for a long moment, then nods slowly.)

Xelric: (softly)

“I’m sorry.”

(Lara rolls her eyes, forcing a grin.)

Lara: (lightly, but a little forced)

“Ugh, don’t get all soft on me, Xel. We’ve got a parade to watch.”

(Xelric smirks, shaking his head. The tension eases, and they sit in companionable silence, watching the procession below, both lost in their own thoughts.)

Xelric & Lara vs. The Gang

(The alley was dark, the neon lights from the city casting flickering shadows against the damp brick walls. Xelric and Lara had taken a shortcut—bad idea. The gang was waiting for them.)

(Six of them. Armed. Smirking. Ready.)

Gang Leader: (grinning, cracking his knuckles)

“Well, well. What do we have here? A pretty little thief and her forge-rat friend.”

Lara: (rolling her neck, already stepping forward)

“Yeah, yeah. Skip the part where you try to intimidate us and let’s get to the part where I kick your teeth in.”

(The leader’s grin vanishes.)

Gang Leader: (growling)

“Get ‘em.”

Lara Goes on the Attack

(Two thugs rush her at once. Big mistake.)

(Lara ducks under the first swing, her knives already in hand. She pivots—one blade flashing as she slices the first thug’s arm and sends him reeling back, howling.)

(The second one lunges—Lara steps inside his reach, grabs his wrist, and twists. A sickening pop echoes through the alley as his shoulder dislocates. He crumples, screaming.)

(A third thug comes in with a baton, swinging for her ribs. Lara sidesteps, grabbing his wrist and redirecting the momentum—she throws him into the brick wall, face-first.)

(He slumps, unconscious.)

Lara: (smirking, flipping her knives in her hands)

“Three down. Who’s next?”

(That’s when she hears Xelric struggling.)

Xelric’s Fight – Holding His Own

(Xelric had never been a brawler. He was strong, but fighting in the forge was different from fighting in the streets.)

(His opponent was faster, more experienced, and Xelric knew it.)

(The thug swung a pipe—Xelric barely blocked with his forearm, pain jolting through his body. He retaliated with a wild punch—the thug dodged, then slammed his fist into Xelric’s ribs.)

(Xelric staggered, coughing.)

Thug: (mocking, circling him)

“What’s wrong, forge boy? Too much time with hammers, not enough with your fists?”

(The thug lunged again—Xelric caught his arm this time, twisting it. He tried to use leverage, but the thug was stronger—Xelric was losing ground.)

(Then, suddenly—Lara was there.)

(A sharp kick to the back of the thug’s knee sent him crashing down. Before he could recover, Lara smashed an elbow into his jaw. He went limp.)

Lara: (panting, grinning)

“Seriously, Xel? One?”

Xelric: (grumbling, wiping blood from his mouth)

“I had it.”

(But then—)

(The leader pulls a gun.)

(Lara freezes.)

The Moment Everything Changes

(The gun clicks, the barrel pointed straight at Lara’s chest.)

(For a split second, everything slows.)

Gang Leader: (sneering)

“Funny thing about knives, girl. They don’t block bullets.”

(His finger tightens on the trigger.)

(Lara doesn’t move. There’s no time. No space. She’s fast—but not that fast.)

(The gun fires.)

(But the bullet never reaches her.)

(There’s a flash—a ripple in the air—like heat distorting reality. A kinetic barrier flares to life, absorbing the impact in a crackling burst.)

(The bullet drops harmlessly to the ground.)

(The gang leader’s eyes widen in shock.)

Lara: (staring at Xelric, breathless)

”…Xel?”

(Xelric wasn’t thinking anymore. He wasn’t controlling it. His body moved on instinct—on rage. And before he could stop himself—)

(The gang leader screamed as red energy pulsed from Xelric’s outstretched hand—not fire, not light, something raw and searing.

Heat rippled through the air, distorting reality like the space over a forge. In an instant, the thug’s clothes ignited, flames licking up his arms, devouring fabric and flesh alike.

The alley exploded in orange light. The sharp stink of burning leather and seared skin hit Lara’s nose, choking the air.

For a moment, no one moved.

Even the fleeing thugs stumbled mid-step, their terror eclipsed by the horror of what they just witnessed.)

(The remaining thugs ran, screaming. Lara could barely hear them—she was staring at Xelric.)

(The fire died down. The leader collapsed, barely conscious, groaning in agony.)

(Xelric stood there, breathing hard, his eyes wide—his hands still trembling.)

Aftermath – The Weight of Power

Lara: (voice hushed, still stunned)

”…What the hell was that?”

(Xelric didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mind was racing. He had never done that before. The barrier, maybe—he’d felt something strange before. But the fire? That was new. That was terrifying.)

Xelric: (quietly, still shaking)

“I—I didn’t mean to.”

Lara: (still watching him, cautious now)

“Xel… you just set a guy on fire.”

(He looked at his hands—his own hands—as if they belonged to someone else. His fingers still tingled, as if the flames were still there.)

(For the first time, Xelric realized—he wasn’t normal.)

(He never had been.)

(Lara exhaled, glancing at the gang leader’s unmoving form. Then she turned back to Xelric, eyes serious, voice low.)

Lara: (firm, but not unkind)

“We need to get out of here. Now.”

(Xelric hesitated, then nodded. Lara grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward, sprinting into the night, leaving the alley—and the smoking wreckage of what just happened—behind them.)