A/N: After some review and revision, I believe I should manage the pacing more optimally, and keep the philosophical highlights subtle and not overwhelming.
This volume can also be considered Volume One, as it marks a new beginning. Before diving in, I'll start with some background-building chapters.
***
The infinite cosmos, where countless bubbles, discs, and stars shimmered in the void, lay a distant froth of galaxies.
Among them was a single speck of light—Solaris-3. Also known as Sol-III, or simply Solaris, it was the third planet from its sun, a world long plagued by chaos and collapse.
Here, civilization clung to survival, trapped in a cycle of ruin and renewal.
At the heart of this turmoil was the Lament—a vast, incomprehensible force behind the planet's long history of destruction.
Over the past ten millennia, Solaris-3 endured five Global Laments and hundreds of thousands of smaller, regional ones.
These disasters, collectively called Waveworn Phenomena, shattered natural law, crippled science, and ended interstellar exploration, leaving humanity stranded on a broken world.
From the residual energy of these events emerged entities known as Tacet Discords—sentient, amorphous beings born of chaotic frequency.
Each carried a Tacet Core: a nucleus of unstable resonance that fed on ambient frequencies to survive and evolve.
The Discords adapted to whatever they consumed, often becoming grotesque imitations of surrounding life and energy.
Despite humanity's best efforts, they remain a mystery—symbols of entropy that defy classification.
Some even display strange obsessions, becoming twisted echoes of human fear, desire, or instinct.
Yet amidst the collapse, something stirred. A rare few humans began to develop the Tacet Mark—an X-shaped symbol heralding a new kind of evolution.
These individuals, known as Resonators, could manipulate frequency through unique abilities called Fortes.
They became humanity's vanguard, fighting back against the Discords and the growing threat of Waveworn corruption.
But Resonators are rare, and humanity remains divided. Factions war not only against the Lament, but among themselves—driven by survival, power, and conflicting visions of the future.
Some seek to destroy the Discords, others to study or harness them. A few believe the Lament is not a curse, but a path to something greater.
And above them all loom the Threnodians—the most powerful of all Tacet Discords, born not merely of chaos, but from the darkest corners of the human spirit.
They are fear made flesh—and as long as civilization endures, so will they.
***
"I'm sorry, Xia."
The midwife, her voice trembling, blurted out the tragedy with quivering lips. "It's... It's a miscarriage."
She looked at the woman in bed, Xia, whose gaze rested on the unmoving child. Xia's bangs veiled her expression, and the midwife could only fidget in silent frustration and uncertainty.
"Xia..." she tried gently, but Xia spoke first. "Thank you, Hina."
Hina shakily looked up, only to see a faint smile on Xia's face. "Thank you for taking care of me these last few weeks."
Xia gave a small bow from where she lay, a gesture of sincere gratitude. Hina remained silent, unsure how to respond, until Xia added softly, "Help me up, will you?"
"You..." Hina hesitated, baffled by Xia's composure. But no—this wasn't calmness.
She saw the pain and sorrow behind Xia's eyes. It wasn't denial. It was acceptance, she recognized her helplessness in the face of loss.
"Elder Tang is waiting for news," Xia said with a sad smile. "Maybe it's better not to hide the truth."
She looked down at the lifeless child and gently cradled it close. "A proper funeral rite must be done."
Xia's resolve inspired Hina. Her composure and will to move forward stirred something deep within her, liberating her from the grief of someone else's loss.
Hina wiped her tears and gently helped Xia to her feet, the lifeless child still cradled in her arms.
Xia held the lifeless one's chest close to her ear, listening to the silence where a heartbeat should have been. In the quiet ache of her pulse, she whispered a single name: "Kyorin."
The news broke, and a wave of pity swept toward Xia. Yet she smiled—not out of strength, but because she understood that loss was a part of her life, and life continued.
The villagers, kind-hearted as ever, cared for her. They helped her adjust to the days that followed.
But peace was short-lived. Word soon spread, causing outrage—Xia's husband, Dan Lin, had abandoned her. Rumor had it he'd found a new soulmate in the New Federation.
Insults flew like daggers toward Lin. Meanwhile, Xia remained silent. Then, with a heavy sigh, she finally spoke: "I'm leaving the village."
Gasps followed. Many pleaded with her not to chase after that man, not to go looking for someone so unworthy.
But Xia blinked, and with a smile, responded, "Who said I'm going to the New Federation?"
A few exchanged confused glances. "You're... not?"
Xia shook her head. Even in her loss, she knew, something remained—someone, distant perhaps, but still hers. Even if they do not recognize her.
She closed her eyes, remembering a dirty little chicken decorated in rags who was destined to ascend into a Phoenix.
One of the villagers asked, "Then where are you going?"
With a gentle smile, Xia replied, "Hongzhen."
***
Hongzhen—the ancestral land of Jinzhou.
Nestled in the Loong's embrace, it was a city of great significance, for it was the birthplace of the Sentinel Jue.
It was midwinter, and Hongzhen had turned into a city of snow and silence. The cold bit deep, unforgiving and constant.
Those fortunate enough to afford warmth survived with layered clothing and steaming meals.
But for the less fortunate, there was only the ache of hunger and the sting of frost.
Among them was a small girl with salmon-pink hair and bright, hopeful eyes—Changli. She huddled in a shadowed corner, arms wrapped tightly around herself, shivering.
Her lips moved silently: "If only I had something warm to eat..."
The world, as if hearing her plea, responded; her nose caught two distinct scents.
First, a floral one, not artificial like perfume, but wild and calming, as though it had been carried by a mountain breeze.
Next, a rich and savory, unmistakable aroma of freshly made food.
She looked up.
A beautiful woman with flowing navy-blue hair and piercing cerulean eyes walked past, carrying a steaming bowl of noodles. The scent was overwhelming—warm, comforting, heavenly.
Changli's stomach growled, but she couldn't bring herself to ask. She merely watched, lips parted slightly, eyes wide with silent yearning.
The woman didn't stop—at least not at first. But just as she was about to pass, her gaze shifted. She saw Changli.
Changli quickly looked away, heart pounding, but the woman paused. Her face revealed nothing, her expression unreadable.
"You seem hungry, little one," she said gently.
She crouched down, offering the bowl with a quiet smile. "Winter is harsh. Eat well when you can."
Changli took the bowl with both hands, eyes still wide in disbelief. Then, shyly, she whispered, "Thank you."
A/N: This is from one of Changli's voicelines about her favorite dish.
The navy-haired woman, Xia, smiled and got up as she left.
Changli ate the ramen with quiet joy. A few steps away, Xia paused mid-walk and turned to look back at her.
Her heart stirred with a thought: 'I want to take her home.'
But she pushed the feeling down. Changli had to grow individually now, without interference, without Xia shaping her path as she once had.
With a heavy yet relieved heart, Xia returned to her new home in Hongzhen, tucked along the city's outskirts.
"You're back, my lady," came an unfamiliar, new gentle voice.
"I'm back, Lady Yin," Xia replied, smiling.
"Don't stand out in the cold. Come in," the older woman scolded affectionately, ushering her inside.
Years passed. Xia adjusted to her quiet life: wandering the nearby mountains, helping the hungry, offering what care she could.
But deep down, she knew this peace was only temporary. The illness she had long carried was finally catching up with her.
Xia did not resist it. She didn't seek medicine to buy another day. She accepted the end with grace. But on her deathbed, she turned to Lady Yin with one final request.
"Lady Yin," she whispered, "may I ask you to fulfill a selfish wish of mine?"
Lady Yin, her eyes brimming with tears, nodded. "Say the word. I'll do it, no matter what."
Xia took a shallow breath. "I don't know when... but a young man will come to this house one day."
She spoke like a prophet, her voice soft but certain. "Until that day, please keep decorating the path—from the gates to the doorstep—with flowers."
Lady Yin blinked, surprised. "But how will I know this young man you speak of?"
"You'll know," Xia replied, her voice growing faint. "His name will bear a resemblance to mine. And if you're uncertain... follow the scent of petrichor."
Those were Xia's final words. She was soon buried, and Lady Yin stood quietly by the grave, her heart heavy with grief.
As the earth was laid over Xia's resting place, a thought lingered in her chest like a whisper: 'Why must beautiful flowers always wither away?'
Far from Hongzhen, deep beneath the shining sprawl of the New Federation, a vast underground metropolis buzzed with research and innovation.
Scientists worked with near-fanatical devotion, striving to create the ultimate breakthroughs: pushing the boundaries of invention and chasing perfection.
And yet, even at their peak, they faced limits. Machines could only be refined so far. An ideal engine remained just that—an idea.
"Tch... there's still too much heat and entropic loss," one scientist muttered, frustrated by the inefficiency.
Another sighed, shaking her head, while a third quietly sketched a new design, aimed at minimizing energy waste.
At the center of it all stood the project lead, arms crossed, watching the chaos with restrained irritation.
"If only energy could truly be conserved," he murmured, half to himself, half to the silence surrounding ambition.
Knock. Knock.
A loud bang echoed through the lab doors. A voice called from outside, flat and clinical: "Sir, the next specimen has arrived."
"Bring it in," the project lead replied without looking up.
Moments later, assistants wheeled in a restrained creature—a massive wolf, larger than a car. Its black mane bristled like shadowed flame, and its saber-like fangs gleamed under the lab lights.
It growled low, a sound of pure warning, but the lab workers remained unfazed.
Syringes pierced its skin. Needles drew blood. The wolf let out a whimpering snarl as its body trembled, chaotic resonance flickering like a storm trapped in flesh.
It could feel itself unraveling. Its very essence—frequency, identity, will—being siphoned away.
'If only frequency could remain as it is,' the wolf thought in its fading clarity.
The scientists worked quickly. Its Tacet Core was extracted, a pulsing knot of unstable resonance. It would soon be repurposed—refined into tactile weapons used to hunt other Discords.
The war continued: humanity versus the Tacet Discords.
Sometimes, humans died. Sometimes, Tacet Discords fell. Yet, neither side wanted extinction. Humanity feared death; Discords feared erasure. But it was more than that.
Resonators—those gifted with Fortes—fought on the front lines. They too hated death, not just their own, but that of comrades fallen beside them. Death lingered like a stain, even on survivors.
And even the strongest of Discords—the Threnodians—feared change.
They could not truly die, not permanently. They revived, drawn back by resonance itself. But still, they loathed the silence of defeat, the forced absence from the world. They feared being forgotten.
One such Threnodian—Overtharx—had clashed with the soldiers of Jinzhou beneath the waning crescent moon.
Upon its retreat, broken but not gone, it whispered a bitter truth into the dark: 'If only my resonance did not dim like this… if only it could remain unchanging.'
***
Wither...
Unconservable...
Ever-changing...
Such was the nature of resonance—fluid, fleeting, impossible to contain. Yet in this world, where frequencies withered into silence, such qualities were not cherished.
Impermanence was feared, loathed, and rejected by humans and Tacet Discords alike.
And fear—here, it was not merely an emotion. It was a force. A cause. A genesis.
From fear were born the Threnodians, beings shaped not just by chaos, but by the deepest tremors of the soul.
But the fear of Impermanence.
This fear was shared by both human and Discord, and in its wake, something new was allowed to exist: a being who bore the shape of a human, yet resonated like a Threnodian.
A paradox given form.
The Threnodian of Impermanence—Da Ling—was born by golden hands in a cradle of silence and rot: A cemetery.
Rumble—Lightning
A rain fell steadily over Rinascita, a region of Solaris III whose very name meant Rebirth. Yet on this day, beneath the grey skies and shrouded hills, it felt more like mourning than renewal.
The storm sang a slow dirge. Rain whispered against marble, puddles shimmered like spilled starlight, and wind rattled the bones of leafless trees.
Beneath the scattered black umbrellas, a quiet crowd had gathered—men and women clad in mourning garb, their grief as palpable as the thunderclouds above.
At one grave knelt an old man. His face was stern, elegant, veiled partly by the brim of his hat and the drifting mist.
Draped in a fine overcoat, he knelt and placed a simple bouquet upon the headstone: Ettore Montelli.
He said nothing. Just lingered for a moment, letting the petals soak in the rain.
Then, with a breath that seemed to carry the weight of generations, he turned and walked away, his silhouette swallowed by the storm.
But another figure remained.
She stepped forward—a woman with long, silver-white hair that cascaded past her shoulders, dressed in a striking ensemble that fused refined elegance with a sharp edge.
The umbrella shielded her from the rain, but not from the sorrow in her cold, vibrant pink and teal eyes. With a sigh, her voice broke the hush.
"Ettore Montelli..." she began, her tone trembling at the edges like a thread pulled taut. "In the name of our family, I swear."
A pause. The wind held its breath. Her next words landed like a vow carved into stone. "Giacomo Fasciaspina will soon bow before you in regret."
She dropped a single white flower on the wet soil and whispered: "May his repentance bring peace to your soul."
Thunder rumbled in the distance, as if the world itself acknowledged her promise. The rain did not stop. It never stopped.
Rain came down in torrents over Rinascita, veiling the land in a silver curtain. Rivers surged past their banks, clawing at the earth, while lowland ponds spilled into the fields, turning roads to mire.
"On Sentinel... they're trying to drown me in this hole. I can't see!" A voice cried out, barely audible over the roar of the rain.
Thunder growled in the distance, and lightning stitched the heavens like fleeting scars. Nature raged, unbound—yet amidst this deluge, a single pond in Rinascita lay strangely untouched.
Its surface, glass-like, bore not a ripple from the storm. Pale lotus flowers floated undisturbed, their petals unfurling with quiet defiance beneath the weeping sky.
In the heart of this stillness, half-submerged among the blossoms, lay a man dressed in finest of silk. His chest rose with the rhythm of the world, slow and steady. Rain did not touch him. Mud did not cling.
His eyes opened, greeting the world of Solaris III and the already-wilting flowers, which could not withstand the splendor of his lotus-shaped, pale yellow, moonlit eyes.
To be continued...
***
A/N: To clarify, this takes place two years after the Battle of Crescent, where Jinzhou fought against Overthrax, and about a year before its reawakening, where Rover participated.
Did you like the world-building from the last volumes?