[Sector D9-Theta, Outskirts of Nova Helix | 3:12 AM Galactic Standard Time]
The smell of rust and ozone always clung to Sector D9 like a curse. It was the graveyard of forgotten tech — towers of warped metal, fractured hulls of old warships stacked like tombstones, and scavenger fires that never died out. Here, the stars themselves looked dimmer.
Zai Ren crouched beside a skeletal frame of an old drop pod, prying its remains apart with a cracked plasma knife. His fingers trembled from the cold, not fear — he'd long outgrown that.
"Stupid heat coils… Come on," he muttered, sparks flying as the blade met a stubborn rivet.
With a pop and groan, the pod's side gave way. Inside, nestled beneath melted alloy, were six still-intact microcapacitors. Worth at least three days of food rations. Maybe four if he threw in a few smart words to the right vendor.
He pocketed them and slid back out into the dark.
Behind him, the vast expanse of Sector D9 buzzed with life — not the good kind. Scavenger crews moved like vultures between hulks of old warships, each armed to the teeth, each looking to gut the next fool who found a better scrap.
This was survival, distilled.
"Zai! You out there again?"
A familiar voice crackled through his earpiece — Granny Mei. Worn with static, but still sharp enough to cut.
Zai tapped the receiver. "I'm fine. Found a drop pod—old military tech. Bringing something back."
"You'd better be. There's gang movement near the western ridge. Don't push your luck."
Zai smirked. "Luck's a myth. I've got math."
He cut the feed, but the smile faded fast. Truth was, the gangs were growing bolder. The Wreckers had started raiding even inside their sector block. Just last week, they'd dragged a kid out of his home and—
Zai's grip on the plasma knife tightened.
He wasn't going to let that happen again. Not here. Not to Granny.
Not to anyone else who still believed that hope didn't require a surname or a syndicate.
---
[Later That Morning | D9's Central Strip]
"Three capacitors? Boy, you trying to scam me?" The vendor, a grizzled old man with cybernetic eyes, squinted at Zai from behind his dusty stall.
"I brought six. Two are military-grade, fourth-gen." Zai tossed one onto the counter. "Scan that. Tell me it's not worth your week's take."
The man snorted, but ran the scan anyway. His smirk faltered.
Zai leaned in. "I know what I find. Pay fair, or I go to Maku."
"Peh. Fine. Eight hundred credits."
Zai pocketed the chips. Not bad for an hour's work.
He ducked into the alley behind the vendor strip, weaving past old drones and steaming vents. The apartment he and Granny Mei shared was barely more than a rusted metal box clinging to a forgotten balcony, but it was theirs.
Inside, the old woman was already awake, hunched over a flickering kettle with her one working hand.
"Smell that?" she said. "Got the last of the spice powder. You'll eat like a prince today."
Zai sat across from her, dropping half the chips onto the table. "We'll restock everything. Maybe even get you new med-pads."
She pushed them back. "Don't forget the academy. Your mind's the only gold we've got."
Zai froze.
She still said academy like it was a living dream, not a door slammed shut. He hadn't corrected her yet.
He didn't have the heart to.
"I'll… keep studying," he murmured, forcing a smile.
---
[Midday | East Wall of Sector D9]
It was supposed to be a normal scav run — basic salvage, check the eastern drop zone, return before the afternoon gangs passed through. But the minute Zai stepped past the last wall drone, he knew something was off.
There were no scav crews. No drones. No sound.
Just an eerie silence stretching across the canyon-like sector border.
He adjusted his goggles. A faint signal was pinging nearby — faint, old, and encrypted in a language even Nova Helix systems hadn't used in centuries.
That meant ancient tech.
Zai followed the signal through cracked plating and fallen girders until he found it: a vault. Half-buried in the rock, lined with strange glyphs. No visible entry.
His heart kicked.
He'd read about vaults like this. Left by the Sovereigns. Before even the First Galactic War.
Forbidden. Off-limits.
Treasure.
Zai pulled out his wrist console and tapped into the data pulse. Most of it was dead code — until a single phrase scrolled across the screen:
"Paradox Protocol Authorized."
His eyes widened.
"What the hell is that?"
A hiss echoed from the vault — then a beam of blue light scanned over him, fast as lightning.
His console exploded with code. A scream of data poured into it, too fast to process. He yanked the interface off, but it was already done.
Then, silence.
And a voice.
"User registered. Quantum seed installed. Initiating Sync…"
Zai stumbled backward, heart pounding.
"What sync?! What seed?!"
The air shimmered.
And from the vault, a hologram flickered to life — a man, tall, armored in fractal plates, with a mask of light and fire.
"Welcome to the Nanocrypt," it said, its voice deep, sarcastic, almost amused. "Let's see if your brain's big enough not to explode."
---
[Sector D9 | Zai's Apartment | That Night]
He didn't remember the walk home.
He barely spoke as Granny Mei patched a scratch on his arm, mumbling about reckless boys and old bones. His mind was still spiraling through the data stream burned into his wrist console.
It wasn't just a file.
It was a training protocol. A system. A living archive built to turn someone into a hybrid of quantum coder and close-quarters fighter.
A "Nano Sage."
It shouldn't exist.
And now it lived in him.
As Granny Mei fell asleep beside the heater, Zai stared at the ceiling. The hologram's words kept echoing:
"Your potential is a paradox. But that's what makes you… interesting."
He didn't know who built this.
He didn't know what he'd awakened.
But one thing was certain: his exile wasn't the end.
It was the beginning of something the galaxy had forgotten how to fear.
Zai Ren was no longer just a scavenger.
He was the first of a new kind.
A Nano Sage.