LUMAETHER

Chapter: Introduction

I've heard people call the Virelion Galaxy a graveyard. Others say it's a cradle, where something greater is waiting to be born. Me? I think it's both. A place where empires come to die—and where lies are the only currency left that still spends.

There used to be peace here. A long time ago. Before the Luminars vanished. Before the Lumaether became a weapon of myth and fear. Now it's all just broken systems, hollow oaths, and banners stained with the blood of men who believed they had purpose.

The war never ended. It just spread.

I was born on a satellite called Crost Station, orbiting a dead world that used to be rich in ore. The only thing it mines now is pain. Gangs, warlords, scavengers—none of them believe in anything except plasma rifles and who can pull the trigger first.

That's where the Order of Iron came for me.

Not because I was special. I wasn't. Just another grunt. Another disposable body to throw into a front line no one remembers the coordinates for. I didn't join for honor or faith. I joined because they offered warm food, armor, and a bed that didn't creak with rot.

The Order of Flame was no better. Preachers in black armor, screaming sermons about burning away weakness. I saw what they did to civilians. What they did to each other. Monsters who believe they're chosen.

And somewhere above them all... the Lumaether sleeps.

A power so vast, it cracked the stars once. So ancient it made men into gods—and turned gods into ash. No one wields it now. No one dares. But I've seen the way people look at it. Like it's a sin. Like it's salvation.

They say only the chosen can hold a Luma Blade. That without the Lumaether in your blood, it's just a shard of light that cuts nothing. I never believed that crap.

Until the day I died.

And something inside me refused to stay buried.

Let me tell you how it happened.