The first few days in MEL were a relentless, waking nightmare that seemed to stretch the very fabric of time. Under Glad's iron-fisted guidance, Dack learned to move like a ghost through a landscape designed to kill anything that didn't belong. Glad taught him to crush fluorescent flora into a pungent, bitter paste to mask their human scent, guiding the boy along invisible trails known only to those who had once hunted these woods as Gleaners.
Dack was drowning in sensory overload. The haunting beauty of MEL, with its opal-hued trees and bioluminescent vines that pulsed like slow-beating hearts, filled him with wonder, but the gnawing teeth of the unknown bit deeper every hour. Every rustle in the undergrowth felt like a death sentence. One night, while they sought refuge in a natural limestone cave to escape a torrential downpour of acidic energy rain—drops that hissed as they hit the stone—the heavy silence was shattered by a wet, rhythmic scraping sound.
Dack's eyes snapped open in the darkness. His blood turned to ice. A few meters away, a massive horror—part reptile, part chitinous insect—crawled slowly toward them. Its mandibles clicked rhythmically, and its multiple eyes reflected the dim glow of the Shard.
"Glad… Glad, wake up!" Dack hissed, his voice a frail tremor.
Glad didn't waste a heartbeat. In one fluid, practiced motion, he unsheathed an improvised blade infused with local crystals that flared to life with a cold blue light.
"Get behind me. And do not move," he commanded, his tone a steel wall.
The ensuing struggle was a display of visceral violence. The creature lunged with impossible speed, but Glad evaded it with superhuman agility, channeling pulses of kinetic energy into devastating shockwaves that rattled the cave walls. However, in the chaotic blur of claws and light, a jagged talon tore through Glad's shoulder. Purple blood—the dark, toxic hue of those who had breathed the saturated air of MEL for too long—stained his tunic instantly.
"You're bleeding! What do I do?" Dack cried out, terror seizing his throat as he watched his only protector stumble.
Glad let out a guttural grunt of pain, pressing a medicinal leaf against the gaping wound. He locked eyes with Dack with a new, almost predatory intensity.
"You want to help me? Then stay calm and listen. You are the one who must survive this. I am already a dead man walking. The Flux is already in my veins, Dack."
Those words struck Dack like a thunderclap. He realized then that Glad wasn't fighting for his own life; he was a living shield, buying time for Dack to reach a destiny he didn't yet understand.
A few weeks later, as exhaustion began to fracture their resolve, the inevitable occurred. While navigating a treacherous ravine, they stumbled directly into a pack of Flux Traffickers. The assault was lightning-fast. These men, veteran hunters of fugitive Gleaners, showed no mercy to a man already weakened by infection and fatigue.
In a blur of steel and energy nets, they struck Glad down. Hidden behind a massive crag, Dack watched, paralyzed, as his mentor was hauled toward a hovering transport like common loot. A boiling, incandescent rage surged within him, but Glad's final instructions echoed in his mind like a sacred commandment:
"If anything happens to me, keep moving East! You must reach the Realm of the Zenith! You will find sanctuary there. And whatever it takes... join Zetra, the academy where Gleaners are forged."
Alone in the hostile immensity of MEL, Dack tightened his fists until his knuckles turned white. His protector was gone, but his mission had truly begun. He would not look back.
Dack trudged along the dusty trail for days, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps and his muscles burning with a fatigue that felt permanent. He had finally left the desolate, predatory fringes of the jungle, pushing eastward fueled by a single, unwavering purpose. His earthly clothes were now nothing but filthy rags, shredded by thorns and stained by the strange soils of MEL, but his eyes burned with a fierce, primal determination.
Suddenly, the horizon ignited.
Before him, the shimmering spires of the Realm of the Zenith rose like a crystalline mirage. Every structure seemed to drink in and bleed back the light of a motionless sun, bathing the entire city in a supernatural, golden radiance that made the very air feel expensive.
"So, this is it..." Dack whispered to himself, shielding his eyes. "If I succeed here, I'll finally be strong enough to find them. Mom... I promise, I will save you."
As he approached the massive entrance arch, two guards clad in midnight-black armor barred his path. Their spears, tipped with translucent glowing crystals, hummed with a visible energy ready to strike.
"Halt!" the first guard thundered, his voice echoing against the stone. "What business does a stray foreigner have in the Realm of the Zenith? You look like you crawled out of a Shapeshifter's den."
Dack raised his hands, showing he carried no weapons. His palms were calloused and scarred, grim trophies of his survival.
"I am seeking the Gleaners' Academy," Dack said, his voice raspy but firm. "I have traveled across the veil to be here."
The second guard cast a look of pure disdain at Dack's tattered rags. "The Academy is not a refuge for beggars. State your motives, boy, before we toss you back to the wilds."
Dack hesitated. He couldn't speak of Glad or Mir. But the memory of his mother being dragged into that portal surged within him.
"I have the potential to master the Cosmos," Dack declared, staring directly into the guard's visor. "That is why I am here. To learn."
The guards exchanged a skeptical glance. One of them reached for an energy sphere hanging from his belt. A thin, oscillating blue beam swept over Dack. The guard's eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he read the data on his gauntlet.
"His energy signature... it's off the charts. It's impossible for a child," the guard breathed, his mockery instantly replaced by shock.
"Very well," the second guard added, his tone shifting to professional seriousness. "But you cannot walk in looking like a scavenger. We will escort you to the Academy grounds ourselves."
They marched through the city. For Dack, it was a total culture shock. The streets were paved with iridescent stones, and the inhabitants moved with a grace that felt almost unreal. But the luxury did not dazzle him; his eyes were fixed on the towering statues of the Ancient Cosmic Masters guarding the circular monolith they were approaching.
A man of commanding stature, draped in long robes embroidered with celestial patterns, stepped forward. An aura of raw, concentrated power radiated from him like heat from an oven. This was Master Syril.
"Who is this child?" Syril asked, his voice vibrating through the very foundation of the building.
"A young boy with an... unusual energy signature, Master. He demands entry."
Syril scrutinized Dack with a piercing, analytical gaze, as if he were peeling back the layers of the boy's soul. Dack didn't flinch.
"Your energy is vast, yet completely unrefined. It's like a wild storm in a small bottle," Syril finally declared. "If you stay here, you will have to prove your worth every single second. What is your name, boy?"
Dack straightened his back, brushing away his exhaustion with a sharp flick of his wrist.
"Dack."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Syril's mouth.
"Dack... Very well. Welcome to the Gleaners' Academy. Prepare yourself. Here, only the elite survive. Come, I will take you to see the Headmaster. He is the one who will have the final word on your fate."