Kael Voren stepped out of Garrick’s forge, the swelter of the furnace giving way to Brinewatch’s sharp, salt-soaked chill. The air stank of ashfruit rot and old rain. Behind him, the hiss of quenching metal faded into the murmur of distant arguments and sputtering generators. His boots crunched volcanic grit, each step carrying the weight of six cycles—and the flicker of a promise that had finally arrived.
“Tomorrow, real forgin’. Not just haulin’.”
Garrick’s words echoed, rough as gravel but real this time. Not a taunt. Not a dismissal. Real work. Fire and steel. And sure, it was only happening because Tharan—his deadbeat of a father—had once saved Garrick’s life, but Kael didn’t care. Let the ghosts do something useful for once.
Don’t care why, he thought, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. I’m in.
Maybe Garrick was S-rank. Maybe not. But Kael didn’t need confirmation. He had the calluses. The bruises. The sleepless nights. And now—finally—the chance to learn.
He turned down a narrow street, choosing to walk home. Less than 3 KiloElons. The Grays weren’t exactly safe, but Kael wasn’t exactly soft anymore.
That’s when the ArkSeal buzzed—a sharp pulse against his palm.
A window blinked before his mind's eye.
AGE Magazine
Kael Voren, you’ve been shortlisted for the
“Top 20 Under 20 Up-and-Coming Millionaire” and “AGE Entrepreneur of the Orbit” features.
Please respond to confirm interview and shoot scheduling.
He blinked.
Then blinked again.
“Spam,” he muttered, Brinewatch rasp clinging to the word. No way. AGE Magazine was a classic institution in Dravara. It had been around for ages. Everyone knew AGE. Like they'd contact him after he'd been in business for half an orbit.
He looked deeper, pulling up the ArkSeal’s metadata.
Verified. Luminaris Ward. AGE Magazine official registry.
His heart jolted.
Real.
He stood rooted as street noise pressed in around him. A muffled shout. Bicycle bells ringing and they rolled over the rough Brinewatch alley streets. Somewhere, a baby cried.
Millionaire. Entrepreneur of the Orbit.
Kael barked a laugh—sharp, disbelieving. It died fast, swallowed by the endless hum of survival that wrapped Brinewatch like a noose.
Just six cycles ago, he was eating rot from dumpsters and begging lowly gang supervisors for menial work. Now? Half a billion DM valuation. Slum kitchens feeding thousands. Pharmacies stocked with Elira’s formulas. Malik’s orphanage full and expanding. Sera glowing, taller than she’d ever been, talking about secondary school like she belonged there. Lira—brilliant, tireless—running their empire from a glass tower in Luminaris.
And now this.
The past crashed over him like a tide. Nights skipping meals. Days fighting rats for old tin. His father’s silence. His mother’s shaking hands. Sera’s brittle laughter when they had nothing left to laugh about.
And yet here he was.
Not because of the Vorens.
Because he refused to stay broken.
Kael flexed his hand and thought, Confirm.
The ArkSeal pinged. Schedule locked.
He exhaled, finally moving, slower now, as if the weight of the message had thickened the air around him. He passed the outer wall, its dull runes flickering, casting warped shadows over the slums it failed to protect. But Kael didn’t look away.
Brinewatch had shaped him. But it wouldn’t define him.
His boots were still coated in its grit. But his name—Kael Voren—was starting to mean something.
Not because of where he came from, but because of what he’d built.
Kael strode through the Grays, the AGE Magazine nomination still echoing in his mind like a distant bell. Ahead, his four-story complex loomed—steel and brick wrapped around a renovated warehouse, hydrogen rigs tucked behind gated fences, D-rank guards pacing the perimeter. But he didn’t head for home.
He veered left—toward VitalPath Pharmacy.
The scent hit him before the door. Lavender, mintroot, dried bark resin—Elira’s work. The herbal tang cut through the usual cocktail of salt, ash, and rust that clung to Ashport’s slums.
He stepped inside. A bell jingled. The lights hummed.
“Mom?” he called.
She stood behind the counter, green eyes tight, a city-stamped document trembling in her fingers.
“Kael,” she said quietly. “Another fine. Twenty-five thousand Marks. ‘Unlicensed medicinal classification.’”
He snatched the paper, eyes scanning. “For what? These are F-rank pouches and salves.”
She gave a hollow smile. “Same as always. Basic herbal blends.”
“That’s bullshit,” Kael muttered, Brinewatch grit thick in his voice. “You don’t need a license for leaf poultices.”
“It’s the third one this cycle,” she said. “First was ‘waste disposal irregularities.’ Then ‘improper storage containment.’ Now this.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. The walls felt narrower.
This isn’t bureaucracy. It’s a message.
He summoned up his ArkSeal. Call: Vesa Caelune. The screen blinked behind his eye. Connecting…
“Kael,” came her voice—smooth, crisp, expensive. She didn’t waste words. “What happened?”
“Another fine,” he said. “Pharmacy this time. Twenty-five grand. For nothing.”
A pause.
“That’s three,” she said. “It’s coordinated.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Someone’s targeting you. Someone who knows the system. Who knows where to hit without drawing blood.”
His tone dropped. “Who?”
“Not over comms. Come to my office. Now.”
Kael ended the call. Elira watched him, worry soft in her gaze.
“I’ll fix it,” he said, leaning over the counter to kiss her brow.
She smiled faintly. “I know.”
Outside, he turned to one of the posted guards—a stocky teen with a nervous posture.
“You drive hydrogen?”
“Huh? Uh… yeah?”
“Good. You get me to Luminaris Ward, I’ll tack a thousand to your pay.”
That got a full nod. “Yes, sir!”
They were off.
Ashport’s inner walls loomed as they passed checkpoints, runes glowing like judgment. Kael ignored the stares. His warehouse badge still raised eyebrows, but no one stopped them.
Luminaris Ward was another world—glass spires, mana lamps, silent roads. Vesa Caelune’s office sat like a dagger in marble, polished and precise.
She greeted him with a nod, her silver hair braided tight, her charcoal suit sharp enough to draw blood.
“Sit,” she said, sliding a tablet across the desk. “One name ties all three fines together. Theron Vex. Deputy Minister.”
Kael didn’t move. “Never heard of him.”
“You’re not supposed to,” she said. “No public photo. No record before C02-3445. He just... appeared. Quiet, connected, dangerous.”
“And now he’s aiming at us?”
Vesa met his eyes. “Not just aiming. Undermining. You’re too big, Kael. A half-billion-Mark empire born in the slums, feeding the poor, curing the sick. That makes you dangerous to people like him.”
Kael’s fingers curled into fists. His chakra stirred beneath his ribs, a low thrum of instinct and pressure.
“Why now?” he asked. “Why not earlier?”
“Because now they can’t ignore you.”
He stood. The air in the office felt thin.
“We fight it,” he said.
“Yes,” Vesa agreed. “But quietly. If we move wrong, we give him excuses.”
Kael nodded once, hard. “We won’t.”
As he left the office, the weight of the city pressed in around him—its walls, its secrets, its rot.
Brinewatch taught him how to survive.
Ashport would teach him how to win.
