In the peaceful, glistening city of San Francisco, USA crime was nearly nonexistent. The people lived in NEO valley of their protector GirlSteel a teenage powerful heroine, strong and fast like a comet, capable of leveling buildings with her fists. While not quite as godlike as some legends, she was the city's symbol of hope. In a quiet suburb of Neo Valley, a brilliant but overlooked nerd boy named Atlas Vale lived his life surrounded by bolts, wires, and glowing blueprints. He had always admired GirlSteel from afar, not just because of her power but because she represented everything he wished he could be: strong, confident, seen. He built robots at the age 13 in his garage, not to fight, but to learn, to evolve. His designs were smarter than anything the world had seen small, nimble assistants with artificial intelligence years ahead of their time. One night, while testing a self-learning exo-glove, he saw a mysterious portal opened that he saw at the window, he went outside being curious what's in it from now it stepped a cloaked man with glowing red circuitry in his eyes.
"You have potential," the man said. "The kind that change the world.
There, technology and nature intertwined. Atlas Vale stood alone on the jagged cliffs of Isle Terra, the skies above him torn by streaks of violet lightning. It had been three long years since the portal pulled him away from his world. Three years without the sound of his mother's voice. Three years without the warmth of his father's hug. Monstrous howls echoed through the forests. The trees themselves whispered taunting, watchful things. He never slept deeply, only drifted with one eye open and the other scanning for shadows. The deadly creatures that stalked Isle Terra had no rules, no mercy. Some flew. Some crawled. All hunted.
Atlas built makeshift shelters. Fought back with scraps of alien metal. Every fight was a lesson. Every scar a reminder: he had to survive not just for himself, but for the hope of ever finding his way back home.
And in the quietest moments, when the wind calmed and the stars blinked overhead, he'd whisper to himself:
"Mom… Dad… I'm still here. I haven't given up."
Atlas Vale learned early that Isle Terra didn't forgive mistakes.
He scavenged food the hard way. At first, he tried eating bright berries growing from glowing vines until he vomited for two days straight and nearly died from paralysis. From then on, he became cautious. He tested everything. Observed the birds. Watched which plants they avoided.
He found a tuber buried beneath thorny roots muddy, bitter, but safe. He called them "stone potatoes." For weeks, they were his only food. He roasted them over fire he struck using sharp rocks and dry bark, the smoke rising into skies lit by twin moons.
Water was harder.
The rivers in Isle Terra sparkled, almost too clean. Some burned his throat. Some made him hallucinate. Eventually, he discovered a mistfall deep in a cave its condensation dripped slowly into a bowl-shaped stone. It tasted earthy, safe. He drank from that source for months, rationing every drop.
When rain came, he gathered water in large leaves. And when it didn't, he chewed moisture-rich moss that grew near glowing roots. Survival turned into ritual eat little, drink smart, never rest too deep.
Each day, he built traps. Not for food, but for protection. He'd seen what roamed the woods creatures with six eyes and bone-covered spines. The kind that hunted in silence. Once, he saw one drag away a giant beast like it was nothing. That night, he didn't sleep at all.
But he was alive. Against all odds.
And somewhere deep in Isle Terra, the forest was watching. Atlas had grown lean, hardened by survival. His clothes tattered, stitched with thorn fibers. His eyes, once filled with wonder, now scanned the forest like a hunter. He trusted no one. Not even the wind.
It was during the black storm when the sky turned violet and trees groaned like they were alive that he saw him.
A tall man cloaked in ash-gray robes, standing in the mist beyond the tree line. No footprints. No sound. Just presence.
Atlas raised his sharpened stick, teeth clenched.
"Stay back."
The man didn't flinch. His voice was old, quiet, but powerful.
"If I meant harm, you'd already be gone."
Atlas didn't lower his guard.
"I've watched you," the man said, stepping forward. "You've endured more than most warriors I've trained."
"Who are you?"
"Someone who doesn't belong here either. Like you."
He reached into his robes and dropped a small, glowing fruit at Atlas's feet.
"Eat. It'll heal the poison still in your blood."
Atlas hesitated. His body still ached from the last wrong berry. But something in the man's tone calm, without pity made him believe.
He ate.
Warmth spread through his limbs. The ache vanished. The fog in his head lifted.
The man turned, already walking away.
"Follow if you want answers. Or stay and survive alone."
Atlas followed.
And with that step, his fate began to shift from a boy struggling to live, to a soul bound for something far greater. Atlas trailed behind the stranger through the haunted woods of Isle Terra. Strange glowing roots pulsed beneath their feet, and black-winged creatures shrieked in the treetops. Yet the man moved without fear, his cloak untouched by the wind or rain.
"Who are you?" Atlas asked again.
The man finally stopped near a cliff overlooking a glowing blue valley. Strange runes pulsed on the rocks below.
"My name is lost," the man said. "But long ago, I was a guardian. A keeper of forgotten things."
He turned, and for the first time, Atlas saw his face a deep scar across his cheek, eyes like molten silver.
"Why are you helping me?" Atlas asked.
"Because your presence here is no accident. You were meant to fall into Isle Terra."
He pointed to Atlas's chest. "Something ancient sleeps inside you."
Atlas looked down, confused. But deep in his core, something did stir like a pulse that didn't belong to his body.
The man handed him a carved flask.
"This water comes from the Wellspring of Nyr. Drink it when your strength fades. It's rare, but you've earned it."
As Atlas drank, the water felt like light pouring through his veins. The man continued
"There's a village not far from here. Hidden by enchantment. Inhabited by elves older than your world. They may fear you… or they may help you."
Atlas swallowed. "Why me?"
"Because destiny doesn't ask permission."
The man walked toward the edge of the cliff.
"When you find the village, tell them the one they buried still watches. That will open their gates."
And with that, the man vanished his form fading into starlight, leaving only footsteps in the dew.
Atlas stood alone… but not the same.
He turned, stronger, more focused and began his journey toward the village that would shape his future… and awaken the warrior he was meant to become.