🎵 The Fractured Song of the Relic Keepers (Forgotten Version)
"In the time when stars... wept..."
 "...and mountains bowed to kings long dead..."
 "...a Song wove through the blood and thread..."
 "...torn apart when Maerak bled."
(Fragment missing)
"Threefold were the chains he spun,
 Threefold broke the sky of one..."
 "...Relics buried in the bone of time,
 Lost to rot, to ash, to grime..."
(Fragment missing)
"Yet roots unseen shall one day rise,
 When heart meets song beneath blind skies."
 "...The Core shall stir. The Rift shall break.
 A Sword shall sing the stars awake."
📖 Omnipulse – Episode 1
"The Sword That Waited"Â
The village of Nemoris rested cradled between the cliffs where gravity itself shifted with the tides—a gentle land of quiet oddities. Here lived Kael, a 14-year-old boy with unruly black hair and a wildfire heart, in a home filled with laughter and the smell of baked spice bread.
On the first morning, Kael helped his mother, Lira, hang woven charms along their porch, the soft bells tinkling in the strange, shifting breezes.
"Mom," Kael asked, tilting his head, "how did the world get... like this? Gravity changing, relics buried in the cliffs...?"
Lira paused, the charm in her hand swaying gently. She smiled—a little sad, a little knowing.
"Long ago, before anyone remembers," she said, "the world cracked open. The Veil between what 'is' and what 'could be' tore. What we have now—the floating stones, the drifting fields, the hidden relics—they're pieces left behind. Fragments of the first unraveling."
Kael's gaze followed the sky's gentle shimmer. "So... can it happen again?"
She knelt to his height, brushing his hair back. "Anything broken once can break again. But so too can it heal."
That night, they shared a hearty meal—Lira, Kael, and Coren, his father, a Riftguard soldier home on rare leave. Laughter warmed the modest house as they traded stories, argued over who had the best knife skills, and promised a day at the southern cliffs.
Later, Kael lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His mind raced with thoughts of broken worlds and unseen forces. He pressed his palms together, making a silent vow:
I'll protect them. Whatever happens. I'll be strong enough.
The next morning arrived soft and golden. Kael sparred clumsily with Coren outside, the clack of wood against wood ringing through the village.
"You'll never beat me if you leave your guard open!" Coren teased, catching Kael's overhand swing with ease.
Kael, grinning fiercely, jabbed again. "Next time, you won't win! I'll get stronger!"
Coren only laughed and ruffled his son's hair. "Strength isn't fists alone. It's heart. Mind. Remember that."
As the sun dipped behind the cliffs, Kael spent the afternoon with his friends—Lyra, the fierce tomboy who climbed cliffs like a squirrel; Eren, the quiet boy who sketched everything he saw; and Tamsen, the loud one who dreamed of becoming a relic-hunter.
They raced across the drifting stones, daring each other to leap the widest gaps. Kael never thought this would be the last time he'd see them like this—faces glowing with life, untouched by shadow.
Another night, another meal. The simple, beautiful rhythm of life continued.
That night, Kael found himself lying awake again. But this time, his eyes weren't fixed on the ceiling.
 They were drawn to the relic-stick leaning in the corner—an old souvenir his father once brought back, now pulsing faintly under the moonlight.
A soft vibration seemed to hum through the air, almost inaudible, like a thread pulling at the edges of his dreams.
Could it really happen again?
 Could I stop it, if it did?
He drifted into uneasy sleep, the relic's unseen heartbeat whispering in the dark.
By the third day, unease slipped into Nemoris like mist. The woven charms outside the houses quivered constantly, singing warning songs instead of celebration. Elders whispered at the well. Coren spent more time sharpening his blade, his face tight with thoughts he didn't share.
Kael practiced longer that day, feeling the pressure of an invisible weight he couldn't name.
That night, there was no teasing at dinner. Just the sound of forks scraping across plates.
When Kael went to bed, he didn't dream. He only heard the relic's pulse—louder now, steady, insistent.
On the fourth day, the sky fractured.
Gravity shrieked as an unnatural Rift tore itself open above Nemoris. Soldiers—dark-armored, expressionless—descended from it like falling stars. They wore the insignia of the Riftguard, but they brought no protection.
Only judgment.
Cries erupted through the village. Houses splintered. People scattered. Kael grabbed the relic-stick, desperate to fight back.
When his hands touched the relic, the world around him shifted.
A low, resonant hum surged through him, a vibration deep enough to shake the marrow of his bones. Light warped subtly at the edges of his vision, and the air thickened like heavy cloth.
The soldiers hesitated, recoiling from the invisible force.
But Kael was only a boy. More soldiers closed in, overwhelming him, tearing him from his home. As they dragged him toward the shimmering Riftgate, he fought against them with every ounce of will.
"Mom! Dad! Eren! Lyra! Tamsen!" Kael screamed, reaching out, calling to everyone—anyone.
The relic in his grip pulsed sharply again, responding to his rage, his grief—but it wasn't enough.
The Rift swallowed him whole.
Darkness fell.
đź“– Episode 2: "The Splinter's Song"
Kael awoke to an alien stillness. Cold air pressed heavy against his skin. Sterile lights buzzed overhead. Somewhere deep below, unseen engines thrummed.
Gravity here felt wrong—dense, deliberate, like unseen hands pushing him down.
He sat up slowly, heart hammering.
He was inside Zephyron. A Riftguard fortress.
Trapped.
Memories stabbed into him—screams, crumbling homes, reaching hands slipping away.
In his hands, the relic thrummed faintly. Not with light or heat, but something deeper. A pulse. A song. It matched his heartbeat, invisible and insistent.
From beyond the bars, voices drifted through the thick air:
"The relic... it's not embedded."
"No. But we can't read it. Or him."
"It resists. It bends."
"Keep them separate. Before it listens too closely."
Kael strained to hear more, but the voices faded.
He looked down at the relic, whispering,
 "You're not complete either, are you?"
Days and nights blurred together. Lights dimmed but never died. Time twisted in Zephyron—half-broken, half-forgotten.
One evening, tracing the relic's silent vibration, Kael noticed movement across the corridor.
A girl—sharp-eyed, small, unyielding—knelt by her cell wall, fingertips brushing the seams.
Their eyes locked.
Hers burned fierce. Not broken.
The relic stirred again inside Kael—like a second heartbeat.
The girl's voice carried softly across the gap:
 "That thing you're holding... it doesn't belong here."
Kael hesitated. The relic pulsed against his palm, urging him.
She pressed her hand lightly to the cell wall.
 "Gravity's wrong here. If you listen, you'll feel it fraying. Threads stretched too thin."
Kael frowned, reaching out—not with touch, but with instinct.
He felt it. A tremor in the air. A tear waiting to widen.
"I'm Sera," she said simply.
"Kael."
Far below Zephyron—deep where no guard dared tread—something vast stirred.
Bound by chains scored with forgotten sigils, a massive shape shifted in the suffocating dark.
A sliver of golden-red light blinked open—an ancient eye, gleaming with restrained hunger.
The chains strained but held.
For now.
Above, Kael pressed his hand to the glass.
Sera mirrored him, steady and sure.
"Let's find a way out," he whispered.
The relic pulsed stronger in his hand.
And far below, Maerak smiled in the dark.
đź“– Episode 3: "Ashes Beneath the Rift"
The cell door scraped open with a mechanical shriek.
Guards barked orders, and prisoners stirred like shadows from their cramped cells. Kael moved when shoved, the relic hidden beneath his loose sleeve thrumming faintly against his wrist.
Across the hallway, Sera caught his eye—a brief nod, almost imperceptible.
Stay sharp.
They were herded down the long metallic corridors, boots echoing against the cold, rust-stained floors. Each step forward deepened the pressure on Kael's chest, as if the very air were thick with invisible hands.
Then they emerged into the open transport bay—and the world changed.
Kael's breath caught.
Before him stretched the remnants of a city, broken and breathtaking.
Massive floating islands drifted against a bruised sky, tethered by glowing energy veins that cracked and healed like living things.
Twisted skyscrapers leaned at impossible angles, suspended in midair by fractured gravity fields.
Metal vines—remnants of old-world tech—climbed the shattered bones of bridges and monoliths.
The world shimmered with a wounded beauty, a vision of ruin made strangely alive.
Kael's fingers tightened around the relic instinctively.
It felt... aware.
Sera leaned close enough to whisper without moving her lips, "Zephyron used to be a city. Before the Rift tore it apart."
Guards prodded them forward.
They passed towers rigged with auto-turrets, pulse barriers that flickered ominously, and Riftguard soldiers—hulking, faceless behind polished helms. The prisoners murmured low, wary of the security presence.
A crackling announcement blared overhead:
"Prisoners are subject to the Three Strikes Protocol.
First Strike: Isolation.
Second Strike: Public Discipline.
Third Strike: Erasure."
Kael swallowed.
No room for mistakes.
Whispers floated from older prisoners:
"The Hole breaks you."
"Second Strike's worse. Some don't survive it."
"Nobody sees the third."
He felt Sera's gaze flick over him—not unkind, but calculating.
She's watching how I move. Measuring something.
They entered the mess hall, a cavernous structure bolted to the bones of a collapsed tower.
Kael's senses were immediately assaulted:
The clatter of trays, the rough mutters of prisoners.
The acrid smell of processed food mixed with metallic dust.
Tension so thick it vibrated in the air.
Around him sat beings of every kind:
Humans twisted by Rift exposure—some with gleaming veins or distorted limbs.
Creatures with crystalline skin reflecting fragments of light.
Machine-hybrids, flesh and metal interwoven like sculpted agony.
Silent nomads, their cloaks stitched with star maps.
This wasn't just a prison.
It was a graveyard of the forgotten.
Kael and Sera were shoved toward the outskirts where the weaker gathered, careful not to provoke the dominant cliques holding the central tables.
As Kael sat, the relic thrummed again, stronger this time.
Sera leaned closer, voice a thread of air:
"You feel it too. The pull. Everything here is pressure. Gravity. Tension waiting to snap."
Kael closed his eyes briefly, reaching out—not with touch, but with instinct.
He could feel it: The fragile threads holding everything together, the way gravity twisted and gasped like a living thing.
Maybe...
Maybe the Hole wasn't just punishment.
Maybe it could be opportunity.
Across the hall, a fight broke out—brief, brutal. A prisoner shoved; a guard reacted without hesitation, slamming the offender into the ground. A flashing light blinked over the prisoner's number: First Strike Recorded.
Kael watched silently.
Three strikes.
Barely any chances.
And yet...
Maybe he would need the Hole.
Maybe he would make it work.
Far above the mess hall, unseen behind shimmering barriers, Riftwarden officers observed—recording, calculating, preparing.
Far below, in the buried core of Zephyron, something immense stirred.
Unseen.
Unnoticed.
Chains held fast, but the pressure grew.
And somewhere deep in the bones of the prison, a fragment of the ancient song resonated once more.