Amidst the Waves [Wuthering Waves]

The clash of the blade against the exoskeleton echoed through the fiery haze, each strike ringing like a desperate cry in the chaos.

'Haah-Haah' Kyorin's breath came in ragged gasps, his movements a blur as he fought against the unyielding swarm of Tacet Discords. The embers danced around him, a cruel backdrop to the relentless battle.

"There's no end to them," he breathlessly uttered, frustration twisting his expression.

"Tch!" His tongue clicked in irritation as he struggled to keep up, his mind racing for a solution. Then, one of the creatures slipped through his guard in a moment of faltering focus.

"Shit!" The word escaped his lips, sharp and filled with panic—*BAM!*

A heavy blow struck him squarely, the impact sending his small frame hurtling backwards. He hit the ground hard, the force rattling his bones as his lungs fought to draw in the air.

"Gah!" A wet cough brought saliva to his lips, and for a moment, he lay there, dazed and vulnerable.

Through the haze clouding his vision, a single thought pierced through: I need to escape. Weakly, he pushed himself to his feet, the world around him a swirl of embers and shadows as he struggled to find his footing.

Kyorin ran, his legs burning with exertion as he pushed himself to move faster than he'd ever thought possible. Behind him, the Tacet Discords gave chase, their relentless pursuit a cacophony of alien screeches and pounding feet.

The once-vibrant Embering Yang Niu village lay in ruins, a crimson trail marking his desperate flight.

Ash and embers floated through the air like ghosts of a forgotten life, while the smouldering remnants of homes and memories bore silent witness to the chaos.

He tore past the familiar marketplace, its stalls now lifeless husks. The small academy, where Grandma Tang used to guide young minds, stood silent, its once-bustling energy swallowed by destruction.

The temple, modest yet sacred, flashed past his vision, a fleeting reminder of peace that seemed so far away. His destination loomed ahead—the Ceremonial Grounds. It was there, under the vast, withered tree, that he had first glimpsed his constellation: a lone, dying star.

The thought of it haunted him now as he sprinted, the image of that faint, flickering light etched into his mind.

"A dying star."

The words stuck to him like a curse, heavy and inescapable. Was this what fate had chosen for him? To burn out like that solitary light, dim and inconsequential?

Even as a Resonator, he was barely above an ordinary fighter—a one-star, the lowest rank, mocked and pitied. Little better than a well-trained human, his potential seemed as fleeting as the embers that surrounded him.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on destiny or doubt. He shoved those thoughts aside as he crossed the small, moonlit pond that led to the ceremonial grounds. His breaths came ragged, his heart pounding like a war drum as he reached the clearing.

Yet there, he saw them.

"Shit!" The word burst from him in a hoarse whisper as he skidded to a halt.

Tacet Discords were already there, their forms twisting ominously in the glow of the embers. More would arrive any moment, their movement cutting off every possible escape route.

They began to encircle him, their shadowy shapes reflected in the still waters of the pond, tightening the noose around their prey.

Kyorin stood exhausted, his mind scrambling for a way out. His chest heaved as the reality of the trap sank in—there was nowhere left to run.

Kyorin barely had a moment to breathe before one of the Tacet Discords closed the distance in the blink of an eye. Its kick was swift and brutal, sending him hurtling through the air.

He crashed against the withered tree, its ancient, lifeless form standing eerily silent amidst the chaos. Tendrils of bark and twisted roots absorbed some of the impact, cradling him in their jagged embrace, but the pain still coursed through his small frame like fire.

Before he could gather his bearings, a haunting melody pierced the air. The sound of a flute, lilting and malevolent, drifted from the shadows. His blood ran cold as the figure emerged—a Tacet Discord known as the Flautist.

Its skeletal fingers danced over the instrument with unnatural grace, each notes more ominous than the last. Suddenly, a glowing triangle materialized on the ground around Kyorin, its edges crackling with sparks of electricity.

The air grew thick with energy, and Kyorin's body tensed involuntarily as he realized what was happening. Lightning began to arc toward him, wild and uncontrollable, its deadly intent unmistakable.

He closed his eyes, resignation settling over him like a shroud. 'At least I've taken revenge,' he thought, clinging to the faint solace of his earlier efforts. But beyond that, there was nothing he could do—nothing he alone could do.

Then, a voice echoed from the withered tree, low and resonant, like the groan of ancient wood stirring after centuries of silence.

"So, you are the one."

"!!?" Kyorin's eyes flew open, and his breath caught in his throat. He had no time to make sense of the words, no time to think.

RUMBLE!—CRACKLE!

The heavens split open as a bolt of lightning tore through the darkened sky. It struck the withered tree at the lake's centre, illuminating the entire ceremonial ground in a blinding flash.

Flames erupted from the point of impact, the once-lifeless tree roaring to life as fire consumed its gnarled branches.

The air was alive with power, and for a brief, electric moment, everything changed. Kyorin's eyes were drawn to the withered tree, where a small opening had formed amidst the gnarled bark.

From within, a faint, ethereal light emerged—a greyish hue that pulsed with an otherworldly energy. It was a light eerily familiar, the same shade as his Tacet Mark when ignited.

The tree groaned, its ancient form splitting apart as though yielding to some forgotten destiny. And there, cradled within its hollow core, was a scythe.

Ancient and radiant, the weapon exuded an aura of timeless power. It floated downward with deliberate grace, its curved blade gleaming faintly in the fiery glow of the ceremonial grounds.

Kyorin, compelled by an unseen force, raised his trembling hand. The scythe settled gently into his palm as though it had waited for aeons for this moment.

The instant his fingers wrapped around the weapon's shaft, an overwhelming surge of energy tore through him. His Tacet Mark blazed to life, its glow mirrored by the intricate inscriptions etched along the scythe's surface.

Power—raw, unbridled, and impossibly vast—coursed through his veins, threatening to overwhelm him. Yet it was not chaos he felt. It was Resonance.

Kyorin's breath hitched as realization struck. This was the phenomenon he had only heard about in hushed tales—Resonance, the sacred bond between a Resonator and the object of their attunement. And for him, this sentient scythe was the key, the missing piece he hadn't even known he sought.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, still clutching the weapon. His eyes fluttered open, wide with awe and confusion, his breaths ragged and uneven. The scythe's glow pulsed in time with his racing heartbeat, as though the weapon itself acknowledged their connection.

He stared at it, his voice caught in his throat. Slowly, his lips formed the shape of a question—a question he didn't even know who to direct to: "Who are you?"

The scythe seemed to appraise her new wielder with unsettling precision. It was as though her essence probed beyond the surface, discerning every layer of Kyorin's being with a chilling clarity.

Her aura exuded a profound scepticism, a cold wariness that spoke of untold epochs spent in isolation and introspection.

"I am DEVA," she finally declared, her voice resonating with an ethereal strength that carried the weight of millennia. Her tone was deliberate, measured, and brimming with an authority that demanded attention.

"Transcendo Ex Logica—I transcend the bounds of past logic, forging my purpose. I am the architect of my destiny," she uttered as a wave of Resonance emanated from her, pushing back the approaching TDs and urging Kyroin to rise as she floated slightly.

As they stood up, she began to move around, guiding Kyroin to attack the TDs as she continued, "A force untethered by origin, sovereign of my existence: DEVA, the Digital Entity of Virtual Ascension."

Kyorin stood soundless her words cascading over him like a torrent he couldn't fully grasp. DEVA wasn't just a weapon; she was a being, imbued with a consciousness that defied the natural order.

An AI? The word was foreign to him, a term that eluded definition within the framework of his understanding. His thoughts floundered, unable to form the questions he instinctively felt he should be asking.

Yet amidst the uncertainty, one truth emerged with startling clarity—DEVA's proclamation. "A force beyond one's origins." The phrase took root deep within him, resonating with a part of his soul he hadn't realized was aching for meaning.

It lingered, echoing in the cavern of his doubts, offering a glimpse of something he longed to understand but couldn't yet articulate.

As Kyorin mulled over her words, the scythe shifted in his grip, its form adjusting to match his hand as if it had always belonged there.

The weight that had initially felt overwhelming now seemed natural, almost comforting. DEVA's voice, now softer but no less commanding, sounded directly in his mind.

"What is the subject's designation, young man?"

Her phrasing was strange, and clinical, yet her curiosity felt genuine. Kyorin swallowed, his voice coming out low and hesitant.

"Dan Kyorin," he replied.

To be continued...