Prologue  ; 14-7-1590 A.C.

“The one absolute rule is, you are as strong as how much you could draw from the realm of Arahal, but draw more, severe consequences would’ve followed.”

-[Redacted], Unknown Date.

[Seliebad III/Seliebad staelet/Joerdigar sektör/Vaetrie Kreich]

[Seliebad III/Seliebad state/Joerdigar sector/Dominion of Vaetria]

In a museum, far from where the galaxy boiled in conflicts, the universe seemed to close its eyes to an event unfolding within.

With his mastery of the little known power, the Psionic power, an art known only to a few amongst the star, Istraf tossed aside the last of the building’s guard.

A Psychic aura, seen only by those who wielded its power, ensnared the guard’s limp bodies. He was then hurled into the priceless collection of ancient technologies adorning the halls.

Laptops shattered, phones rent asunder, and other antiquated machines were crushed beneath the weight of his flesh and bones.

Amidst the chaos and devastation wrought by his power, his eyes fell upon the prize he had long sought: a dull and meagre grey box, placed alone on a display of long-forgotten trinkets and antiquities.

As he walked forth the hall, no longer the grand and majestic it once was, the scene had became a macabre tableau of violence and destruction, the walls pockmarked with bullet holes and stained with the blood of the honest men.

Moonlight shone upon him as he stepped forth, revealing an attire somewhere between the museum’s antiquity and the rugged fabric of a typical dark sector pirate. A black Vaetrian eagle in a white shield etched on his right arm, a symbol of the 1^st Vaetrian empire that ceased to exist for half a millenium.

In this dark and dismal setting, where the electricity was disabled and the security surveillances slumbered, the only source of illumination was those of sporadic flicker of dying sparks, casting a foreboding and eerie light upon the varying remnant of the past long gone.

Istraf pondered aloud with his mouth, “Tell me my brethren, does human nature compel us to think with things beyond our comprehension?” His footfalls made no sound as he approached the box which appeared older than this country.

“Answer me this,” Istraf inquired the dying guard as he stepped closer, whom, both shared the same Vaetrian heritage of golden hairs and blue eyes. “In your final moments, do you think of your country? Its achievements, its history, its glories?”

As he glanced at the man, now drenched in blood, Istraf continued, “Or is it always something more personal, more cherished that comes to mind?”

Istraf stepped into the display's field of view as he spoke, his words carrying a weight of introspection. “Spouse, children, parents, anything or anyone you've ever loved—” he mused, then added, “—or sometimes, it's your regrets, your mistakes that haunted you.”

However, the dying guard's laboured breathing brought Istraf's words to an abrupt halt. “Never mind—” he said, acknowledging the inevitable end.

“—All things would come to an end, regardless.”

As he gazed upon the unassuming grey box before him, Istraf noticed a curious violet mist seeping from within. The simplicity of the box's design triggered another thought in his mind.

His hand gestured, purple aura arched towards the transparent showcase for a second. The glass shattered by the raw power from his unseen might. Then, the grey box flew to Istraf’s side at his command. As soon as the square landed, curiosity hung over his little heart.

The box’s presence seemed to hint at an unknown fate. How it even came here already made him questioned reality.

“What’s a small Arahal doing here?” He asked.

A silent communication from between persons happened unbeknownst to him, “<<Hawk, this is Hammer-1, solid ID of an Abhuman on the prize, please advise>>” The silent communication continued.

Istraf's face remained stoic as he opened the dull—old—meagre metal case before him.

“<<Hammer-4 in position>>”

“A crystal?” he questioned aloud, laying his eyes on the diamond-shaped amethyst resting on a cushion.

“<<Hammer-2 standing by>>”

The jewel glowed with a purple aura, it surrounded the gem like a small cloud. The crystal was barely compared with his finger, much smaller than he had imagined for the trouble he went through.

“<<Hammer-3 waiting for orders>>”

“<<Hammer-1, this is Hawk, be advised, no restriction, you are to engage with any means possible, copy?>>

Cloud of uncertainty began cluttering Istraf's mind, “Why?” He simply asked, “Why would such a small stone hold Arahal?”

“<<Solid copy, Hammer-2, 3, 4, eyes on target, on my mark—>>”

Suddenly, the air grew heavy, and Istraf's reflexes kicked in.

He closed the metal case and turned around, only to be met with thunderous shots piercing the air; railgun bullets came to him from four different directions.

Istraf summoned a Psionic barrier with his hand, creating a purple dome of force as strong as the power he put into, its glass-like wall shimmered like a diamond while his eyes saw through it.

The mighty defence barrier he had erected clashed against the projectiles and countless crimson rainbows rained onto the air in their dying shine.

Istraf's previously composed demeanor shifted to one of caution as he observed his barrier began to crack.

He mustered his Psionic might, and conjured a huge purple aura around his right arm.

With a single sweeping gesture, a tremendous wave of washed over the entire hall, blasting away all manner of displays of yore.

All, that is, except for four dark figures clad in pitch-black battlesuit. These figures stood defiant, their hiding places robbed from them by Istraf's Psionic onslaught.

They crossed their hands in front of them and were encased with a thing which made Istraf opened his mouth wide.

Psionic barrier, shining like a soft diamond, its transparent barrier glinted under the moonlight pouring in through the sky windows above.

Theirs mimicked his own in every detail save for their lesser purple aura—which was enough to shield them from Istraf's might and the debris filling the air .