[March 27, 2092]
The day Archer's life shattered forever.
Archer woke up earlier than usual, roused by an urgent need to relieve himself. As he shuffled toward the bathroom, hushed but heated voices drifted from the kitchen—his parents, locked in what sounded like a fierce argument.
Their words were sharp, slicing through the morning's quiet. Unease prickled his skin, but he shook it off, too tired to care. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he crawled back into bed, letting sleep reclaim him.
Hours later, sunlight spilled into his room, and Archer woke to an unsettling sight. His parents sat in the living room, their faces etched with a grimness that made his stomach twist. Their eyes, heavy with unspoken pain, fixed on him.
"Mom, is something wrong?" Archer's voice trembled, concern flickering in his wide eyes.
Racheal's gaze softened, but not before he caught the glint of tears she tried to hide. Wiping her eyes, she forced a fragile smile. "Nothing's wrong, sweetheart," she murmured, her voice cracking ever so slightly. "Go play with Chris." She pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, her touch lingering as if reluctant to let go, before slipping out of the room.
Relief washed over Archer, though a faint unease lingered. Eager to escape the heavy atmosphere, he darted to his room, snatching the worn soccer ball he and Chris kicked around for hours. As he bounded toward the door, his father's voice stopped him cold.
"Archer." His dad's tone was stern, his face carved from stone. "Be back before curfew, or there'll be consequences."
The words hit harder than usual. Normally, his father was lenient—a late return meant skipping dessert, nothing more. But today, his eyes held a gravity that made Archer's chest tighten.
"Yes, sir!" Archer nodded, forcing enthusiasm as he bolted out the door toward the abandoned courtyard down the street.
Chris was more than a friend to Archer; he was the older brother he never had, the one person besides his parents he idolized. They shared a dream—to explore the world together, side by side. Inseparable, they spent their days lost in laughter and games, the courtyard their kingdom.
That afternoon, they were kicking the ball around as usual, just the two of them, when a group of kids approached.
"Mind if we join?" one asked. Archer and Chris exchanged a glance, then nodded. A 5-on-5 game broke out, with Archer and Chris on the same team. Laughter and shouts filled the air as they played for hours, the score climbing in their favor.
But the game took a turn when Archer rocketed a pass to Chris. The ball was too fast, too wild. Chris fumbled, and it sailed over the fence, landing in the shadowy alley beside the courtyard.
"Chris, go get it!" Archer teased, convinced it was Chris's fault.
"No way! You blasted that pass like a missile. You get it," Chris shot back, folding his arms.
After a playful argument, Archer relented with a dramatic sigh. "Fine, but you owe me!" He jogged into the alley, scanning for the ball. That's when he saw it—resting at the feet of a man in a long coat, his face obscured.
"Hey, mister, can you kick the ball over?" Archer called, his voice light but curious.
The man turned, his eyes glinting with something unnatural. "Shit," he muttered, lunging forward. Before Archer could react, the man grabbed his shirt, yanking him out of the alley and into the street beyond.
A deafening boom erupted behind them. The ground quaked, and a wave of heat seared Archer's back. He stumbled, turning to see his world unravel. The street—his street—was gone. A smoldering crater replaced the homes, the courtyard, everything. Flames devoured what little remained, licking at the edges of the alley. Dust choked the air, and the acrid stench of destruction burned his lungs.
Archer's knees buckled. His home, his parents, Chris—gone. His mind reeled, refusing to process the devastation.
He turned to the man, whose blue eyes glowed faintly, eerily similar to the green glow Archer's own eyes had at birth.
The last thing Archer saw before darkness claimed him was a figure perched on a rooftop, an orb of crackling energy pulsing in their hands.
When Archer woke, sunlight stabbed his eyes. He was in an unfamiliar room, sprawled on a creaky bed. Panic surged through him. "I'm late! Dad's gonna kill me!" he shouted, leaping to his feet.
The coated man—Zero, he'd later learn—blocked his path. "Where do you think you're going, kid?" His voice was gruff but not unkind.
"Home! I'm way past curfew. Dad's gonna lose it!" Archer's words tumbled out as he tried to squirm past Zero's grip.
Zero's face fell, his eyes heavy with pity. Before he could speak, a boy about fourteen—Hayate—cut in from across the room. "He's dead."
"Hayate!" snapped another young man, lounging with a book in the corner. "You're not supposed to just say it like that!"
Archer froze, his heart pounding. "What do you mean, 'he's dead'? What about Mom? Where are they?" His voice cracked, desperation clawing at his throat as he stopped struggling.
Hayate shrugged, his tone blunt. "Some guy named Takumi wiped out the whole street. It'd take a miracle for anyone to survive that."
Tears welled in Archer's eyes, spilling down his cheeks.
"What about Chris?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Chris? If he was there, he's probably gone too," Hayate said, oblivious to the weight of his words.
Rage exploded in Archer's chest. "I'll kill you!" he screamed, lunging at Hayate. His fists pounded against the older boy's raised arms, each blow fueled by grief and disbelief. "I'll… fucking… kill you!" His voice broke, the fight draining from him as he collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably.
Hayate pushed him off, frowning. "What's your problem? I didn't do it. That bastard Takumi did."
Zero watched in silence, his expression unreadable. "Why'd you bring this kid here, Zero?" Hayate asked, brushing himself off.
Zero sat heavily, his gaze fixed on Archer's trembling form.
"Five years ago, you felt it, didn't you? That… presence. Like someone powerful was born. It happened ten years ago too, but I couldn't track it down." He paused, his voice lowering.
"When I saw his eyes glowing green yesterday, I knew. He's the source of that power from five years ago."
The young man in the corner looked up from his book, eyes wide. "You mean…"
Zero nodded, his voice grave. "The Third Emperor."