"They say a Prime is forged in fire—but what of the ashes left behind?"
– Unknown Historian, Year 7 After Merge
1. The Sky Wasn't Blue That Day
Long before the name Zeiran Aethros would echo through warzones and corridors of galactic councils alike, it belonged to a boy—not a warrior, not a candidate, not a legend. Just a boy. And like many boys of his age, he stared up at the crimson horizon of Earth's new sky, not blue anymore since the Merge, wondering what lay beyond the world he could see.
Zeiran was ten the first time he saw a Prime in real life. He didn't remember their face. No one ever did. They were masked, suited in sleek armor that pulsed with radiant glyphs—symbols etched not by human hands, but by alien algorithms so ancient that even the Sentiencers knelt before them.
He remembered the silence though.
The crowd was massive, buzzing with awe. But when the Prime walked through Seraphis City's main sky bridge that day, the noise died as if swallowed by the wind. Zeiran stood on his father's shoulders, fingers curled tightly into the collar of the man's coat. He didn't dare blink. That presence… that gravity. It was like time paused to witness greatness.
"One day, you might be someone like that," his mother had whispered, brushing back his white-blonde hair from behind.
"Not just someone like that," his father had added, "Someone greater."
Zeiran had believed them.
Back then, he believed a lot of things.
2. The Family Aethros
The Aethros family wasn't rich, nor poor. They were what society called middle stratum dwellers—living in the mid-tier orbitals that hung like silver vertebrae in the stratosphere, suspended between Earth's recovering surface and the bridge worlds above. It was an uneasy place to be. Safe, but never quite stable. Ambitious, but always overshadowed.
His father, Kael Aethros, was a mechanic-class engineer specializing in Sentiencer shell reboots. A grounded man, rugged, hands always calloused, yet eyes as curious as any philosopher's. He had once qualified for a Sentiencer Contract, but had turned it down—something Zeiran would come to understand only years later.
His mother, Lyssira, was different. Quiet, radiant, and of Elven descent—one of the first to be accepted into the Unified Cross-Species Accord. A translator of ancient tech-scripts, she often recited old prophecies to Zeiran at bedtime, ones that spoke of ten stars aligning, of a Last Prime who would rise not from power, but from pain.
"Remember, my little storm," she'd whisper, "Legacy isn't what you're given. It's what you choose to bear."
And bear it he would.
3. Childhood in a Fractured World
Zeiran's earliest years were spent in a world still reeling from the Merge—the cataclysmic event where Earth's axis tore open and connected to the twin world of Naelora, home of the Sentiencers. It wasn't a collision. It was a bonding—an ancient alignment foretold across both worlds, though neither side had truly expected it.
The skies changed colors. Oceans trembled. Fauna from one world spilled into the ecosystems of another. The Earth wasn't Earth anymore—it was something shared, something infused.
In school, Zeiran learned three histories—Human, Elven, and Sentiencer—and was expected to pass all with equal proficiency. But what fascinated him wasn't history. It was the Trials.
Every child, upon turning 14, would face the Concordance, a ritual during which they could bond with a biomechanical being from Naelora. A Sentiencer. But only if the being accepted their soul as worthy. And only if the Council allowed it.
"What if they reject me?" Zeiran once asked his mother under the glow of a reactor moon.
"Then you fight harder," she replied. "Not everything you deserve comes willingly."
4. Of Heroes and Shadows
The Primes—Earth's mightiest protectors—were more than leaders. They were living myths. There were eight of them, each forged in a different tragedy, each bonded to a legendary-class Sentiencer of alien race and purpose.
Their names were whispered in reverence.
Prime Solenar, the Flame of Rebirth.
Prime Elithe, the Silent Tempest.
Prime Vornak, the Iron Will.
… and others, none of whom Zeiran had met—but all of whom he idolized.
At night, in his bedroom surrounded by digital posters and floating rune-etched models of Prime-class Sentiencers, Zeiran would train with a wooden staff, mimicking their stances.
"Not all who dream become Primes," his father once said, watching him practice in silence.
"Then I'll dream louder than them all," Zeiran replied.
5. Rumors of the Tenth
Legends spoke of a future Tenth Prime—an anomaly, a wielder of chaos and harmony both, whose rise would break the very laws of the Merge. Most said it was symbolic myth. Some said it was a prophecy. A few… feared it.
But Zeiran didn't fear it.
He felt it.
6. The Event That Changed Everything
The day before Zeiran's 11th birthday, his family visited the Obelisk District—a tower library built from repurposed Sentiencer alloy. They were there to translate a fragment Lyssira had been studying. One that contained symbols older than either Earth or Naelora.
Then came the impact.
A Sentinel-class rogue Sentiencer, corrupted and berserk, crashed into the district, tearing through the atrium like a falling star. Debris. Screams. Fire. The heat of war before a child could even process it.
Zeiran remembered his mother pushing him away as a support beam fell.
His father shielding them with his body, screaming his name.
Then, darkness.
Then, fire.
Then…
7. The Whisper in the Void
Some said Zeiran was dead for three minutes. Others said he wasn't dead, but chosen. What Zeiran remembers is floating—in nothingness, in light, in echoes—and hearing a voice that wasn't his own.
"He is not ready. But he is marked."
"Mark him then. He will return."
He woke up days later in a recovery tank. His father's body was never recovered. His mother's hands—burnt beyond recognition—could no longer hold a book. But she survived.
He survived.
And so did the mark.
A small glyph—like a burning eye within a triangle—seared into his chest, glowing whenever he neared any Sentiencer relic, even though he was still three years away from the legal age to bond.
Some called it a curse. Others called it a glitch.
Zeiran called it a beginning.
8. Towards the Storm
By age twelve, Zeiran was a recluse, a survivor, and a symbol in his district—a child who'd been touched by fate and flame.
But fate wasn't done with him yet.
The Primes were watching.
The Sentiencers were stirring.
And the glyph on his chest was counting down to something no one could decipher.
"He was not the chosen one. He was the one who chose himself."
– From the Journals of Prime Elithe, 7 years before the X Protocol was initiated.