Dawn broke differently on Samagra the Ethereal Bridge. Instead of a sun rising, it was the collective light of countless planes above that brightened and dimmed in eternal cycles.

  Shim stood at his usual spot near the edge of the Madhya district, his aqua-green eyes reflecting the cosmic light, black hair moving in the ethereal winds. At nineteen, he had grown into his tall, lean frame, though sometimes he still felt like that twelve-year-old boy who had first discovered he was different.

  The crystalline surface beneath his feet shimmered with Prana—the divine energy that flowed through all of Samagra.

  Here in Madhya, one of the largest districts of the Ethereal Bridge, Prana manifested in everything. It powered the floating merchant stalls that drifted between the crystal spires, illuminated the pathways that shifted and reformed according to the resident's needs, and sustained the very air they breathed.

  "Shim! Are you cloud-gazing again?" Ravi's voice cut through his contemplation.

  Shim turned to see his childhood friend approaching, his dark bronze skin marking him as one of the Agni race, known for their natural affinity with energy manipulation. Behind him walked Maya, her silvery Yaksha features catching the ethereal light. They had been his closest friends since childhood, accepting him despite—or perhaps because of—his differences.

  "Not clouds," Shim corrected with a smile.

  "Planes. The Mortal Plane is particularly bright today."

  "Always with your head in the planes," Maya teased, her silver eyes twinkling.

  "Some of us have real work to do. The Festival of Flows is tomorrow, and the Merchant's Circle is still half-decorated."

  The mention of work brought Shim back to reality.

  In Madhya, everyone contributed to the community according to their abilities. The district was a marvel of cooperation between races: the warrior-like Raktas with their crimson eyes and formidable strength; the ethereal Yakshas with their natural connection to spirits; the energetic Agni people with their mastery over Prana flow; even the occasional Rakshasa traders with their shapeshifting abilities and clever minds.

  "I haven't forgotten," Shim assured them, walking away from his viewing spot.

  The crystal pathway reformed beneath their feet as they moved, responding to their presence.

  Around them, Madhya was coming to life. Merchants began opening their stalls, their wares floating on beds of controlled Prana. Children of various races played games involving small spheres of energy, their laughter echoing off the crystal spires.

  In the distance, the great Archive Tower rose like a frozen waterfall of light, where the district's scholars studied the mysteries of the planes.

  As they walked through the Merchant's Circle, Shim noticed the usual mix of curious glances and respectful nods from the locals. Everyone in Madhya knew him—or rather, knew of him.

  He was the boy who survived the impossible, the one who collapsed seven years ago with uncontrolled Prana yet lived to tell the tale. The one raised by Vakra, the mysterious Rakta warrior who had lived alone on the edge of the district longer than anyone could remember.

  "Speaking of the festival," Ravi said, manipulating a small sphere of Prana between his fingers—a nervous habit he'd never outgrown

  "will Vakra be attending this year?" he asked

  Shim shook his head. His guardian rarely participated in community events, though he always encouraged Shim to do so.

  "You know how he is. He says crowds 'disturb the flow.'"

  "Your father is the most mysterious Rakta I've ever met," Maya observed, helping a younger Yaksha child untangle some festival decorations.

  "Most Raktas love showing off their strength and combat skills during festivals. But Vakra... he's different."

  "He's not my father," Shim corrected automatically, though the words felt hollow.

  Vakra had raised him, trained him, protected him. But there had always been something more to their relationship, something neither of them fully understood—or at least, something Vakra never fully explained.

  The morning passed in a blur of festival preparations. Shim helped where he could, using his unique connection to Prana to stabilize the floating lanterns that would illuminate tomorrow's celebrations.

  His power had always been different from others. While Agni people like Ravi could manipulate energy through learned techniques, and Yakshas like Maya could commune with it spiritually, Shim's connection felt... innate. As if the Prana recognized him as its own.

  By midday, Shim felt the familiar tingling beneath his skin. The Prana within him was growing restless, as it often did when he used his abilities for extended periods. He excused himself from his friends and headed toward home—the modest dwelling on the outskirts of Madhya where he lived with Vakra.

  As he walked, he passed the Training Grounds where young Raktas practiced their combat skills. The sound of clashing weapons and controlled bursts of Prana filled the air. A group of young warriors paused their sparring to watch him pass, their crimson eyes following his movement.

  Unlike Vakra's mysterious gaze, theirs held a mix of curiosity and wariness. They had never fully accepted him in their training sessions, not after seeing how differently Prana responded to his presence.

  "Your energy is turbulent today," a deep voice observed.

  Shim looked up to see Vakra standing at their doorway, his six-foot-two frame blocking most of the entrance. Despite his warrior's build and intimidating presence, Vakra's face held its usual expression of calm wisdom. His long beard, now streaked with grey, moved slightly in the ethereal winds.

  "The festival preparations," Shim explained, entering their home.

  Inside, the dwelling was sparse but comfortable. Training weapons lined one wall, ancient texts about the planes filled shelves along another, and in the center, a small pool of liquid Prana cast everything in a soft, pulsing light.

  "Sit," Vakra commanded, gesturing to the meditation cushions beside the pool.

  "Your control is slipping" he said in a deep voice

  Shim obeyed, knowing better than to argue. For as long as he could remember, these sessions had been part of their daily routine. While other children learned basic Prana manipulation, Shim had needed to learn control—how to contain the overwhelming power that flowed through him.

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  "Something's different today," Shim said as Vakra sat across from him.

  "The Prana... it's not just restless. It's trying to tell me something."

  Vakra's crimson eyes studied him intently. For a moment, his form seemed to shimmer at the edges, as it had been doing more frequently lately.

  "What do you see in the pool?"

  Shim looked into the liquid Prana. Usually, it showed simple patterns and reflections of energy flows. But today...

  The liquid suddenly swirled violently, its light intensifying. Images flashed across its surface: the towering figure with the bow from his childhood vision, twelve distinct planes floating in perfect harmony, a shadow spreading across creation itself. The Prana beneath Shim's skin blazed in response.

  "No!" Shim heard Vakra shout, but it was too late.

  The power surged through him, connecting him to something vast and ancient. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Vakra's form changing, becoming something far more than a simple Rakta warrior...

  When Shim awoke, he was lying on his bed, Ravi and Maya's worried faces hovering nearby. Through the window, he could see the sky had darkened—not with night, but with a strange disturbance in the planes above.

  "What happened?" he asked, trying to sit up.

  "The entire district felt it," Maya whispered.

  "A surge of GEN, unlike anything the elders have ever seen. The Archive Tower's records are going crazy, and look" She pointed out the window at the disturbed planes above.

  "Where's Vakra?" Shim asked, noticing his guardian's absence.

  "He's been in deep meditation since it happened," Ravi explained.

  "Shim... people are scared. Nothing like this has happened since... well, since the day you collapsed seven years ago."

  Shim stood shakily, memories of the vision swimming in his mind. This time had been different. This time he had seen more—understood more. The twelve planes, the shadow of corruption, the truth hidden within Vakra's shimmering form...

  "I need to speak with him," Shim said firmly, moving toward Vakra's meditation chamber.

  He found his guardian sitting perfectly still, his form more transparent than Shim had ever seen it. As he approached, Vakra opened his eyes—eyes that now held the weight of eons.

  "It's time, isn't it?" Shim asked quietly.

  "Time for me to learn the truth."

  Vakra's form solidified as he stood. "Not here," he said, his voice carrying new depths.

  "The truth lies beyond the Bridge, in the planes above. You're ready now to begin that journey."

  "But the festival??"

  "Will continue without you. The disturbance you caused today is only the beginning. The corruption I've sensed growing in the planes cannot be ignored any longer." Vakra placed a hand on Shim's shoulder, and for the first time, Shim felt the full extent of power hidden within his guardian's touch.

  "You've always known you were different, Shim. Tomorrow, you begin learning why."

  As if in response to these words, the Prana beneath Shim's skin pulsed with new purpose. Outside, the planes continued their disturbed dance, waiting to reveal their secrets to the boy born of greater powers than he knew.

  For now, he was still simply Shim of Madhya, but tomorrow... tomorrow he would begin discovering who he truly was, guided by a guardian whose own truth was finally beginning to shine through his Rakta disguise.

  Outside, the news of the disturbance had spread through Madhya like wildfire. The Festival of Flows preparation had halted as people gathered in small groups, their voices hushed, eyes occasionally darting toward Shim's dwelling.

  The Rakta elders had convened an emergency meeting at the Training Grounds, while Yaksha spiritualists gathered at the Archive Tower, attempting to interpret the unusual patterns in the Prana flows.

  Shim stood in his room, packing a small bag with essentials. His hands paused over the crystal pendant he'd had since childhood—the one thing he possessed before Vakra found him. It pulsed weakly with its own inner light, matching the rhythm of the Prana beneath his skin.

  "You won't be able to say goodbye to everyone," Vakra said from the doorway.

  He had changed into his old battle gear—armor that Shim had only seen displayed on their wall. Despite its apparent age, it gleamed as if newly forged.

  "I need to at least tell Ravi and Maya," Shim insisted, slipping the pendant around his neck.

  "They've stood by me through everything."

  Vakra nodded, his crimson eyes holding a new warmth.

  "They're waiting in the garden."

  The garden was Vakra's private sanctuary—a small space behind their dwelling where rare plants from various planes grew in carefully maintained beds of specialized Prana.

  Ravi and Maya stood among the glowing flowers, their faces a mix of concern and anticipation.

  Maya spoke first, her silver eyes glistening. "We always knew this day would come. You never belonged just to Madhya."

  "You're not surprised?" Shim asked.

  Ravi laughed, though it held a note of sadness. "Brother, we've watched you grow up. The way Prana responds to you, those visions you've had, even the stories of how Vakra found you... you were destined for more than helping with festival decorations."

  "The district will talk," Maya added, glancing at the gathering crowds in the distance.

  "Let them. We know who you are—our friend, our brother, the boy who once created light spheres for us to play with when we were children."

  "Even though they always exploded," Ravi added with a grin.

  Shim felt his throat tighten. These were more than friends; they were the family he'd chosen.

  "I don't even know where I'm going," he admitted.

  "You're going to find your truth," Vakra's deep voice came from behind them.

  "The planes will guide you. The Prana will show you the way." He paused, looking at Ravi and Maya.

  "And true friendship transcends distance. The bonds you've forged here will give you strength on your journey."

  Maya suddenly stepped forward, pressing something into Shim's hand. It was a small crystal, similar to those used by Yaksha spiritualists for communion with the higher planes.

  "So you'll remember you always have a home here," she whispered.

  Ravi produced a small sphere of concentrated Prana—one of his specialties.

  "For emergencies," he said with a wink.

  "Though your explosions are probably more powerful than mine now."

  The sky above rippled with disturbed energy, a reminder of the urgency of his departure. Vakra stepped forward, his form momentarily seeming to fill the entire garden with ancient power.

  "It's time," he said softly.

  Shim embraced his friends one last time, memorizing the feel of their presence, the sound of their voices. Then he turned to Vakra—his guardian, his teacher, his mystery.

  "How will I find my way back?" he asked.

  Vakra's form shimmered, and for a moment, Shim saw something magnificent beneath the Rakta warrior's appearance. "

  Some paths we create. Others have always existed, waiting for us to find them. Trust in what flows through you, Shim. The truth of your existence has waited nineteen years. It will guide you home when you're ready."

  As Shim took his first steps away from the only home he'd known, the Prana within him pulsed with growing purpose. Behind him lay Madhya, his childhood, and a life of controlled mystery. Ahead lay the vast expanse of the Ethereal Bridge and the twelve planes beyond, each holding pieces of a truth he was finally ready to discover.

  He was no longer just the strange boy saved by a mysterious Rakta warrior. He was no longer just the friend who made light spheres explode or the youth who saw visions in pools of liquid Prana.

  He was Shim, and he was about to discover exactly what that meant.