1 -Chapter 1- Introduction The events of this narrative do not take place on Earth, but in a realm known as Cosmiria, a multiversal-level, planet-like dimension with properties distinct from any known terrestrial world. Cosmiria is home to a unique eldritch species called Cosmirians, though they are unrelated to Lovecraftian mythologies. Cosmirians possess an innate metaphysical power referred to as Cosmic Spiritual Potential (CSP), a capability generated by the soul itself and expressed physically and spiritually throughout the body. CSP is exclusive to the Cosmirian race and cannot be replicated by other lifeforms. In terms of cognition and behavior, Cosmirians are comparable to humans. They possess the capacity for complex communication, technological development, cultural evolution, and social interaction. However, their physiology diverges significantly from human biology. Cosmirian anatomy features fully internalized reproductive systems across all sexes. In male Cosmirians, the genital structure exists as an internal sac that serves both reproductive and hormonal functions, analogous to the human testes but entirely housed within the body for optimal protection and efficiency. Female Cosmirians retain external mammary structures, which fulfill nurturing roles similar to those found in other mammalian lifeforms. Additionally, the Cosmirian digestive system operates with complete metabolic efficiency. Nutrients are fully absorbed, and any residual material is repurposed into regenerative cells or converted into additional CSP. The only excretory byproduct is sweat, which serves both thermoregulation and physiological balance. This advanced adaptation significantly contributes to their exceptional stamina and endurance. Cosmirians also possess a specialized organ known as the Regeneration Cell Productor (RCP). This organ is located directly behind the heart, which, unlike the human heart positioned slightly to the left, resides precisely at the center of the Cosmirian chest cavity. The RCP continuously generates regenerative cells that circulate through the bloodstream, enhancing cellular repair, durability, and resistance to damage. These cells enable complete regeneration, including the restoration of vital organs. Around the time of puberty the RCP is able to function wholly. Before that, a Cosmirian will have to deal with any wounds or injuries through any method. The Cosmirian heart functions not only as a circulatory organ but also as the central hub for Cosmic Spiritual Potential. CSP flows through the bloodstream alongside biological components, intertwining physical and metaphysical systems to enable rapid healing, elevated resilience, and performance beyond conventional human limits. Cosmirians possess distinctive anatomical traits. Their blood is neon white, but when it concentrates near the skin, such as during emotional surges or shifts in body temperature, it triggers a reaction with dermal cells that produces a red blush, similar in appearance to the human response but caused by an entirely different mechanism. Their lymph is translucent silver in color. Their flesh is dark ash-charcoal grey, while their bones are glossy silver, combining high durability with flexibility to protect vital systems without compromising mobility. Additionally, Cosmirian blood contains healing properties capable of accelerating recovery in non-Cosmirian organisms when properly administered. 2 One of the most striking features of Cosmirian life is the diversity of physical forms. Each Cosmirian’s appearance is shaped by personal themes, subconscious affinities, and familial lineage. Some resemble anthropomorphic animals or fantastical creatures, while others take on forms that mimic sentient objects or elemental entities. This phenomenon is an outcome of their metaphysical biology, where form reflects identity. For example, an individual transformed into a Cosmirian who has a deep affinity for both the sea and feline creatures may manifest as an aquatic-themed feline, complete with oceanic coloration and fin-like adaptations. Similarly, a Cosmirian born into a forest-themed feline lineage might exhibit earth-toned fur, leaf-patterned markings, or traits reminiscent of woodland life. Cosmirians are taxonomically classified by their manifested form, using the designation “[Animal or Object Name] Cosmirian.” For instance, a Cosmirian resembling a feline would be referred to as a Feline Cosmirian. Most Cosmirians develop a unique CSP, a metaphysical ability aligned with their personality, heritage, or thematic inclination. For example, a Cosmirian born into a family of cloud manipulators might possess Cloud Creation CSP. In rare cases, individuals are born or transformed without active abilities; their CSP is recorded as “N/A.” This condition is often the result of a dormant mutation in the CSP-producing system and may be treated through medical procedures or ceremonial awakenings designed to activate latent potential. At the cellular level, Cosmirians contain Cosmirian molecular cells, specialized bio-metaphysical structures that function as both molecular and cellular entities. These form the basis of Cosmirian essence and are directly responsible for generating, storing, and regulating CSP, making them central to Cosmirian biology and metaphysics. The transformation from non-Cosmirian to Cosmirian is a gradual but profound process initiated by direct and sustained contact with Cosmirian essence, a metaphysical substance unique to their dimension. Upon initial exposure, the host body generates at least one Cosmirian molecular cell, which functions simultaneously as a biological cell and a metaphysical construct. This cell conducts a comprehensive analysis of the host, scanning all aspects of their physical structure, psychological profile, and metaphysical properties. Nothing within the host remains unknown to this molecular entity after the process is complete. With continued exposure, additional Cosmirian molecular cells are formed, each performing further assessments and integrating into the host’s systems. As these cells multiply, they begin to systematically alter the host’s physiology, initiating a complete transformation at both cellular and systemic levels. The first noticeable change is a significant increase in vitality. Although the individual cannot yet perform metaphysical abilities, they become aware of a growing internal energy, a preliminary sign of CSP activation. As the process continues, the host’s metabolic requirements shift: the need for food, water, and rest diminishes, and their resilience to minor discomforts increases. Soon, the individual acquires the ability to perform minor CSP manifestations, usually instinctual abilities aligned with their emerging metaphysical theme. Over time, the host’s physiology transitions fully into that of a Cosmirian. This process typically concludes after approximately twenty-four hours of continuous exposure. 3 Upon completion, the new Cosmirian is naturally relocated to Cosmiria, where their life as a Cosmirian begins. For a brief period after transformation, the individual retains an enhanced metabolic state, requiring no hydration or sustenance as their body stabilizes into its new form. At the core of Cosmirian existence is Cosmic Spiritual Potential (CSP), a metaphysical force that binds their biological and spiritual components. CSP is generated by the soul but physically manifests throughout the circulatory and metaphysical systems of the body. The specific theme of an individual’s CSP is usually determined by their personality, emotional makeup, and lineage. For example, a bold, passionate Cosmirian may develop a fire-based CSP, while a calm, adaptive individual may manifest hydrokinesis or other water-related abilities. While CSP is typically inherited, it can occasionally emerge spontaneously, resulting in entirely new abilities unconnected to ancestral lines. In rare cases where CSP remains inactive, the individual’s abilities are recorded as “N/A”, and this dormancy can sometimes be reversed through advanced medical or ceremonial techniques. CSP can be developed and expanded through experience, emotional refinement, and structured training. When a Cosmirian reaches the limit of their CSP and surpasses it, they experience a phenomenon called a CSP Awakening, unlocking advanced abilities and entering new realms of metaphysical control. Despite its power, CSP is not infinite; overuse leads to exhaustion, necessitating rest and recovery to replenish spiritual and physical reserves. Beyond its role in ability expression, CSP is also critical to regenerative healing. While Cosmirian biology allows for natural tissue regeneration, severe injuries may sometimes overwhelm this capacity. In such cases, the focus of intense emotional energy can channel CSP into rapid regenerative action, facilitating the repair of even vital structures. This seamless integration of emotional focus, spiritual energy, and cellular function exemplifies the unique harmony of body and spirit in Cosmirian life. Cosmirian civilizations mirror the structural complexity of Earth’s societies but operate on a foundation of elevated ethics, refined laws, and collective moral development. In most Cosmirian societies, principles of fairness, personal dignity, and communal well-being are central, resulting in safe, stable, and inclusive environments. Social diversity is widely embraced throughout Cosmiria. Individuals of all identities, orientations, and expressions, including those within the LGBTQ+ spectrum, are respected and integrated into the fabric of society. Cosmirians uphold a cultural emphasis on consent, integrity, and respectful interaction, while maintaining social norms that discourage exploitative or harmful behavior, thereby safeguarding the well-being of all inhabitants. Technological advancement in Cosmiria has progressed in tandem with environmental stewardship. Many societies have achieved a harmonious balance between cutting-edge innovation and ecological preservation, enabling high living standards without compromising the integrity of their natural environments. Cosmiria encompasses a vast array of biomes, including natural ecosystems, supernatural environments, and forbidden zones, regions rendered off-limits due to the presence of entities or phenomena considered irredeemably hazardous. These areas are carefully monitored or contained to prevent catastrophic outcomes, reflecting the Cosmirians’ commitment to responsible exploration and ethical governance. 4 Given Cosmiria’s multiversal expanse, countless civilizations exist within its boundaries, each with distinct cultural traditions and governing philosophies. Nevertheless, the majority of Cosmirians choose to live in communities that prioritize cooperation, personal growth, and ethical responsibility, fostering a harmonious and progressive multiversal society. Anyways, with all that being said and done, enjoy the tale, my dear readers. I do hope you find it enlightening. 5 -Chapter 2- Victor Or Victim As I said in the last chapter, this story will take place in the world of Cosmiria. Do remember that our planet Earth is not the main setting here. Nonetheless, let us continue with this story. It was a calm, cloudy morning on June 13 in the year 2030, specifically around ten o’ clock in the morning, in Ebonhart City, one of Cosmiria’s many sprawling urban centers. A fine, cozy mansion called “Shizenraki Manor” stood nestled close to a little, peaceful valley where a stream flowed downhill. Though situated within Ebonhart City, the manor was right on the edge of this valley. After all, the valley offered a lovely, tranquil sight for many. In the Shizenraki Manor, specifically in the topmost bedroom, resided a fifteen-year-old Cosmirian boy named Spectro Shizenraki. He was an anthropomorphic feline Cosmirian Eldritch with a slim, yet athletic build, possessing minor muscularity and standing at a height of six feet. His fur was a primary cloud grey overlaid with black tiger stripes, while his muzzle, cheeks, chest, belly, and the internal part of his ears were a lighter pale grey. His slightly messy graphite black hair ranged between mid-neck length and nigh-shoulder length. He possessed black sclera framing black pupils and strikingly rainbow-colored irises. His tail was notably long and fluffy. A visible scar marked his right eye, tilting at a 36-degree angle; the scar did not impair his vision, it was simply present. On his left ear, he wore a small silver heart-shaped earring adorned with a black kanji symbol for "love." On his phone, Spectro was immersed in a chat with his friends, Theodore Noxx and Blaze Emberhart. He and his friends had attended the same school, Willowfield Middle School, until they all departed. Spectro had just finished his time at Willowfield and was now soon to join a high school. Spectro was reading a recent text message from Blaze; it read, “Theo and I got accepted into Voidstar Academy. I wish you could join though. . .” Just so you know, Voidstar Academy is Cosmiria’s number one academic and educational facility. Yup, you heard that right, number one, spot on. At Voidstar Academy, you can get more interesting, advanced education alongside experience in utilizing your abilities for the better, graduating as a Voidstar, who are basically superheroes dedicated to saving Cosmiria and other worlds in many ways. The accepted age range to enter Voidstar Academy as “first years” is from age thirteen to age seventeen. No more, nor less, than this range. Spectro stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. Blaze and Theodore’s words glimmered back at him: “Theo and I got accepted into Voidstar Academy. I wish you could join though. . .” Spectro’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, hesitation thick in the air. His shoulders slumped as a tight knot formed in his stomach. He pressed the phone briefly against his chest, feeling a small pulse of disappointment. Eyes tracing the ceiling, he imagined the clouds drifting slowly, wishing they could lift the weight pressing down on him. “Yeah . . . I really wanted to join,” he typed slowly, fingers stiff. A pause. Then, almost reflexively: “I hope you guys enjoy the academy.” 6 A moment later, Theodore’s reply pinged: “At least you won’t need to burden yourself with extra work.” Spectro’s lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile. The comment tickled something buried beneath the disappointment, a quiet reminder that not all moments were grim. “You’re right,” he wrote, fingers finally relaxing. “Anyways, hope you have fun. Can’t wait to hear how it goes.” Blaze responded with a quick: “Thanks, dude, nice hearing from you.” Spectro’s chest loosened a little. For a brief second, he felt lighter. He slipped the phone into his pocket and swung his legs off the bed, the familiar comfort of the floor grounding him. As he stretched and walked to the door, a shiver of something unfamiliar—hope, maybe?—skittered up his spine. He opened his bedroom door and walked out of his room, descending the staircase and entering the main hall. His aunt, Matilda Chroma, was sitting on the slate grey couch, deeply immersed in the newspapers. Aunt Matilda, like Spectro, was a slim anthropomorphic feline Cosmirian Eldritch. Her entire body was covered in silver grey fur. Like any other Cosmirian, she had black sclera, but her irises were a dim grey. Aunt Matilda was Spectro’s mother’s sister. As she read the paper, she let out a long sigh, clearly exasperated by what she had found in the news. “Those schools,” she said, her voice carrying a slight tone of annoyance. “Those schools. How are some of them so indifferent towards violence and perversion? It’s as if they don’t see the problem with teenagers behaving inappropriately.” She looked up from her newspaper and saw Spectro standing, much to her surprise. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “I thought you were out for a walk this morning. Anyway, I’ve officially made my decision to teach you myself.” “Oh,” said Spectro casually. “Okay. Sounds cool.” Aunt Matilda made some space on the couch for Spectro to sit down. She had placed stacks of newspapers right beside her, each pile consisting of the exact same content. Spectro sat down and waited, his gaze settled on his aunt, as if expecting her to say something; anything at all, as a matter of fact. “I want to give you a gift, dear,” said Aunt Matilda, “your mother asked me to do so seven years before she . . .”, she took a deep breath and sighed, as if what she was about to say was unspeakable. “Before she died,” said Spectro, finishing her sentence, “I know what happened, I’m not delicate. You know I got over my parents’ death two weeks after it happened.” “I know, I know,” replied Aunt Matilda softly, “but I’m not entirely sure you’ve gotten over it.” He brushed the topic aside with the kind of ease that only comes from practice. Spectro didn’t really talk about his parents’ death anymore, though sometimes it still hovered at the edges of his thoughts — faint, like background noise you stop noticing until the room goes quiet. “You were gonna show me some ‘gift’ my mom was about to give me back then,” he asked, “right?” “Oh,” said Aunt Matilda, snapping out of the former topic, “right. Of course.” She pulled out a book-sized black box from a nearby drawer and opened the box. Inside it was a white book with large gold letters around the middle for “Atomic Habits”. The letters appeared to be little gold blocks almost trailing away from their letters, like little atoms. On the top of the book was black text 7 for “THE INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER” and below this text was “Tiny Changes, Remarkable Results”. The bottom 2 texts were “An Easy and Proven Way to Build Good Habits and Break Bad Ones” and “James Clear”. Below the text “James Clear” was a quote that read “A supremely practical and useful book.” Spectro’s gasped at the sight of this book in shock and awe. He’s known of the book “Atomic Habits” and longed to read it, for the book was from our planet Earth, not from Cosmiria. “Is this actually . . .” muttered Spectro, mesmerized by the sight of the book, “is this actually Atomic Habits? I thought it was only from planet Earth!” Aunt Matilda’s fingers lingered on the edges of the book, as if afraid to break the delicate secret it held. “It came from Earth,” she murmured, eyes softening. “Your mother . . . she made sure it reached you. Do you . . . want it?” Spectro’s hands hovered over the book, trembling slightly. His breath caught, eyes widening as the letters gleamed gold under the light. His tail flicked with excitement, fur along his arms bristling faintly. Holding the book felt unreal, as though he had been entrusted with a treasure plucked from a world far beyond his own. “A- Are you actually giving it to me?” he asked. “Yes,” replied Aunt Matilda, clearly happy her nephew has expressed a liking towards the book, “your mother said Atomic Habits is one of the best-written books from Earth. She even mentioned you’d waste your life not reading this.” She handed Spectro the book, who took it willingly. “T- Thanks, Aunt Matilda!” Spectro said, his voice a little high. He appeared quite happy and flustered. He took the book straight to his room and placed it on his desk, deciding he would read it later. His immediate plan was to go out for a walk. Aunt Matilda was already reading new newspapers on the couch by the time Spectro left the house. The weather was nice and calm, the sky a peaceful grey with clouds. It all seemed like a day where nothing bad could happen. Or so he thought. In a park, located three kilometers away from his home, Spectro strolled around. Like planet Earth, Cosmiria had trees—beautiful ones too. All sorts of birds, such as jays, robins, and sparrows, were peacefully flying around or perched in the branches, their colorful feathers a mesmerizing sight for the eye. Spectro’s gaze tracked a distant, solitary bird soaring against the sky. “I never thought,” he realized, a sense of wonder settling over him, “that life could be so beautiful even after Mom and Dad died.” For context, Spectro carried the legacy of Thomas "Tom" Shizenraki, his father, and Vespera Shizenraki (née Chroma), his mother. Tom Shizenraki was more than just a man; he was a legend known across the cosmos—a "Voidstar," a hero dedicated to protecting countless lives in and beyond Cosmiria. His power was immense, his exploits famous. Known by his heroic title, the "Wild Voidstar: Shizenro," or simply Shizenro, he had saved multiple worlds. His wife, Vespera, was a respected professor at a high-level institution, where she worked alongside her sister, Matilda, who now served as Spectro's Aunt Matilda. A tragedy occurred when Spectro was just nine years old. Both Tom and Vespera were murdered by one of Cosmiria’s most feared beings: Marius Bloodshade. Bloodshade was a psychopathic scientist, a terror whose name evoked nightmares among Cosmirians. His powers, all themed around blood and gore, 8 proved an absolute terror to confront, especially when supported by his grotesque, engineered creations. Furthermore, his power wasn't solely physical; he commanded the "Bloodbeast Mafia," an organization that cemented his terrifying influence. However, we will keep Marius Bloodshade’s shadow at bay for the moment, until his role resurfaces. Our focus shall remain squarely on Spectro. The park air hung heavy with peaceful quiet. Spectro sat on a bench, the tranquil ambiance dissolving the tension from his shoulders. All seemed calm. . . until a brash voice sliced the silence: “Hey there, weakling nerd!” Spectro shot to his feet at the sound. It belonged to the arrogant bully from Willowfield, Zacharias Zimmerman, whom Spectro had known for a few months after Theodore and Blaze left. Zacharias possessed a Cosmic Special Power (CSP) that allowed him to steal the abilities of others through physical touch. While this power was deadly, it was severely limited: he had to maintain non-stop physical contact for a full minute just to siphon one ability.) Zacharias, a six-foot-tall anthropomorphic hyena Cosmirian Eldritch, strutted toward him. His build was slim, athletic, and slightly muscular. His fur was light brown, patterned with small dark brown spots. Muzzle, cheeks, chest, belly, and internal ears were a pale greyish brown. A mass of mid-length spiky, messy hair the color of dark chocolate crowned his head. His features were typical Cosmirian—black sclera and black pupils—but his irises were a flat grey. His tail was short, like a hyena’s. He wore a truly jarring outfit—a crisp white formal shirt paired incongruously with dark cargo pants. His chin was tilted so high it seemed to defy gravity, and his eyes scanned the park as if the very ground should be grateful to hold his weight. A smirk stretched his mouth too wide, the expression so self-satisfied it begged to be wiped away. Every movement dripped with the certainty that he’d already won, a display of confidence he used to dominate others and force them into compliant 'friendships'. Spectro was now on his feet and in shock to see Zacharias, whose face oozed excess pride and greed. “I see no one wants to put up with you, ya worthless l—” “What on Cosmiria,” Spectro asked, his question cutting across Zacharias's insult. Spectro's gaze was fixed on the bizarre white shirt and cargo pants combination as if staring at something visibly cringe-worthy. “Are you wearing right now?” Zacharias’s cocky grin faltered slightly. Being interrupted was clearly a blow to his inflated self-image. “You’ve got a problem with it?” Spectro said nothing, letting a long, tense silence stretch between them. “Why are you here, though?” Spectro finally asked. “Tch, none of your business,” snarled Zacharias rudely. “You ain’t important here, nerd-face. Now what do you want?!” Spectro sensed a shift. Usually Zacharias radiated smug, energized cruelty, but today he seemed hollowed out, his desperation poorly masked. He sounded like he was straining to manufacture insults, hinting that something profound had upset him even before the clothing comment. What could possibly have put Zacharias in this desperate mood? “Just . . . just shut up,” spat Zacharias harshly. “I don’t need any weaklings like you. Now get out of my sight.” 9 “Did something happen?” asked Spectro. Zacharias glared at Spectro, his anger visible and fueled by the persistent question. “I said shut up,” replied Zacharias sharply. “Now beat it!” “Did you break up with—” began Spectro. “SHUT UP!” roared Zacharias, his voice vibrating with sudden, intense rage. “Fine, fine, I was just asking. Not like I was going to do anything about it,” sighed Spectro, genuinely wishing he and Zacharias could ever have a decent relationship, remembering how the bully had relentlessly harassed him back in Willowfield for lacking a CSP. Zacharias’s ears pinned flat against his head, and his short tail began whipping with jerky, strained tension. Fur bristled along his shoulders as his jaw clenched so hard his teeth clicked faintly with frustration. While his words lashed out like a whip, Spectro’s eyes caught the flicker beneath the fury: the subtle trembling of a paw, the brief twitch of a nostril—tells that betrayed panic hiding under the mask of arrogance. “Don’t look at me like I’m weak,” growled Zacharias, his voice strained. “I’m fine. Perfect and fine.” “You don’t look fine, though . . .” said Spectro. “I said I am fine.” “No point lying now that I know—” “YOU KNOW NOTHING!” roared Zacharias, the sound clearly enraged. “I SAID I AM FINE AND PERFECT! MY ENTIRE LIFE IS FINE AND PERFECT! UNLIKE YOURS!” There was a pregnant pause in Zacharias’s outburst, then he spoke, his voice dropping to a dangerous sneer. Zacharias leaned closer, his nostrils flaring. “You want to know why I’m perfect, Shizenraki? Why I’m happy . . . and you’re not?” His smirk twisted as if tasting defeat. “Why I’m strong . . . and you’re weak?” He paused, eyes narrowing, claws flexing. “Because I’m real. I’m special. The chosen one. And you? Just some . . . weakling.” His chest puffed out, his voice trembling slightly despite the bravado. “I have powers. You don’t. You know what that makes me? God. And no matter what I do . . . I’ll always be right.” Zacharias had always used this rather cliché statement to assert his dominance. Even with a few new words, the underlying context was unchanged. Spectro’s lips twitched into a restrained smirk, a flicker of amusement hiding behind his calm eyes. He leaned back slightly, his tail curling lazily around his leg, and let Zacharias’s words wash over him. The sheer absurdity of the speech was enough to tickle something in his chest—even if he dared not laugh aloud. Another silence followed, and Spectro decided it was time to entertain himself. “Do you rehearse your speech?” asked Spectro, smirking slightly. “Because I think it's time you be creative and change it a bit. It's getting kind of old, you know.” And just as Spectro had hoped, Zacharias’s face was even redder than before. Obviously, Zacharias was not happy with such creative feedback. “Shut your mouth,” said Zacharias angrily. “I am not in—” “—any mood to deal with this today?” Spectro replied innocently, seamlessly finishing Zacharias’s sentence. 10 “You think you’re better than me? You’re weak! You literally have zero CSP—” “At least I don’t have zero brains. I’m honestly surprised the school let you pass even though you failed.” Another silence settled. Zacharias was even redder and angrier than before, while Spectro was growing even more amused by the bully’s visible distress. After all, Zacharias had been too rude and mean to him and others; naturally, what goes around comes around. Zacharias had truly earned this. “I’m done here,” said Zacharias, his voice a snarling rush of rage. “Have fun being a lonely and nerdy piece of crap.” Spectro shrugged nonchalantly and replied, “Okay.” And Zacharias walked away, fuming and swearing under his breath, when he suddenly stopped walking. He chuckled cruelly and turned around. “You know what? Why am I getting worked up over you? You’re still the same weak nerd.” he said in a drawling voice. Without warning, his hands crackled with sparks and flames. Spectro’s usual instinct was to hide or dodge, but for some reason today he didn’t feel like running away like a coward. He just stood there, his mind calm and clear. Zacharias accumulated the flames and sparks he produced into an orb of energy and hurled it at Spectro with full strength. Spectro’s foot shot out, slicing through the air with a quiet whistle, and slammed into the orb. The energy shivered violently, crackling, sparks scattering like fireflies before the orb collapsed with a muted pop, dissolving into smoke that curled upward. Zacharias froze, ears flat, tail stiff, eyes wide with a disbelief that froze the muscles in his jaw. Zacharias stood there, wide-eyed and pale, his anger had faded and was now replaced by fear and shock. “No one,” he thought, “no one was able to do that to my energy orb. HOW DID HE DO IT?!” In an attempt to regain his usual arrogant persona, Zacharias stalks away, trying to act smug, but failing due to the fact he’s panicking and raging. Spectro is now left to his own peace and quiet, no longer bothered by Zacharias. He too is shocked about how he managed to wipe out Zacharias’s orb with a single kick unexpectedly. Spectro sat down on the bench and looked down. Today was indeed a very strange day. First he’s allowed to be home-schooled, then he’s given a famous book on creating good habits, then he manages to roast Zacharias silly, and finally, he kicks Zacharias’s energy orb with enough force to erase it while not having any CSP. Yes, Spectro did learn various combat arts and techniques at a young age from his father, but he hadn’t practiced any of them after his parents’ deaths. What’s more, is that his kick was enough to get rid of the orb. He had no CSP, yet the kick was all that he needed. And he kicked it without expecting it. As he walked home, Spectro caught himself smiling at nothing, the kind of grin that sneaks up on you when the world feels just a little off, like the air is waiting for something to happen. He got up and walked back home, smiling slightly to himself. Maybe, just maybe, his life won’t feel too miserable or lonely anymore. 11 -Chapter 3- The Starhart Duo Spectro had just started reading Atomic Habits. Flipping through the pages, he could almost feel the logic of each tip settling into his mind. The ideas didn’t just seem “good”—they sparked a tangible sense of motivation. He made a mental note to apply each piece of advice daily, imagining how small changes could ripple into big results. He woke early, around five-thirty, the soft light of dawn creeping through the window. His desk was a careful mix of physical textbooks and digital tablets, scattered with notes and pencils. He worked through practice questions, diving into advanced Literature, Mathematics, Science, and History. Each solved problem or understood concept brought a quiet thrill—knowledge wasn’t just something to acquire; it was power he could feel flowing through him. He enjoys the gain and share of knowledge. Knowledge is power, in many ways. His notebooks were filled with neat, color-coded notes, diagrams carefully drawn, each sentence phrased as if explaining to a friend. Spectro had a knack for breaking complex topics into clear, manageable pieces; the act of writing them down felt like untangling a knot in his mind. “Hmm,” said Aunt Matilda thoughtfully, looking through the practice questions that Spectro had answered over the few days, “These are all correct. Nice job. I thought you’d relax a bit for this summer break?” “Yeah,” replied Spectro, “I was gonna relax, but I felt like I needed to do some work.” “But you will take breaks right? You won’t overwork yourself?” “Yeah, I will. Don’t worry so much, Aunt Matilda, I can manage myself.” “Alright, alright, I’ll believe you.” Aunt Matilda got up and walked over to the door. The moment she grabbed the door handle, she seemed to have wanted to say something. “Just so you know, Spectro,” she said, “I really like how hardworking and focused you are.” And with that being said, she left the room. Spectro returned to his work and after twenty minutes, he went out for a walk. At the same park he had met (and unintentionally roasted) Zacharias at. The park was bathed in golden morning light, a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves. Birds chirped intermittently, their songs mingling with the soft ripple of the pond nearby. The air was warm but not heavy, carrying the faint scent of grass and flowers. Spectro breathed it in, letting the calm wash over him—ever since the incident with Zacharias a week ago, the world seemed to have reclaimed a little of its peace. Then there were faint sounds of muttering and sobbing from the bushes up ahead. Spectro quietly made his way to the bush, hid behind it to ensure he did not get seen (by whoever is in the bush) and heard two voices. One of which was familiar; it was Zacharias’s voice. “Just shut up, quit your crying, and just listen to me!” Zacharias snarled furiously, “If you don’t, my dad’ll put your family in so much trouble that you’ll never wish you were born! You don’t want that, do you?” 12 “P- Please . . .” The words trembled out, almost swallowed by sobs. “Just . . . leave me alone!” He pressed himself into the ground, ears flat, tail curling tight. “Why do you want my powers? You . . . you already have enough!” “You’re going to do as I say whether you like it or not!” roared Zacharias. “Just leave me alone! I didn’t do anything to you!” the voice cried. Through a gap in the bush’s leaves, Spectro saw Zacharias looming over a teenage jackal Cosmirian, trembling and sobbing. The jackal’s slender frame shivered under the weight of fear, his bone-white-grey fur marked with dark grey-brown patches, the chest, cheeks, muzzle, and inner ears starkly pale. Around his pearl-colored irises, two dark grey-brown spots accentuated the terror etched on his face. Every flick of his ears and quiver of his tail spoke of panic. “Last warning,” said Zacharias in a dangerous tone, “last chance. Give me what I asked you for! Now!” “Stop it! You’re not . . . you can’t . . . force others—” The words stumbled out, broken by sobs. Zacharias’s teeth clenched as he leaned forward, claws flexing. “Don’t talk back!” Each word hissed like a blade. “You won’t give me your power . . . I’ll take it!” His nostrils flared, and his tail lashed with each syllable. The jackal cowered, tail trembling. “No . . . please! Don’t!” His voice was barely above a whimper, each word trembling with fear. As Zacharias’s fingers clamped on the jackal’s collar, a sudden blinding white flash followed by a torrent of dust tore through the scene. Zacharias flew backward, hitting the ground with a heavy, painful thud. Heart pounding, Spectro pressed himself against the bush, eyes wide, ears flattening—but he knew he couldn’t stay hidden forever. Not when someone was being hurt for no reason other than Zacharias’s selfish gain. Zacharias groaned, pushing himself up, but Spectro had already scooped the trembling jackal out of the bush. They slipped quietly through the undergrowth to a hidden spot where neither could be seen. The silence stretched, broken only by ragged breaths. Finally, Spectro asked, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” “No,” the jackal croaked, shoulders still shaking, “but . . . thanks for getting me out of there.” Relief and residual fear flickered in his voice. He hugged his legs to his chest and buried his face in his knees all the while trembling. “He’s still here,” whimpered the jackal, “I know he is. He’s probably looking for me. He’ll be pissed when he finds me.” Spectro placed his hand sympathetically on the jackal’s shoulder and comforted him by saying “I won’t let him hurt you. I promise.” “R- Really?” asked the jackal. Spectro’s grip tightened gently on the jackal’s shoulder, steady but not heavy, like an anchor against the trembling storm. “Yeah,” he said, voice low, calm in a way that cut through the panic. “Really. You’re safe with me.” The jackal peeked up, pearl eyes glistening beneath damp lashes. His breathing slowed just enough to sound more like a stuttered rhythm than a desperate gasp. He didn’t answer right away, only clutched his knees tighter, ears twitching at every rustle of leaves. 13 A twig snapped somewhere in the distance. Both of them froze. Spectro’s ears flicked toward the sound, every muscle tightening for a heartbeat before he forced his shoulders to loosen again. He leaned closer, whispering, “It’s just a branch. If it were him, we’d know.” The jackal’s tail still trembled, but his gaze lingered on Spectro now instead of the shadows. “Why’d you . . . help me?” His voice cracked, half-accusation, half-wonder, as if he couldn’t decide whether to believe this sudden ally. Spectro shrugged lightly, though his eyes scanned the treeline. “Because no one deserves what he’s doing to you.” His tone was flat, not heroic—just matter-of-fact. The jackal blinked at that, lips parting as though to argue, then shut again. Silence held between them, threaded with the faint whisper of wind. Somewhere beyond the bush, gravel crunched under a heavy step. Zacharias’s voice carried faintly, low and venomous, “Where are you, mutt? You can’t hide forever . . .” Spectro’s tail flicked once. He tilted his head toward the jackal and pressed a finger to his lips. The jackal swallowed hard, nodding. Spectro kept low, guiding the jackal with a slight nudge of his arm. “Come on,” he whispered, “we’ll move when he circles away.” The jackal hesitated, claws digging faint grooves into the dirt. “He’ll catch us. He always does.” Spectro met his eyes—steady, unshaken. “Not this time.” His tail flicked once, signaling patience more than defiance. The minutes stretched thin. Zacharias’s footsteps prowled closer, then receded, then back again, like a predator testing the air. Each crunch of gravel seemed sharper than the last. The jackal’s breathing hitched when Zacharias’s shadow stretched across the bushes. Spectro’s hand pressed lightly against his shoulder again, wordless, steadying him. Neither moved. Zacharias muttered under his breath, frustration bleeding through his tone. “Pathetic mutt . . . running won’t save you. When I find you—” His words cut off with a growl as he stomped farther down the path. Spectro leaned closer to the jackal, voice barely audible. “See? He doesn’t know where we are. That’s our chance.” The jackal’s ears twitched toward him, his wide eyes narrowing just a fraction—fear still there, but something else breaking through. Trust, maybe. Spectro gestured, and together they crawled deeper into the undergrowth. Branches brushed against their fur, leaves whispering their passage. Every sound seemed too loud, yet Zacharias’s voice faded behind them. Finally, when the weight of his footsteps no longer haunted the air, Spectro stopped. He pushed a branch aside to reveal a small clearing—quiet, hidden, a pocket of calm. “Here. Rest a second.” The jackal slumped down, burying his face in his paws. His whole frame shook with leftover adrenaline, but the sobs were quieter now, worn thin. Spectro sat beside him, letting the silence breathe. He didn’t push, didn’t demand thanks—just stayed there, the way one might sit with someone who needed proof the world hadn’t turned entirely hostile. After a long pause, the jackal spoke into his paws, voice muffled but raw. “You don’t even know me. Why . . . Why bother?” Spectro glanced at him, then at the space between the trees, where sunlight spilled like threads through the canopy. “Because I know what it feels like,” he said si