As time went by, and after spending that morning surrounded by those young lights, the induction came to an end.

“Well, kids, I’ve enjoyed sharing with you, but we’re done for today. Please stop by the office and grab your equipment.” Which consisted of their deck, a traveling backpack and their V-Link.

I remember thinking I should’ve gotten ready myself too, because I rushed into the locker room, changed into my “civilian” outfit, and headed out to explore The Valley.

Stepping out of the Academy, I looked to the horizon over Terminus, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Life had changed so much in just a few short years.

I used to think the world had always been this clean. Organized. Labeled. Categorized.

The Order watching over the Asters, the Asters watching over everyone else — it all seemed so neatly arranged, as if the world had always known what it was doing.

But it wasn’t always like this.

Before the Order, before Asters… there were Hunters.

Someone once told me about them — a story from their own childhood. Seven, maybe eight years old. Old enough to hold an Ethirial card, young enough to still believe monsters could be tamed.

In those days, that wasn’t unusual. Children were said to have a stronger link to Ethirials — an instinct adults lacked. That alone was enough for the world to weaponize them and call them “protectors.”

Hunters were the first line of defense against the Hazes.
Or more accurately… the only line of defense.

They weren’t soldiers. Not even close. They were bounty hunters, vigilantes, detectives — whatever title justified the chaos. They hunted Hazes when nobody else dared to, back when “procedure” was just a fancy word printed on government folders nobody read.

“They did whatever it took,” someone once told me, in that distant tone people get when they remember things they shouldn’t have had to see. “Some called them heroes. Others called them psychos. Usually, both were right.”

I never met a Hunter — not the way they were back then. Most were gone by the time regulations were put in place. But sometimes, I wonder if the world was quieter in their time… or if we just didn’t have enough cameras to prove otherwise.

Things changed after that — after people decided chaos needed structure.

What was once called a children’s game quickly turned into a perverted one, as he likes to call it.

The turning point came with what we now call the 2005 Incident, though that name barely scratches the surface.

To most people, it was just a blackout — a citywide collapse of power, blamed on outdated infrastructure and bad timing. No cameras worked. No broadcasts aired. The world blinked, and when the lights came back on, everything looked the same.

But it wasn’t.

Those who were there — the ones close to the Hunters, the ones who fought in the dark — knew better. That night was when the first Ethirials began changing, breaking free from their cards and manifesting in the physical world.

It was chaos sealed behind silence.
And for reasons still debated today… that silence held.

The public never knew. They just went back to their daily lives.

It’s strange, watching those old recordings now.

Kids sitting on sidewalks, surrounded by scattered cards, arguing over made-up rules and imaginary creatures. It all seemed so harmless — the laughter, the shouting, the flicker of sunlight over holographic foil.

I’ve seen the footage dozens of times. There’s a boy holding up his card like it’s Excalibur, shouting that his Ethirial could unleash any attack — as long as he could imagine it. The crowd of children around him cheer.

No monsters, no power surges, no screaming. Just kids being kids.

I was one of those kids. Five years old, oblivious. More concerned with the shine of a rare holo card than the shadow it might’ve been hiding.

But innocence never lasts long, does it?

A few years later, everything changed.

The first tragedy hit quietly — a story buried so deep it was almost forgotten.

A child was found dead in his home. Not from a duel, not from a fight, but from something far worse: an Ethirial that had slipped through.

People said the creature had been manipulated, twisted by a human mind that saw the game as more than entertainment. A collector, a self-proclaimed visionary — delusional enough to believe Ethirials could be “reprogrammed.”

They were wrong.
Deadly wrong.

That single event shattered the illusion of safety. Suddenly, the game wasn’t harmless anymore.

The United Nations — yes, the actual United Nations — stepped in, demanding tighter control.

The corporation behind it all, NFinity Dynamics, had no choice but to cooperate. They established rules, licensing, specialized monitoring teams… and from that, the foundation of what would become the Order was born.

At first, the changes were small — background checks, official tournaments, parental supervision. The usual corporate patchwork.

But the true transformation came after the 2010 World Tournament, the first to ever be broadcast globally.

I still remember watching it on television, eyes wide, unaware that history was unfolding live.

He became one of the finalists — losing control mid-match, his Ethirial turning unstable, almost feral, before security intervened.

Later that week, the entire event was rebranded under a new program: Project Terminus.

To the world, it sounded like progress.
To those who understood resonance, it sounded like containment.

But even that wasn’t the end.

For a brief moment, it seemed humanity had finally learned its lesson.
Regulations, Orders, standardized duels — everything was under control.

Until it wasn’t.

The Hazes came back. Stronger. Smarter. Angrier.

No one knew why at first, but the answer was obvious to those who studied the Ethirials long enough: the balance had shifted.

The more power Asters drew from their partners, the more the Hazes fought back.

I saw some of it firsthand.
I wish I hadn’t.

The reports in the Order archives called it The Uprising.

Such a clean, official word for something so monstrous.

We thought we had controlled the chaos. But chaos was never meant to be controlled.
It only waited — patient, quiet, and hungry.

Sometimes, I think back to that first story. The one about the Hunters.

They didn’t have rules. They didn’t have the Order watching over them. They just… acted.

And maybe that’s why they survived as long as they did.

Because in the end, it’s not systems or laws that save us.
It’s the people reckless enough to believe they can.

After that brief lapse into memory, I got a quick call over my V-Link.

It’s funny how wars push progress. Those devices let us travel and communicate with fellow Asters, read Ethirial data, and so much more.

I had been requested to head into The Valley as soon as the induction ended — and so, I did.

On my way to the portal, I ran into Mr. Martin — always reliable, always looking after us. He needed help delivering some items in town, and since I was already headed that way, I gave him a hand.

Little did I know, someone had left me a present with him.
Looking over me, as always.
Not a surprise, really.

Blushing, I realized what the present was as I teleported into The Valley — hoping to meet the boy I had a crush on.