“Every light generates its own shadow.
And every warrior, before fighting an enemy, must first learn to survive himself.”

Castor

A small planet of stone and sand.
Bare.
Beaten by arid winds and by a milky light that seemed to burn everything it touched.

The star it orbited — Galeo, a small white dwarf — was the source of that merciless light.
Around it, four other dead and silent planets.

No life.
No sound.
Only the constant rustle of radiation crossing the thin atmosphere.

And yet, in the south-eastern hemisphere, something endured.
A city: Miltor.

Its white limestone buildings, flat roofs covered with dry wood, and the chatter of hundreds of different beings — humans, hybrids, creatures from other systems — made it a miracle in the desert.

It had been born as an outpost for Castorian veterans, too wounded in body and mind to keep fighting.
Over time, it became a crossroads of merchants, craftsmen, and warriors.
A living city.
The last breath of civilization on a world that had forgotten the very meaning of the word life.

The reason that planet still hosted forms of life was found at the north pole.

There rose the largest Singularity in the universe.

An arc of violet light a hundred meters high, curving into the ground like a wound in the sky.
The space within that semicircle shimmered like boiling oil, its profile cutting the horizon like a dark mouth sewn into the fabric of the universe.

In front of the Singularity stretched a two-kilometer plain — it was called Gommhon.
Gray earth, unnaturally smooth, stained by the blood of countless battles between the forces of light and darkness.

On the opposite side of Gommhon, the ground rose into three rocky promontories about two hundred meters high, separated by deep chasms.
On each of them stood a fortress.
All three overlooked Gommhon, like stone sentinels watching over the Singularity..

Behind them rose a fourth, even higher outcrop of rock.
There stood a gray Tower, conical in shape, piercing the sky like a needle of stone.

At its top, a luminous terrace pulsed with a sphere of azure energy, connected by a beam of light to the dark Singularity.

When Finde regained consciousness, the world was a whirl of sounds and lights.

He was kneeling in the middle of a dusty square, surrounded by stalls, voices, and unfamiliar scents.
Spices, fruit, freshly forged metal… and a blinding light.

He tried to stand, but his legs gave out.
His head was spinning.

A deep, familiar voice:
“Breathe, boy. The first time is always like this.”

Finde raised his gaze.
Gladyo was smiling at him, with that calm yet firm and authoritative manner of his.

“Where are we?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Miltor,” replied the warrior. “The heart of Castor.”

He helped him stand, and together they walked through crowded alleys and squares.
Every step was like a punch to the stomach — the air was dense, hot, heavy as lead.

Finde was gasping for breath.
Gladyo, instead, walked as if nothing was wrong.

“The air here is thinner,” he explained. “And gravity is higher than on your planet. You’ll get used to it.”

Finde nodded, though he barely understood the words.
The wound on his face throbbed.
The nausea didn’t let him breathe.

They crossed through the city’s main gate, and the noise died all at once.
Before them: only white desert, stretching to the horizon.

And silence.

Gladyo pointed at a distant spot.
“There. That’s where we have to go.”

Then he turned to Marcise and Guyo.
“Go ahead. Tell Beatrix I’m on my way. I’ll take Finde to Oku and catch up with you.”

“He’ll never take him,” Marcise chuckled.

He and Guyo touched their wristbands — and disappeared into nothing.

They walked into the desert.
Three kilometers of nothing.

Finde swallowed, but his mouth was dry.

After twenty minutes of marching under that scorching light, the ground opened up into a vast elliptical area.
A training field.

Weapon racks lined the edges.
Agility courses.
Sand lifted by the wind.

About thirty boys trained to exhaustion.
None seemed older than sixteen.

“Those are all apprentices,” Gladyo said, a note of pride in his voice.

But Finde had already noticed something else.
Under a portico, a man was watching them.

Arms crossed.
A short, solid silhouette — motionless, like a statue.

“Ah! That’s Oku!” Gladyo shouted, waving his arm. “Hey! Oku! Over here!”

The man turned and approached.
With each step his figure took shape: skin the color of wood, broad shoulders, massive torso, and a blind eye crossed by a scar that split his face in two.

A warrior from another time.
A survivor.

“Gladyo!” he exclaimed, his voice rough as gravel. “What brings you to the Arena?”

“I’d like you to meet Finde,” Gladyo said, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I want you to teach him how to hold a weapon.”

Oku stared in silence.
Then he snorted.

“Where did you find him?”

“From the planet we just cleared. Quadrant R76, Sector T89. Planet B789.”

“Damn it. That’s a white planet, Gladyo! Have you lost your mind?”

Gladyo laughed.
“Maybe. But the boy’s from there — and I want him to become a warrior.”

Oku looked at him, incredulous.
“Take him back. He’d die before even lifting a sword.”

Finde clenched his fists.
“Hey! I’m right here, you know? If you’ve got something to say, say it to me!”

Oku examined him, then laughed quietly.
“You’ve got guts, kid. But here, courage isn’t enough. You need to know how to survive.”

Finde held his gaze, unmoving.

Oku watched him, a dark glint in his eyes.
“The universe is full of orphans because of the Guzhul. Don’t feel special. Few ever manage to stand against them.”

Gladyo intervened.
“He did. He killed one. With a kitchen knife.”

For the first time, Oku looked genuinely intrigued.
“You’re joking.”

“It’s the truth. I saw it with my own eyes.”

A heavy silence fell between them.
Then Oku shook his head.

“If Beatrix approves, that’s fine by me.”

“Oh, come on, Oku! She’ll never approve,” Gladyo complained. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

Oku sighed, resigned.
“Fine. But from now on, he’s your problem, boy. There’s no mercy here. You’ll destroy your hands, your muscles, and your pride. Everyone will humiliate you, every single day.
If you survive all that, maybe one day you’ll have the right to call yourself Castorian.”

Finde met his gaze.
“Today I buried my family. Your threats don’t scare me.”

Oku held back a smile.
“At least you’ve got spirit.”

Gladyo laughed.
“Told you you’d like him.”

Oku nodded once.
“Then get ready, boy. I’ll be waiting in the barracks.”

The man turned and walked back toward the Arena.

Gladyo stayed beside Finde for a moment longer.

“Good luck, my young friend. Time doesn’t flow here like it does elsewhere. For some, training lasts six months. For others, three years. And for a few… it never ends.”

“Do you think I can make it?” Finde asked.

Gladyo placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Only you can answer that question.”

He smiled, touched the bracelet on his wrist…
and vanished into nothingness, leaving him alone beneath the white, scorching light of Castor.

Finde turned toward the Arena and, with a sigh, began walking toward his destiny.

If this chapter moved you, hit ❤️ and subscribe — the journey beyond the Prologue begins next Tuesday.