Detrimental Infection X

THE BREAKING

Kiro was fifteen when the sky burned.

He remembered the sound—a deep, groaning tear, as if the world’s bones were breaking. Then the light. A burning crown descending in silence until the sound caught up and shattered every window in the village.

The meteor struck the horizon.

The ground split like ripe fruit. From the wound erupted a river of glowing water—the Glimmerrift—cutting the continent in two. And from the heart of the rupture rose the Tree of Life, glowing, serene, and terrible.

That was the day the Infection began.

Some people mutated by sundown—skin hardening, bones twisting, eyes glowing in the dark.

Some awoke with glyphs burning in their palms, powers they couldn’t control.

Some died screaming.

Some, like Kiro, felt only a strange warmth in their right hand—a warmth that never faded.

---

Three days later

The village square stank of smoke and fear.

Kiro stood with his little sister Lira, his friends Rion and Sera close beside him. The distant hum of the Glimmerrift was the only sound—until footsteps crunched over broken stone.

A woman in a grey cloak walked calmly through the wreckage.

Her face was serene. Her eyes were warm. Familiar.

Lira gasped. “Mother…?”

The villagers murmured, stepping back.

She stopped before them, her gaze resting on Kiro. “I’ve come for you,” she said, voice soft as a lullaby. “Both of you.”

Rion nudged Kiro. “It’s her… maybe she can take us somewhere safe.”

Sera shook her head, whispering, “Her eyes… they don’t look right.”

Kiro’s palm began to tingle—the warmth spreading up his wrist, into his veins. Something in his chest tightened, pulled.

His mother smiled. “Come with me, Kiro. There are things you must see. Powers you must learn to wield.”

“Where were you?” Kiro asked, his voice low. “All these years.”

“Preparing,” she said simply. She took a step closer. “The Tree is waiting.”

His fingers brushed against a broken dagger on the ground. Silver light sparked along his skin.

He didn’t think. He moved.

The blade slid into her chest.

She gasped, stumbling back. Her eyes—wide, shocked, yet strangely tender—locked onto his. “Kiro…”

Blood soaked through her cloak.

Lira screamed.

Rion yelled, “What did you do?!”

Sera cried out, “She was your mother!”

Kiro stood frozen, dagger in hand, silver light swirling in his palm like a captive star.

His mother sank to her knees, her voice a fading whisper. “It… had to be you. Only you…”

Then she was gone.

The villagers backed away, fear in their whispers. “He killed her… his own mother…”

Lira stared at him, tears streaming. “Why, Kiro? Why?”

He had no answer. Only the light in his hand, humming, alive.

One by one, they left him. Lira, sobbing, was pulled away by a villager. Rion and Sera vanished into the ruins. The square emptied, until Kiro stood alone in the silence, his mother’s body at his feet, his destiny burning in his palm.

He ran.

---

Into the woods.

The forest at the edge of the village was already changing—trees twisting, bark split with glowing veins. Kiro ran until his lungs burned, until the silver light in his palm was the only thing guiding him.

That’s when he saw it.

A flat stone, half-buried. Words carved deep:

THEY ARE WATCHING.

THEY ARE CONTROLLING.

A dead man lay beside it, one hand outstretched toward the carving, eyes frozen open. Around his neck, a glyph glowed faintly—fading.

Kiro’s light flared in response.

“You were not supposed to see that.”

The voice came from the trees.

A figure stepped from the shadows—tall, draped in a tattered cloak, face hidden beneath a deep hood.

Kiro stumbled back. “Who are you?”

“A friend.” The man’s voice was low, urgent. “She was not your mother, Kiro. She was sent to take what you carry.”

“What do I carry?”