South of Blackrock Town, at the edge of the Silicon Desert.

  The landscape underwent a grotesque transformation here.

  Yellow sands were gradually replaced by grayish-white rock. Those stones thrust from the earth toward the sky like the fingers of giants, forming a dense, twisted forest of pillars.

  This was the Phantasmal Stone Forest.

  Crag walked ahead. His massive frame navigated through the stone pillars with distinct familiarity.

  Kane followed behind. Every step of his newly equipped [ The Predator ] power legs was steady and forceful, yet even this steel physique could not mask the exhaustion weighing on him.

  "Almost there," Crag said, his gravelly voice echoing through the stone forest.

  Kane didn't answer. He simply looked up at their surroundings.

  The surfaces of the stone pillars were covered in strange patterns that gave off a faint fluorescence under the sunlight. Countless translucent butterflies drifted through the air, the scales on their wings refracting the light into iridescent halos.

  Phantasmal Butterflies.

  They flew through the stone forest in swarms, like a dream that never ended.

  "The bugs aren't aggressive," Crag added, seemingly sensing Kane’s vigilance.

  "The Stoneborn’s old territory was nearby, but we moved away. Now, there’s nothing here but these butterflies."

  Kane nodded.

  He could feel it. This stone forest was indeed quiet.

  Too quiet for the wasteland.

  After walking for another half hour, the roar of a waterfall reached them.

  Water cascaded down from a high stone cliff, crashing into the pool below and kicking up a massive cloud of white mist. Beside the waterfall sat a naturally formed cave. The entrance was draped in vines and moss, making it extremely well-hidden.

  "This is it."

  Crag stepped into the cave and began clearing out the debris inside.

  Kane stood at the entrance, watching the Phantasmal Butterflies dance across the forest outside. For the first time, he felt a long-lost sense of peace.

  They spent the afternoon setting up a simple shelter.

  Crag gathered dry wood and animal hides from nearby, laying out two crude beds deep within the cave. Kane used tools he had "borrowed" from Kyrie to set up several basic alarm devices at the entrance.

  By the time they finished, night had fallen.

  Crag started a fire. He pulled several chunks of dried meat from his pack, sliced them thin with a dagger, and skewered them on branches to roast.

  The flames flickered, illuminating their weary faces.

  Kane leaned against the cave wall, staring at the fire without saying a word.

  Crag remained silent as well, wordlessly turning the meat skewers.

  Fat dripped onto the flames with a hiss. A scorched aroma filled the air.

  Old Tock had done something unprecedented that night: he brought home a bottle of liquor, claiming it was for a celebration.

  When Kane asked what they were celebrating, Old Tock merely smiled and remained silent.

  The alcohol was potent. After only a few sips, Kane felt his head spin, and the world blurred into a hazy fog.

  He remembered Old Tock’s expression that night being strange—an odd mixture of hesitation and the weight of a monumental decision.

  Eventually, Kane drifted off.

  When he finally woke, it was from a flash of agony.

  A piercing, searing pain radiated from his right palm, as if someone had pressed a white-hot iron directly into his flesh.

  He snapped his eyes open. Old Tock was sitting by his bed, face pale and forehead drenched in sweat.

  Kane lifted his right hand. A five-star mark had appeared in the center of his palm, the skin red and swollen as if ravaged by fire.

  "Old Tock, what happened?"

  Kane hadn't processed the situation yet; he only knew his hand was screaming in pain.

  Old Tock hesitated for a moment, then stammered out an excuse. "You were drunk. You accidentally brushed against the iron stove. That's all."

  Even then, Kane knew something was wrong.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He had been sleeping in bed. How could he have possibly hit the stove?

  Moreover, the mark was a perfect five-star seal. No accidental burn from a stove could produce such a precise shape.

  He pressed Old Tock for answers, but the old man insisted it was just a burn—that it didn't matter and would heal soon.

  Kane was young then. Despite the lingering suspicion, he didn't push further.

  Not long after that, Old Tock was murdered by Kunlun Corp.

  After his death, the Kunlun agents ransacked the tin shack. Finding nothing, they left, cursing under their breaths.

  At the time, Kane didn't understand what they were looking for.

  Now, he did.

  They were looking for this five-star mark.

  Or rather, they were looking for the thing Old Tock had placed inside him that night.

  Kane looked down at the seal in his palm, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.

  What exactly did Old Tock do that night?

  Why did he put this in me?

  How did he even know about such a thing?

  Why was Kunlun Corp hunting him down?

  The questions were a tangled mess of thorns in his mind.

  He recalled the period following Old Tock’s death.

  During those days, he always felt as though he were being watched.

  Walking down the road, strangers would pass by, their eyes seemingly grazing him with intent. At the scrapyard, people would stand in the distance pretending to work, yet their gaze always landed on him.

  Back then, he thought he was just being paranoid. Now, he realized they were monitoring him.

  They were waiting.

  Waiting to see if "it" was actually inside him.

  Fortunately, his luck had held.

  For three entire years, he had never activated the seal.

  It wasn't until he killed that Shadow Stalker by chance that the [ Five-Star Soul Seal ] lit up for the first time, dropping his first skill orb.

  Since then, everything had changed.

  The Vulture Gang’s pursuit.

  The Iron Hand Gang’s ambush.

  The Stoneborn’s grudge.

  The Kunlun Corp bounty.

  The recruitment attempt by Spark.

  The prying eyes of the power behind Booker.

  Everything had fallen like a sequence of dominoes.

  Kane closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  He knew the source of it all was this seal.

  What did Old Tock put in him? What was this seal, really? Why was Kunlun so desperate to kill Old Tock? Why was every faction suddenly interested in him?

  He had no answers yet.

  But he knew that one day, he would find them.

  Kane opened his eyes and looked at the fire.

  The flickering flames reflected off his cold, composed face.

  He stood up and walked to the cave entrance, looking out at the stone forest where the Phantasmal Butterflies danced.

  Sunlight hit the stone pillars, refracting into iridescent halos.

  Everything looked beautiful. Everything looked peaceful.

  But Kane knew better. This was merely the calm before the storm.

  He turned back into the cave, pulled a piece of chalk-stone from his pack, and began to draw on the ground.

  "Eat."

  Crag handed the roasted meat to Kane.

  Kane took it and bit down.

  The meat was tough and lacked seasoning, but he ate slowly and with focus.

  This was his first real meal in days.

  Before this—in the Silicon Desert, in the underground tunnels, in the alleys of Blackrock Town—everything he ate was purely for survival. It couldn't be called "eating."

  But now was different.

  He could feel the warmth of the food. He could taste the meat. He could hear the sound of his own chewing.

  He was still alive.

  After finishing the meat, Crag pulled a waterskin from his pack and handed it to Kane.

  Kane took a long pull.

  The water was cold, carrying the mineral tang unique to the stone forest, but it cleared his head as he swallowed.

  "Sleep," Crag said. He turned toward his bed, his massive body lying down. Heavy snoring soon followed.

  Kane watched the fire, not sleeping immediately.

  His brain was still running at high speed, reviewing everything that had happened over the past few days.

  But soon, exhaustion surged in like a tide, drowning his every thought.

  He closed his eyes.

  This time, there were no alarms, no hunts, and no schemes.

  There was only the warmth of the fire and the rhythmic roar of the waterfall.

  He fell asleep.

  For the first time in three years, he entered a state of true, deep REM sleep.

  The Next Day.

  Kane was awakened by the rich, savory aroma of meat.

  He opened his eyes to find a pot of steaming broth simmering over the fire. Some unknown wild greens had been added to the soup; it looked simple, but it smelled incredible.

  Crag was gone.

  Kane sat up and stretched his body.

  Thanks to Kyrie’s medical gel, his cracked ribs no longer throbbed with every breath. The other wounds across his body had scabbed over. Though not fully healed, they no longer hindered his movement.

  He walked over to the fire and noticed a piece of animal hide weighted down by a stone on the ground.

  Several crooked words were scrawled on the hide in coarse charcoal.

  "Scouting. Drink soup. Rest."

  Kane looked at the script, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a faint smile.

  He used a wooden ladle to scoop a bowl of the broth and drank it slowly.

  The soup was scalding, but the taste was unexpectedly good. The wild greens Crag had found carried a fresh fragrance that neutralized the greasiness of the meat.

  After finishing the soup, Kane stepped out of the cave.

  The early morning sun bathed the stone forest in light. Phantasmal Butterflies danced in the beams, shrouding the entire world in a dreamlike halo.

  He took a deep breath.

  The air was fresh, carrying the scent of moisture and vegetation. It didn't feel like the wasteland at all.

  Kane walked to the waterfall, watching the torrent plunge from the heights and smash into the pool, kicking up countless shards of spray.

  He pulled off his shirt, revealing a torso mapped with scars and bruises, and stepped into the pool.

  The icy water enveloped him instantly, shocking every inch of his skin.

  He closed his eyes, letting the current wash over his body.

  In this moment, he thought of nothing.

  He simply stood silently in the water, savoring this rare peace.

  A long while passed before he stepped out, dressed, and returned to the cave.

  The fire was still burning, giving off soft pops and cracks.

  Kane sat by the hearth, watching the dancing flames as his thoughts slowly began to reassemble.

  He started reviewing everything that had happened recently.

  From leaving Scrapyard 7, to Blackrock Town, to the Silicon Desert, and finally here.

  Every battle, every scheme, and every choice replayed in his mind.

  The Vulture Gang.

  The Iron Hand Gang.

  The Stoneborn.

  Kunlun Corp.

  Spark.

  The power behind Booker.

  Names and faces flashed through his consciousness.

  He looked down at the palm of his right hand.

  The [ Five-Star Soul Seal ] remained etched there clearly, like a brand that could never be erased.

  Kane stared at the mark, sinking into deep thought.

  ...

  The firelight flickered.

  Kane’s memories gradually spiraled back to three years ago.

  Back then, Old Tock was still alive.

  They lived in a tin shack on the outermost edge of Scrapyard 7. The place was so dilapidated it felt like the wind could knock it over at any moment, but to them, it was home.

  Old Tock was a mechanic—highly skilled but eccentric. He refused to work for the major factions, taking only small odd jobs to scrape by.

  Life wasn't wealthy, but it was fulfilling.

  Kane was younger then, following Old Tock to learn repairs, survival, and how to stay alive in this godforsaken wasteland.

  Old Tock didn't say much, but he was a diligent teacher.

  He always said that in this world, the only things that truly belong to you are the things you hold in your own hands.

  Kane remembered it clearly.

  It was a night three years ago.

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