Chapter 2: Fractured Star

Revised Chapter 2: Fractured Star

In a remote star system on the outskirts of a bustling galaxy, there existed a planet known as Earth. Once an isolated, backward world caught in the throes of territorial wars and self-destruction, Earth had undergone a transformation that reshaped its destiny. The blue-green sphere, filled with vast oceans, towering mountains, and sprawling forests, had become a symbol of hope and ambition in the cosmos.

This metamorphosis began several decades ago when Earth first made contact with the interstellar visitors — beings from distant worlds who arrived not in conquest but in cooperation. These visitors, with their advanced technologies and ancient wisdom, saw potential in the people of Earth, a potential that lay dormant and untapped. They offered their knowledge freely, and humanity eagerly accepted, thirsty for growth and desperate for change after centuries of conflict and scarcity.

With their guidance, Earth rapidly advanced. Skyscrapers now touched the clouds, towering above cities that thrummed with life and energy. The old divisions that had once torn nations apart dissolved in the face of a united purpose: to elevate humanity beyond its primitive roots and secure a place among the stars. Wars ceased, and resources were shared. Natural environments, once ravaged by unchecked industrial growth, were restored and protected. The forests thrived once more, the rivers ran clean, and the air was pure.

The greatest gift from the interstellar visitors, however, was not their technology but their knowledge — particularly in the fields of genetic evolution and spirit refinement. The visitors introduced a revolutionary concept that captivated the human imagination: the idea that humanity's potential was limitless, not just in terms of technology but in physical and spiritual evolution. They revealed that the martial arts, spiritual practices, and arcane knowledge that humans had developed over millennia were, in fact, rudimentary forms of what they called "genetic evolution" — a pathway to unlocking abilities far beyond ordinary human capabilities.

The idea took root quickly. The world became obsessed with evolution. Governments and private organizations poured resources into research on genetic enhancement, martial arts training, and spiritual refinement. They established prestigious schools and academies dedicated to these fields, each promising to unlock the secrets of human potential. Among the most renowned were the Golden Nirvana Dojo in the Northern Himalayan Continent, known for its mastery of physique enhancement arts; the Celestial Sect in the Eastern Continent, which focused on immortal cultivation and mystical arts; the Stellar Tower in the Western Continent, a hub of genetic research and stellar arts; the Palace of Professions in the Southern Continent, where alchemists, artificers, and scholars honed their crafts; and the Sovereign Metropolis in the Central Continent, the seat of political power and military might.

Underneath this newfound prosperity, however, a darker reality took shape. As the obsession with genetic evolution grew, so too did a new social hierarchy based on genetic potential. Those with high potential for evolution — the strong, the talented, the gifted — were celebrated, their paths paved with privilege and opportunity. They were the elite, destined for greatness, their futures secured in the prestigious academies and powerful institutions.

In stark contrast, those with poor potential for genetic evolution — the weak, the untalented, the ordinary — found themselves cast aside, their lives deemed expendable. They were labeled as "trash," seen as little more than a burden on society. Many were forced into servitude or manual labor, their dreams of a better future shattered by a system that no longer saw them as equal.

Despite the advancements in technology and society, the division between the gifted and the ordinary grew ever wider, creating a stark contrast between the shining towers of progress and the dark, forgotten alleys where the so-called "trash" struggled to survive.

The grand ancestral estate of the Aria family stood as a testament to their power and influence, its white marble walls and polished stone battlements gleaming under the sun like a fortress of old. The high towers rose like fingers grasping for the sky, reaching ever upwards, as if trying to assert their dominance over the very heavens themselves. Inside, the halls were lined with tapestries depicting the family's long and storied history, each one a reminder of their prestigious lineage and the bloody path that had brought them here. The scent of incense and polished wood hung heavily in the air, mingling with the underlying tang of pride and arrogance that seemed to permeate every corner of the estate.

At the heart of this magnificent estate, within a vast chamber illuminated by the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, the Aria family was gathering for their annual reunion. The room was dominated by a large, ornate round table, carved from a single piece of ancient oak, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. Around it sat the members of the Aria family, each one a paragon of the family's legacy: blazing red hair like flames in the wind, eyes as deep and blue as the ocean, and skin as pale as moonlight. They were the embodiment of beauty and power, and they knew it.

At the head of the table sat General Grant Aria, the patriarch of the family. A man of imposing presence, his stern visage was etched with the lines of a thousand battles fought and won. His eyes, cold and unyielding, surveyed the room with a gaze that could freeze fire. His mouth was a thin line of disapproval, as if constantly displeased with the world around him. He wore the dark, ceremonial armor of his station, its surface gleaming with silver inlays and ancient runes that spoke of his many victories. A silence hung around him, heavy and oppressive, like the calm before a storm.

Beside him sat Lady Lorica Aria, his wife and the matriarch of the family. Her presence was a stark contrast to her husband's severity. While she radiated a quiet strength and grace, her features softened by a wisdom that came from a lifetime of hardship and sacrifice, there was a sharpness in her gaze that belied her gentle demeanor. She had silver hair pulled back into an elegant braid, adorned with jeweled pins that sparkled in the candlelight. She wore a gown of deep indigo, embroidered with gold thread, the fabric shimmering like the night sky.

Their children were arrayed around them, each one a distinguished figure in their own right. Vanessa, regal and composed, her sharp mind and strategic brilliance evident in every calculated gesture she made, wore a look of cool indifference, but her gaze lingered on someone with a flicker of annoyance, as if he were a stain on an otherwise pristine surface. Freya and Boyle, the formidable twins whose reputations as fearless warriors had spread across continents, exchanged a knowing smirk whenever a certain kid shifted in his seat, their expressions hinting at some shared, unspoken joke at his expense. Theban, the alchemist whose mastery over potions and elixirs was unmatched, sat with his hands folded, his face a mask of distant superiority. Rogan, the artificer, fiddled with a small device in his hand, his fingers moving with a speed and dexterity that spoke of years of practice, his occasional glances toward the poor kid filled with a dismissive sort of curiosity, as if trying to puzzle out why the boy was even here.

The younger generation sat with their parents, each one a prodigy in their own field, bearing the weight of the family's expectations with a mix of pride and entitlement. Vennie, son of Vanessa, his youthful face marked by a confidence that bordered on arrogance, fingers tapping rhythmically on the hilt of his sword, seemed to delight in whispering comments behind his hand, his eyes darting toward Charles with a gleam of cruel amusement. Lorcan, the son of Freya, whose quiet demeanor masked a brilliant mind, sat with a look of condescension, occasionally glancing at the poor kid with an air of disdain, as if even acknowledging his presence were beneath him.

In stark contrast to the celebrated family members sat the poor Charles, the exception among them, the bastard son of Rose, the family's disgrace. He was seventeen, a young man with snow-white spiky hair, dark blue eyes that seemed to hold a world of pain, and a yellowish-white complexion that made him look sickly in comparison to the rest of the radiant Aria family. He was thin, almost gaunt, his body bearing the marks of countless beatings and abuse. Unlike the rest, he had never been allowed to train or practice Genetic Evolution, the powerful ability that ran in the Aria bloodline. Instead, he was left to rot in the shadows, treated with cruelty by all except for Lady Lorica, his grandmother, who was the only one to show him any semblance of kindness.

Charles was lost in his own world, his only solace found in the books he read and the fantastical worlds he hallucinated about, filled with heroes and adventures, anime and comics that were far more appealing than his harsh reality. He had learned to keep his head down, to avoid drawing attention to himself, but today, something in the air felt different, heavier. The usual sneers were more pointed, the disdain more palpable, as if the family had collectively decided today was a day to sharpen their barbs against him even more.

The conversation flowed around him with a mix of pride and formality, every word carefully measured, every gesture deliberate. It was not just a gathering of family; it was a gathering of power, a display of unity and strength that served as a reminder to all who might dare challenge the Aria name. But amidst the celebrations, a tension simmered beneath the surface, a silent acknowledgment of the empty chair at the table — a chair that belonged to Rose Aria, the family's most enigmatic and controversial member. Her absence was a shadow that loomed over the gathering, unspoken but palpable, a void that no one dared address directly.

Vanessa broke the silence first, her voice laced with mock concern. "I see that our wayward sister has chosen not to grace us with her presence again," she said, her lips curling into a smirk. "Perhaps she's off on another one of her wild escapades, dragging the family name further into the mud."

A ripple of laughter spread around the table, save for Lady Lorica, whose expression remained calm but stern. "Vanessa," she said softly, her voice carrying a weight that silenced the laughter. "Rose may be unconventional, but she is still your sister. And she is still a member of this family."

Vanessa's smirk faded slightly, but her eyes retained their mocking glint. "Of course, Mother. But her antics do tend to cause… concern."

"Concern or embarrassment?" Freya chimed in, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "There is a difference, you know."

Theban chuckled, his laughter low and condescending. "Either way, her absence is rather… convenient, don't you think? Always missing when things get serious."

Charles sat silently, feeling the familiar sting of their words, even though they were directed at his mother. He was used to it by now, the constant jabs, the cruel comments, the way they looked at him like he was something less than them. He kept his gaze down, hoping to go unnoticed, but that was not to be.

"Charles," Rogan called out, his voice carrying a mocking undertone, "you must know where your mother is, don't you? Or has she finally abandoned you too?"

More laughter followed, sharper this time, as if they were testing him, waiting for a reaction. Charles flinched but didn't look up. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction.

Vennie leaned in, his smile widening. "You know, Charles," he said in a low voice that carried across the room, "for someone who reads so much, you seem to lack a basic understanding of reality. Did you think being her son would protect you?"

Freya's laughter was a harsh, mirthless sound. "He's not like us, Vennie. Can't you see?" she said, her voice oozing with condescension. "Always with his nose in those ridiculous books. What does he think he's going to find? Some magic spell to make us all love him?"

Boyle's grin was wicked, his eyes dancing with malice. "Or maybe he's just looking for a prince charming," he added with a mocking laugh, "is that it, Charles? Is that why you're always so quiet, dreaming of some handsome knight to come and whisk you away?"

Charles felt his cheeks burn with shame, his head bowing lower as the laughter grew louder. He could feel their eyes on him, could hear their cruel jibes, each one like a dagger to his heart.

"Enough," Lady Lorica said sharply, her voice cutting through the laughter like a knife. "You are all behaving like children. Charles is your kin, whether you like it or not."

General Grant's face was a mask of contempt, his eyes narrowing as he looked at his grandson. "Kin?" he spat. "That boy is a disgrace. A stain on our bloodline. Just like his mother. Always different, always... strange. And now, look at him—soft, weak. A man should be strong, not... whatever this is."

Charles dared a glance up, his eyes meeting his grandfather's for a brief moment before he quickly looked away, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to disappear, to vanish into thin air, but there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape their scorn.

"Enough," Lady Lorica said again, her voice firm. "We do not speak ill of the dead, or the missing. Rose is still a member of this family, and until we know otherwise, she deserves our respect."

General Grant's scowl deepened, but he said nothing, his silence a testament to his disapproval. The others, however, were not so restrained.

"Respect?" Vanessa scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "For what? For abandoning her duties? For running off to God knows where and leaving us to pick up the pieces?"

"She's not the only one who's a disappointment," Rogan muttered, his gaze flicking back to Charles. "Like mother, like son, I suppose. Always a step behind, always... different."

Charles's heart ached with a familiar pain, a deep, gnawing emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole. He wanted to shout, to scream, to tell them they were wrong, that he was more than they thought, more than they could ever understand. But the words wouldn't come. They never did.

Lady Lorica placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her touch a rare comfort in this sea of hostility. "Charles," she said softly, "you don't have to explain yourself to them. You are who you are, and that is enough."

But was it? In this house of power and prestige, where strength and conformity were valued above all else, was there any place for someone like him? A boy who dreamed of other worlds, who felt things too deeply, who was different in ways they could never accept?

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating, broken only by the distant sound of a bell tolling somewhere in the depths of the estate. It was a somber reminder of the passage of time, of the weight of expectation that hung over them all.

General Grant finally spoke, his voice a low growl. "We will discuss this matter no further," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Rose made her choices. And so have we. The Aria family will continue, as it always has. Strong. United. Without weakness."

Charles felt a lump form in his throat, his chest tightening with a mix of fear and defiance. He knew what his grandfather meant. He knew that in their eyes, he was the weakness, the flaw that needed to be erased.

But deep down, beneath the layers of pain and doubt, there was a flicker of something else. A spark of resistance. A small, stubborn hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a place where he truly belonged. A place far away from the cold, unforgiving walls of the Aria estate.

For now, though, he remained silent, his head bowed, his heart heavy. He would endure, as he always had. And perhaps, one day, he would find the courage to be himself, to stand up against the contempt and hatred that surrounded him. To prove, if only to himself, that he was worth more than they could ever see.

The family continued their discussions, their voices fading into a dull hum as Charles withdrew into his thoughts, seeking solace in the only place he could find it—his own mind, his own dreams. The dreams of a boy who dared to be different, even in a world that demanded he be the same. His presence was not needed here!