Ever since humanity’s collapse, the world has clawed its way back from the ashes—grasping at fragments of lost brilliance.

In this land once called Thailand, the discovery of vast thorium deposits had long promised a new dawn, even before the apocalypse.

Yet through the ignorance of those who governed, that promise was left to wither, and ultimately the opportunity just slipped quietly through time’s fingers.

What could have risen as a global power—an empire of light—was squandered by shortsighted leaders, blind to the very future resting beneath their feet.

And so, the chance slipped quietly through time’s fingers…

an era that might have been powered not by oil or sunlight,

but by the pulse of nuclear light itself.

Monazite sand, rich across this ravaged land, became the key ingredient in extracting thorium energy—

a glimmer of radiance shining over humanity’s fragile hope.

It breathed life into forgotten sciences:

cybernetic mechanisms, AI-driven robotics, quantum computation, wireless electricity, and neural interfaces.

Each innovation a marvel—

something that, had it emerged in the nineteenth century, would’ve been worshipped as pure sorcery.

Yet in this world of steel and dust, one obstacle remained constant:

the scarcity of humankind itself—

and the struggle to sustain an unbroken supply chain capable of feeding every surviving need.

And as always, such miracles came at a cost.

Though thorium lay abundant beneath the scarred earth,

few understood how to harness it.

Even fewer possessed access to the infrastructure required for its extraction.

Knowledge became the rarest currency of all—

hoarded, stolen, and traded in the dark,

where the strong devoured the weak, and power was written in blood.

And tonight, somewhere within this nameless ghetto…

that shadow began to stir.

Mr. Cee-Ar-Tee led us out through the side of the ruined warehouse,

where a fractured support beam had collapsed, carving a slanted path toward the outer fence.

The air was thick with dust and the metallic tang of rusted debris.

“Kaodin, you look spaced out. You good?”

Cee-Too whispered, his breath sharp in the cold.

I didn’t answer.

Something inside me twitched—

a pulse, a warning.

The uneasy sense of being watched crept along my spine.

I turned, scanning the wasteland beyond the warehouse:

twisted metal, overturned vehicles, and half-buried corpses lying like broken mannequins beneath the pale glow of the moon.

Above, the crows circled endlessly, their cries echoing like mocking laughter through the night.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, forcing my voice steady.

“Probably just thinking too much. Let’s move.”

We pushed on, boots grinding glass and gravel.

Each step sounded too loud, too alive in the silence.

Then—

the ground beneath me gave way.

“Cee-Too!”

I grabbed his shoulder and yanked him forward—just as the floor gave way.

Steel screamed. Dust burst upward. We hit the ground hard, rolling until everything stopped.

Silence. Breathless.

Kaodin rose first, eyes wide, chest heaving. He stared at the mound of broken concrete—shaken, but alive. Thrilled, even.

I reached for Cee-Too. Then—movement. A flicker at the edge of my vision.

Someone else was here. Not Mr. Cee-Ar-Tee.

A shadow slipped across the rubble, vanishing behind the wall of debris.

I pulled Cee-Too up, scanning the darkness.

Mr. Cee-Ar-Tee was running toward us—pale, terrified, shouting our names.

I clicked my tongue, once… twice. The cicada signal just like how he taught.

The sound cut clean through the dark.

Mr. Cee-Ar-Tee froze.

Cee-Too’s hand shot to his rig, knife drawn.

The crows erupted—cawing, screeching, tearing the night apart.

Their cries drowned everything—footsteps, whispers… and the thing moving closer.

Under the tainted moon, I felt it.

We were being watched.

I steadied my breath. Focused my gaze.

Far end of the alley—five meters out.

A figure crouched low in the dark, just out of Cee-Too’s sight.

My muscles tensed as I concentrated on my breathing to generate Qi ready for combat, and before my mind could command them properly.

A surge of energy—like electricity excel through my veins—shot down to my legs.

Instinct took over.

I launched forward—faster than thought, faster than sight.

In less than a blink, my body collided with the shadow, arms coiling around his neck, legs locking at his waist.

A perfect choke—Jujitsu’s rear naked choke hold—executed instinctively, something Kaodin never would have thought he could do, and then he recalled the sight of the demon that plunged him to this new time line, is it going to be the power related to that.

Kaodin’s grip didn’t falter immediately. The man’s struggles grew weaker, his gasps ragged, body trembling under the pressure. Every second stretched, every heartbeat thundering in my ears.

Then — a sharp command from Mr. Cee-Ar-Tee. “Let him go!”

Kaodin’s eyes flicked to him. For a heartbeat, nothing moved. The world seemed to hold its breath.

And then, with a controlled but violent twist, Kaodin released the leg and arm lock. The man collapsed, coughing, choking, clawing at the floor like a wounded animal. Dust and sweat mixed, flying into the moonlit air.

Cee-Too grabbed the man, keeping him upright, while Mr. Cee-Ar-Tee’s gaze bore into Kaodin — part warning, part incredulity.

Kaodin’s chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths. Calm, almost unnervingly so. His eyes glimmered with that same thrill from before — the one that came from testing life against the edge.

We all knew it: in that instant, the line between survival and death had been razor-thin.

My limbs trembled; my thoughts scattered like ash on the wind.

For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I had moved at all—or if something had moved through me. Was it a memory of legendary masters from ancient Kung Fu films, or the reflexes honed from countless hours in video games?

Kaodin, unaware, had unintentionally displayed martial techniques drawn from a certain collective memory, revealing to those present a lost knowledge of ages past—a powerful ancient art, like a forgotten secret religion, erased from the world and being resurrected by this boy of strange fate.

One individual nearby, Korren, had been watching the entire scene. His grim expression deepened in disbelief. He had only ever thought such a lost art existed in ancient texts—or as imitations in the fictional movies he’d come across during raids and watched in passing. Yet here it was, alive, unfolding before him.

As I moved, it felt as if my body had become a vessel, guided by an unseen rhythm. The strange pulse that coursed through my breath lingered, a method of control, a power unlike anything I’d felt in my usual Muaythai practice. Or was this simply the reward of relentless training? I pushed the thought aside; there would be time to wonder later.

Meanwhile, the stranger lay choking on the ground, clutching his neck, his eyes wide with hatred and fear, locked on me.

Cee-Too looked pale, his knife trembling in his grip.

Even Mr. Cee-Ar-Tee’s face darkened with unease.

“Cee-Too, quickly check him,” he ordered quietly.

As he knelt to search the man, a presence stirred in the dark—

a whisper of laughter carried on the wind.

Somewhere beyond the wreckage,

Korren watched, his grin hidden beneath the veil of night.