Chapters 1–12 (Prologue(s) + Act I)
Act I is the story of how a group of outcasts—flawed, angry, grieving, and raw—first stagger together into something resembling a team, even if none of them believe they deserve it yet.
It starts with Tenchi, who's not a legend but a half-grown kid carrying the weight of two lives and a prophecy nobody explains. They drag people out of burning ruins with trembling hands, their flames sometimes more curse than blessing. Everyone expects them to be a savior, but all they feel is shame, exhaustion, and this gnawing grief that never lets up. When they do the right thing, it still costs too much. When they lash out, someone gets hurt. They're trying to be good in a world that calls them a mistake.
Then there's Saria—ice on the outside, fire at the core, judgment in every glance. He's survived a massacre, lost a twin he barely knew, and learned to wield cruelty as a shield. He taunts Tenchi, calls them reckless, but secretly watches every choice, desperate for proof that mercy isn't weakness. When they fight side by side, it's not trust yet—just two jagged pieces testing if they can bear each other's flaws.
Other threads begin weaving in: Lysra, alone and quietly desperate, sacrifices her own memories to nudge fate's path, knowing she'll forget the reasons why she fights. Tivra, all sharp edges and reckless laughter, masks her fear of belonging with bravado—yet the storm always draws her toward others in need. Mira, the healer, saves lives by giving up fragments of her own past, her warmth stubborn enough to defy the shadow creeping into every corner.
The act is about collisions—between pride and guilt, judgment and forgiveness, past and future. The council calls Tenchi a paradox and a danger; the people whisper "hero" and "curse" in the same breath. The kids Kael trains—Tenchi especially—learn that being a Dragontic isn't about glory; it's about carrying on after you've been broken, about finding meaning in the ashes.
As Voidkin attacks escalate, as guilt and exhaustion build, these characters aren't handed answers or camaraderie—they have to earn it through loss, argument, and the tiny, hard-won acts of kindness that almost get lost amid the scars. The first real bonds form not out of trust, but out of necessity—saving each other, challenging each other, refusing to look away from pain.
By the end of Act I, these broken kids are no longer alone. Tenchi, battered but burning, chooses to step into the unknown, surrounded by people as haunted and hopeful as they are. Their heroism isn't shiny or easy. It's covered in blood, dirt, and regret. But it's real. Together, they're not yet a family, not yet heroes—but the spark of something unbreakable has been lit: the courage to keep going, to fight for each other, even when hope feels impossible.