City: Jandrel — formerly the trade capital of Astraeon. Now, just another quiet grave.
Kael Vorrin walked past the ruins of a grocery mart, the "OPEN 24/7" sign still blinking above its shattered doors. Dust settled like snow. Stray dogs—thinner than wire—watched from behind broken crates, too tired to bark. Somewhere far off, a streetlight flickered. The rest of the city was still.
He adjusted the satchel on his shoulder, its weight familiar. Paperwork, debt slips, contracts—useless to most, but to him, they were routine. He climbed the stairs of a mid-rise apartment block. Seventeen floors. No elevator. Not anymore.
He didn't count the steps. Not today.
Door 1706. Scuffed. Burnt around the edges. The nameplate was missing.
He knocked.
After a long pause, the door opened halfway. A shirtless man stood there, hair matted, tattoos pulsing faintly down his arms. Not the aesthetic kind—these were awakening sigils, proof of power. His eyes flicked amber, burning low.
"Kael?" the man asked, voice smooth. "Didn't think you'd still be working."
Kael didn't smile. "Riven. You defaulted. Sixty-two days overdue."
Riven laughed and pushed the door open fully. "Still collecting loans in this dead city? That's commitment."
"You signed. Twelve percent interest. Final warning was delivered last month."
The smile faded. "What do you think I'm going to pay you with? There's no economy. No banks. No damn reason."
Kael glanced over his notepad. "You still live here. You still eat. Still got power humming under your skin."
Riven crossed his arms. "And you still don't. That it?"
Kael said nothing. His silence did the talking. Humble, not afraid. Stupid, maybe. But not weak.
Riven's smirk twitched. "You know, a guy like you shouldn't push it. The awakened don't take kindly to being shaken down."
"I'm not here for kindness."
"You're not here for much of anything," Riven replied, stepping forward. "Tell me, Kael… if I light you up right now, you think anyone would care?"
"No," Kael said calmly.
That was when the punch landed.
It wasn't a showy move. Just fast—too fast. Fist, heat, bone. Kael was airborne for a second, then on the floor. He didn't scream. The pain was dry, hot, brutal. His mouth filled with copper.
He blinked, wiped blood from his lips, and reached for the satchel.
Riven crouched beside him, arms on his knees like they were catching up over drinks. "Why keep doing this? You think honor matters? Justice? What, you're waiting for the world to say thanks?"
Kael pulled the ledger out, snapped it open with a wince, and crossed a firm black line through Riven's name.
"No payment received," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
"You're bleeding on my floor."
Kael stood, slow. No angry speeches. No last words. Just breath, balance, forward.
Riven watched him walk to the door.
"You ever try this again," he called out, "I won't just hit you next time."
Kael didn't answer. He let the door close behind him.
He made it down the stairs on muscle memory alone. Every step rattled his ribs. He kept walking.
Jandrel's skyline peeked through the smog as he limped across a bridge. Wind whipped at his coat. Down below, a dried canal cut through the city like a scar. No water, just wreckage—abandoned drones, rusted bikes, cracked glass.
His car was still there, parked beside a shut-down coffee kiosk. The Vuldox. Forty years old and built like a tank. His father's. Somehow still running.
He slid into the seat and dropped the satchel beside him.
The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the cracked dashboard. Riven's name stared back at him in heavy black ink.
One more debt uncollected.
He didn't sigh. Didn't curse. Didn't mope.
Instead, he pulled out a small plastic bag from under the glove compartment. Inside—bread, a few tablets of protein, a folded picture of his brothers. He took one bite, chewed, and started the engine.
It didn't start.
Second try—a cough, a wheeze. Then a growl. The engine caught.
Kael drove.
Twist — Ten Blocks Later
He turned onto 9th Street. Jandrel's old entertainment hub. Theaters, arcades, neon markets. All dead. Except… something moved.
A flicker. Light.
He slowed. Ahead, one of the billboards—dead for years—sputtered to life.
"MYRRHGENE—AWAKEN WHAT SLEEPS WITHIN."
Kael narrowed his eyes. That ad hadn't played since before the Dream Epoch. He tapped the brakes.
Then the billboard glitched.
[WARNING: SYSTEM DETECTED]
[USER: KAEL VORRIN — UNSYNCHRONIZED ENTITY]
The screen stuttered, pixelated lines jerking out of sync. Static filled the air, crackling like bones grinding together.
[REFRACTOR STATUS: PENDING]
[SYSTEM ERROR — INITIALIZATION FAILED]
[RECALIBRATING TIMELINE...]
A low mechanical hum throbbed in the air like a second heartbeat.
Then, slowly:
[ESTIMATED FIX TIME — 25 YEARS... 3 MONTHS... 12 DAYS... 0 HOURS... 6 MINUTES... 34 SEC...]
The countdown blinked, garbled.
[RECALIBRATING...]
[ESTIMATED FIX TIME — 18 YEARS... 9 MONTHS... 2 DAYS... 5 HOURS... 0 MINUTES... 11 SEC...]
More static.
[SYSTEM RESTORATION FAILED]
[RECALIBRATING FAILED]
Again:
[ESTIMATED FIX TIME — 25 YEARS... 3 MONTHS... 12 DAYS... 0 HOURS... 6 MINUTES... 34 SEC...]
The screen dimmed.
Then, just before blacking out completely, a final line:
[CODE IDENT: SOLO WALKER]
Gone.
Silence.
Kael stayed behind the wheel, unmoving. The engine idled beneath him, steady and old. He blinked, waiting for something—anything—to follow.
Nothing did.
He rubbed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. "Probably just solar interference," he muttered, pulling the car back into gear.
Didn't matter.
Still had names on the list. Still had people to find, but not now.
He drove on.
Kael's car rattled as he drove through the back streets of Jandrel. The old Vuldox was holding up—barely. The kind of car that refused to die no matter how many years passed. Maybe because it had belonged to his father. Maybe just stubbornness in metal form.
The sky had faded from rust orange to dull grey. He didn't check the clock. He could already tell it was late. His side still ached from Riven's punch, but he'd had worse. Nothing broken, just sore.
He passed a burnt-out pharmacy, then what used to be a toy store. Windows smashed, shelves gutted. The sign still read "Mid-Year Sale," though no one had bought anything from there in six years. Jandrel didn't sell toys anymore. It barely sold food.
A left turn onto Oswin Avenue. One of the cleaner streets left—someone had done a community sweep last year. Most junk stayed gone.
Block 7-C stood where it always had. Four stories, leaning like it wanted to fall but hadn't made the decision yet. Paint peeling, second-floor window cracked. But the front door still locked, and that was enough.
Kael parked, shut off the engine, and sat in silence. Not thinking. Just letting the stillness catch up.
He grabbed his satchel and got out.
The hallway smelled like rust and vinegar. Light buzzed overhead. He took the stairs—elevator's been dead since before the city fell apart.
Apartment 3B. Four locks. He turned each one and slipped inside.
It was quiet except for the soft whir of a fan. Clean enough. Lived-in. Everything had its place.
His uncle, Leran, was at the kitchen counter, slicing carrots with slow, practiced movements. He didn't look up. His left eye was fogged and milky—blind. The right one, sharp and grey, flicked once toward the door.
Kael lifted a hand. "Yeah. It's me."
Leran didn't speak. He couldn't. His throat had long since given up on speech. Some illness years back, maybe nerve damage—no one was sure. But he'd adapted. Finger taps on the counter, shrugs, looks. That was how he talked now.
Leran tapped once.
"No luck," Kael said, answering the silent question. "Dead address."
Two fingers tapped again, then a slow nod toward Kael's ribs.
"I'm fine. Bruised, not broken."
Leran gave a small sigh through his nose and went back to slicing. Kael poured himself some water from the jug. It tasted like metal, but it was cold. That was something.
"Twins?" he asked.
Leran pointed to the bedroom.
Kael dropped his satchel and headed down the narrow hallway.
The second door was cracked open. Jace and Lian were laid out on their mattress, watching an old dream-fight simulation on a flickering screen. One had no shirt on. The other was eating uncooked noodles from the packet.
"You two doing homework?" Kael asked.
"Homework's a myth," Jace said, eyes glued to the screen.
"It's all propaganda," Lian added. "We're watching training footage."
"It's anime," Kael said.
"Strategic visual reinforcement," Lian shot back.
Kael didn't argue. "Dinner in ten."
"Got it."
Back in the kitchen, Leran had the rice boiling. The beans were already soft in another pot. He stirred them both carefully, not using his blind side—just the one sharp eye. Kael grabbed plates and started setting them out.
"They're idiots," Kael muttered.
Leran gave a snort. One shoulder shrug. Seventeen-year-olds, what do you expect?
"Seventeen's not an excuse anymore," Kael said.
Leran tapped three fingers and tilted his head: Better than being dead.
Kael didn't argue with that.
Dinner was ready in ten. They all sat at the small table—four chairs, though one leg had been taped. Leran used gestures. The twins spoke with their mouths full. The food was basic—rice, beans, carrots, salt. It filled the stomach.
"Thanks," Jace said mid-bite.
"Yeah, thanks," Lian echoed, a spoon sticking out the side of his mouth.
Kael nodded. Leran gave a thumbs-up.
They ate mostly in silence. Jace eventually brought up a dream-fight clip—something about a Veinstalker pulling a blade from his own arm. Lian argued it was faked. Kael kept chewing.
After the meal, Kael washed dishes while Lian dried. Jace mostly hovered and moved things to the wrong shelves. Leran cleaned the counter, moving quietly, like always.
Later, the twins disappeared into their room again. Kael could still hear them through the wall—laughing, arguing about power tiers, trying to out-stupid each other.
Leran settled onto the couch with a blanket. He lay sideways, blind side facing the wall.
Kael sat on the small balcony, lit a corner of scrap paper with a match, and let the wind eat the ash.
Nothing symbolic. Just habit.
Back inside, the apartment was quiet again. Kael glanced at Leran—already half-asleep. The man gave a slow thumbs-up from under the blanket.
Kael turned off the light, stepped into his room, and lay down on his bed.
He stared at the ceiling. It was cracked, stained. The whole world felt like that now—cracked and stained but still holding on.
He blinked once. His ribs throbbed. His mind wouldn't stop.
There were still names left. Still addresses. Still places to knock on.
Not much else, but that was enough.
"Just a little longer," he murmured. "Once I collect everything, we can leave too."