As Sabir stepped through The Threshold, the clang of the gate shutting behind him reverberated in his ears, a sound both final and liberating. He stood at the edge of The Commons, a place that was both familiar and alien to him. Compared to the squalor of The Limbo, The Commons seemed almost prosperous, but it bore the marks of a city struggling to maintain its dignity.

The streets, though paved and lined with lampposts that flickered with a dim, inconsistent light, had cracks and were uneven. Cars, relics of a bygone era, rumbled down the roads intermittently, their engines growling like ancient beasts. People walked with purpose, eyes darting around warily, ever vigilant for the inevitable pickpockets and thieves that haunted the corners and alleyways.

Sabir’s eyes scanned the scene before him. Buildings of varying heights loomed on either side, some standing proud despite their age, while others sagged and crumbled, their windows shattered or boarded up. The air carried the scent of rain, oil, and a hint of decay, a stark reminder that while The Commons was a step up from The Limbo, it was far from paradise.

Children played in the streets, their laughter tinged with a roughness born of necessity and survival. Vendors called out from their stalls, peddling everything from fresh produce to Nutripulp and dubious remedies. Sabir clutched his belongings closer, his senses on high alert. He knew that while he might find allies here, enemies were just as plentiful.

As he moved further into the city, Sabir couldn’t help but notice the disparity between the inhabitants. Some wore clothes that, while worn, were clean and well-mended, a sign of a life with at least some stability. However, others wore rags, their eyes hollow and desperate, mirroring the faces he knew all too well from The Limbo.

Whilst this was Havana, The Limbo’s darkness still crept through. People who successfully entered Havana sometimes succumbed to Post Limbo Disorder, or PLD for short. Those afflicted with PLD often found it impossible to adapt to life in Havana, their past experiences haunting them in debilitating ways.

Some of those people wandered aimlessly, their eyes darting suspiciously at every passerby, constantly on edge, as if expecting an attack at any moment. The trauma of survival in The Limbo left them perpetually anxious and hyper-vigilant, unable to trust the relative safety of Havana.

Others huddled in corners, muttering to themselves or staring blankly into the distance. These individuals trapped themselves in their memories, reliving the horrors of The Limbo. They flinched at loud noises and shied away from contact, their minds fractured by the relentless fear and violence they had endured.

A few displayed aggressive behaviors, lashing out unpredictably at those around them. The constant fight for survival in The Limbo had wired them to respond to any perceived threat with immediate and overwhelming force. This aggression often led to altercations, making it difficult for them to integrate into the more structured society of Havana. Regular citizens of Havana believe it’s the fault of these individuals that the crime rate was so high, but the government could do nothing about it, whilst The Seven Noble Families viewed these problems as beneath them.

Sabir’s school lay further through The Commons, in an area that was relatively more stable. Here, people appeared fairly happy, and the buildings were modern, comprising supermarkets, convenience stores, and other ordinary establishments. For Sabir, arriving in this part of Havana for the first time had been a culture shock. The contrast between the grim existence of The Limbo and the relative normalcy of this area was stark.

Nearby, a bustling train station served as a hub for a vast network that connected the entirety of Havana. Trains came and went with impressive regularity, whisking passengers off to various parts of the city and beyond. The station was always alive with the sounds of hissing steam, the clattering of wheels on tracks, and the murmur of people going about their daily lives.

Sabir often stood beside the tracks, looking up at the trains as they came and went on the elevated rails above him. The sight filled him with a sense of wonder and longing. He dreamed of the day he could board one of those trains and ride it all the way to Tetra City, the capital of Havana. The stories he had heard about Tetra City painted it as a place of unimaginable opportunity and advancement. He also heard that the food there was unimaginably tasty, his forever empty stomach could only dream of such a place.

Grrrrr. “Damn it, I’m hungry again,” Sabir lamented. He knew he was out of Nutripulp, so all he could do was ignore his stomach and get to class.

As he made his way towards the school, people were moving with purpose, children played in the streets, and a sense of community seemed to pervade the air. Sabir felt uncomfortable with such an atmosphere, but he did not know why.

When he finally reached the school, he took in the sight. The building was a modest two-story structure, yet it exuded an air of sophistication. Students of varying ages milled about, their clothes clean and fashionable, a clear indicator of their relative wealth.

Sabir couldn’t help but feel out of place among them, his own worn-out attire and gaunt appearance marking him as an outsider. As he walked through the school gates, he noticed the whispers and furtive glances directed his way.

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“Is that him? The crazy kid?” one student murmured, his voice tinged with disdain.

“He looks gross,” another whispered, scrunching her nose in disgust.

Sabir’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but then he caught snippets of different conversations.

“I don’t know. He’s kind of cute,” a girl whispered to her friend, giggling softly.

“Yeah, there’s something about him,” another voice agreed, sounding intrigued.

The mix of derision and curiosity only heightened Sabir’s discomfort. People would greet him with stares and whispers whenever he came here, making it a regular occurrence. Sabir was aware there were weird rumors about him, and because of an incident when he first came to this school, he had garnered a poor reputation. He kept his head down, trying to block out the whispers as he made his way to his class.

Upon entering the classroom, he found the atmosphere buzzing with chatter. The students had scattered themselves around the room, not yet taking their seats at their desks. Some were leaning against the walls, others perched on desks, engaged in animated conversations. The absence of their teacher gave the class an air of unruliness, and Sabir hesitated for a moment, unsure of where to go.

“Hey, Sabir! Over here!” a familiar voice called out. Sabir turned to see Max Crawford, a boy with dark skin and curly hair, waving him over. Max was standing near the back of the classroom, already deep in conversation with Samantha Hart, another classmate who had always been friendly towards Sabir.

As Sabir made his way over, he couldn’t help but remember the day he met Max. It was nearly five years ago when Sabir was twelve, and he had no friends. People avoided him out of fear, partly because of his rough appearance and the rumors that followed him from The Limbo. He was used to the isolation, the way kids would edge away from him in the hallways or whisper behind his back.

Max was an easy target. Short and skinny, with a friendly demeanor that made him stand out, often bullied by older boys, who would steal the credits his parents gave him for lunch. One afternoon, Sabir saw Max being cornered by a group of bullies in the schoolyard. They were launching rocks at him using their measly telekinesis, while eventually rifling through his pockets once Max was half dead. This would continue for weeks, and no one would do anything to help him.

One day, something snapped inside Sabir. Bitter memories surged to the forefront of his mind as he watched the scene unfold. Without thinking, he charged at the bullies, fists flying. It was a fierce fight, and though Sabir took a few hits himself, he drove them off. Max, bruised but grateful, looked at Sabir with wide eyes.

“Why did you help me?” Max had asked, his voice shaky.

Sabir shrugged, wiping the blood from his lip. “I don’t know.”

From that day on, Max stuck by Sabir’s side. Despite the risks, their friendship grew stronger. Max’s parents attempted to veto their friendship, but Max was stubborn and they grew even closer since. Although after the incident rumors of Sabir being a wild delinquent persisted, Samantha joined their small circle soon after, drawn by their camaraderie and Sabir’s quiet strength.

Back in the present, Sabir made his way through the classroom, still feeling the sting of whispers and curious stares. He reached Max and Samantha, who were already deep in conversation.

“Jesus, you look like a mess,” Max said, moving closer to Sabir. “Did you not get any revision in? Hell, did you even take a shower?” Max grimaced, pinching his nose theatrically.

Sabir rolled his eyes. “No I was locked in an intense battle with a dragon and barely made it here with my limbs attached.”

Max giggled at Sabir’s sarcastic reply. Only Max and Samantha truly understood the struggles Sabir faced living in The Limbo. Of course, he kept the details about his sister and the darker aspects of his life a secret. Max’s attempts to normalize Sabir’s lifestyle through humor had a strangely comforting effect, making Sabir feel more like a regular teenager.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang. “Ouch!” yelped Max.

“Stop being so ignorant,” scolded Samantha, giving him a light slap on the arm. “Ignore his idiocy, Sabir. Anyway, I hope you managed to get some revision in for our final exam,” she added, her voice shifting from stern to tender.

Sam often helped Sabir with his work. If she hadn’t supported him, the Beacon school would have already kicked him out.

“Hey, hey, let’s forget about these exams for a second. We’ll pass anyway; it’s gonna be a breeze,” Max said, cutting off Samantha mid-sentence. He leaned in closer to Sabir, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. “But have you seen the news recently?”

Sabir shook his head. He barely had time to eat, let alone catch up on the news. “No, I’ve been busy with y’know trying to survive and finding time to study.”

“Well,” Max began, lowering his voice, “there was a car crash on the highway in Tetra. When the ambulance arrived, they found the trucker was already dead before the crash happened.”

“What? How did he die then?” Samantha interjected, curiosity piqued. “Did he drink too much or something?”

“That’s what’s interesting, no one knows,” Max replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Some foul play is at work. I’m telling you, it might be the triads or another group of criminals. I say it was an assassination. The police claim no Esper activity was detected in the area, but the criminals are getting smarter.”

Sabir groaned inwardly. Max’s fascination with conspiracies often bordered on obsessiveness. While Samantha was a grounded, kind-hearted individual, Max had earned the nickname “The Commons Lunatic” for a reason. His pride in the title often led him to spout theories to anyone who would listen, or couldn’t avoid him.

“Not only that, there was a single survivor, and-”

The classroom door creaked open slowly, and the room fell silent. Mr. Roskob, their stern and meticulous teacher, entered with a measured stride. His mere presence commanded immediate attention, and he exuded an air of authority that demanded respect. He glanced around the room, making sure all eyes were on him before speaking.

“Alright, everyone,” he said in his deep, authoritative voice, “take your seats. The final exam is about to start.”

Max was cut off mid-sentence, and the students hurried to their desks. Sabir took his seat, trying to push thoughts of conspiracies and car crashes out of his mind. He needed to focus on the exam, then he would finally be free.