The distant groan of freight pods ascending into the smog-choked sky matched the bleak backdrop for the Iron Spir’s underbelly. Nolena pressed herself against a corroded wall, her threadbare teddy bear tucked securely under her arm. The air reeked of oil and desperation.

She’d been tracking a few of the older scavengers for hours, waiting for them to ditch their haul and the right moment to snatch the prize.

Their latest prize: a half crate of protein paste cans looted from a derailed hover-lift. Should be Three cans, she calculated. Enough to trade for a week’s worth of filtered water. Enough to survive.

But nothing stayed simple in the Spire’s underbelly before Nolena could even think... Her opportunity was gone, after all. Survival had claws.

A shadow shifted to her left. Nolena froze. The lanky boy from days prior slunk into view, flanked by two hulking figures. Gang tattoos snaked up the arms of the two hulks, their eyes sharp with malice.

“Told you she’d come crawling back,” The boy sneered, nodding at the bear. “Still clinging to that trash?”

Nolena backed away, her grip tightening. “Stay back.”

One of the thugs cracked his knuckles. “Cute toy. Bet it’ll burn nice.”

They lunged.

Nolena darted left, her bare feet skidding across greasy metal. The pipe whistled past, clipping her shoulder. Pain flared, but she twisted with it, driving her elbow into his ribs. He hit the ground, wheezing.

The larger thug grabbed her arm, yanking her off balance. “Feisty little rat—”

A metallic hum vibrated beneath her skin. Her veins flickered silver.

Move.

The command wasn’t hers. It was deeper. Instinct.

Her body twisted, impossibly fluid. The thug’s grip slipped as she pivoted, her palm striking his sternum. He flew backward, crashing into a pile of scrap.

The second thug froze. “What the hell are you?”

Nolena didn’t know.

The boy scrambled up, pipe raised. “Freak!”

She blocked the blow, the pipe clanging against her forearm—no, through it. Her skin shimmered, molten steel rippling where flesh should split. The gangsters stared, horrified.

“Abomination,” one whispered.

Nolena staggered back, her breath ragged. The glow faded, leaving her trembling. What’s happening to me?

A voice cut through the gloom. “Enough.”

The thugs turned. A man stood at the alley’s mouth, silhouetted by flickering neon. Tall, broad-shouldered, his face scarred and stubbled. He wore a militia jacket, frayed at the seams, but his posture screamed discipline.

The boy spat. “This ain’t your business, old man.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

The man moved—and he was there in the space of a blink. One moment, distance. The next, inevitability. His movements weren’t just fast. They were unmatched. “Run.” He growled.

They ran. The boy and his two thugs tripped over each other in an attempt to get away.

Nolena backed against the wall, bear clutched to her chest. The man’s gaze locked onto her, sharp as a blade. “You’re not from the Spire,” he said.

She bristled. “I’m nobody.”

“Nobody? Well nobody. I’m Reuben” He nodded at her arm, still faintly gleaming. “That’s military-grade biotech. Or something worse.”

Her heart raced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He crouched eye level with her. “You want to find out? Or keep hiding in the dark?”

The offer hung between them. Nolena’s throat tightened. Someday, I’ll find out who I am.

“Why?” she whispered.

He pulled a faded photo from his pocket—a child with copper hair and green eyes, strapped to a med-table, wires snaking from her arms. Nolena’s breath hitched.

“Because,” Reuben said, “you’re one of theirs. And I’m gonna burn their Empire to the ground.”

****

The flickering amber glow of a single desk lamp cast dancing shadows on the walls as Minister Baelor leaned back in his leather chair—the creak drowning in the silence. Outside, thunder growled as lightning arced across the sky. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm on a report detailing the Iron Spire’s plummeting output—numbers stained red as warning lights.

The holo-comm on his desk erupted abruptly, a jagged chime slicing through the quiet. Baelor’s jaw tightened. He knew the frequency.

He loathed answering, but he knew better. He accepted the call.

Cedric Draven’s hologram materialized, fractured at the edges by static. His image wavered, half-consumed by darkness, but his eyes burned—twin coals in a furnace of fury.

“You promised me results,” Cedric hissed, his voice a blade honed by venom. “Yet the boy still breathes. The Spire still stands. Drakara is still not mine.”

Baelor’s throat went dry, but he kept his tone polished and diplomatic. “The sabotage in the lower sectors has tripled riots. The envoy’s arrival is days away. When they see the chaos—”

“Chaos?” Cedric’s laugh was a serrated thing. “You think a few broken windows and screaming peasants will suffice? Alex parades through Drakara like a king while you dither.” The hologram flickered as Cedric slammed a fist into something unseen. “Why hasn’t he been buried in some nameless hole?”

Baelor’s pulse thrummed. “The Baron’s people are watching everything. He’ll follow the blood trail right to our door if we move too soon.”

“I don’t care about traces!” Cedric’s image lunged forward, pixelated rage contorting his features. “You’ve had weeks to bleed him dry. Weeks to make the Empire’s boot hover at his throat. Yet every report is excuses wrapped in cowardice.”

Lightning flashed outside, throwing skeletal shadows across the room. Baelor gripped the edge of his desk, the wood biting into his palms. “The General’s forces monitor every move. One misstep and Varek will have my head on a spike before you can—”

“Let me be clear.” Cedric’s voice dropped, low and lethal. “Fail me again, and it won’t be Varek who comes for you. I’ll carve Drakara apart myself. Starting with you.”

The threat hung, thick as smoke. Baelor’s mind raced—Seraphina’s looming presence, the Spire’s decay, the numerous secrets that Drakara held. He forced a nod. “I know of a place out in the plains… there’s an old outpost. If the Baron finds it, he could rally support. But if it were to… vanish…with him…”

Cedric’s smile was a predator’s. “See that it does. And Baelor?” The hologram leaned closer, static clawing at its edges. “If Alex survives the week, you won’t.”

The transmission died.

Alone again, Baelor stared at the space where Cedric’s image had been. Rain lashed the windows now, howling in sync with the storm in his chest. He opened a drawer, withdrew a vial of amber liquor, and drank until his hands steadied.

Baelor made another call. It connected almost instantly. This time, he only said a few words.

“Alex Draven. Make it clean. Make it final.”