Cain hated the smell of cigarettes. The acrid smell had a Habit of sticking to everything it touched; the air, clothes and, most disgustingly, people. You could always tell apart a smoker from someone who doesn't.

He walked briskly through the gleaming streets of Eden, the city’s neon lights casting an iridescent glow that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. The city was a marvel of technology and architecture, a beacon of what humanity had achieved with the help of their divine overseers—the Gods. Yet, for all its advancement, Cain couldn't fathom how the vices of the old world had managed to seep into this futuristic paradise.

The irony was not lost on him as he passed a group of young men huddled in a corner, their cigarettes glowing like little embers in the artificial twilight. The smoke coiled around them, creating a haze that seemed out of place in Eden’s otherwise pristine environment. Cain wrinkled his nose and pulled up the collar of his coat, trying to block out the smell as much as possible, speeding up to escape the cloying smell. His left eye, a sophisticated piece of cyborg technology, flickered briefly, automatically adjusted to the dim light of the alley, highlighting the faces and details of the smokers in sharp contrast. Cain instinctively noted each of their features—scars, tattoos, clothing—storing them away in his memory pad for documentation later. It was an old habit, one born out of his duty to observe and record. After all, one never knew when a face might be important, when a seemingly insignificant detail might become crucial.

As he continued down the clean, polished streets of Eden, his right arm, the one made of dull Aetherium, buzzed faintly with each step. The synthetic nerves within the arm were in perfect sync with his organic brain, making the limb feel as natural as his own flesh. Cain absentmindedly flexed his fingers, feeling the faint whirr of servos beneath the synthetic skin. The blend of human and machine, of flesh and metal, had long since become second nature to him.

But no amount of technological advancement could mask the sour tang of alcohol on the breath of the man who stumbled past him, reeking of cheap spirits. Cain frowned, his nose wrinkling in distaste. Why smoking? he thought with irritation. Why drinking? Of all the things to survive the fall of the Old World, why did these vices have to be among them? In a world where humanity had achieved so much, transcending its former limitations, some habits clung on like a tumor.

He Continued to move through Elohan’s district, a part of the city that embodied the divine’s mechanical and geometrical influence. Buildings here were angular, their surfaces covered in a sleek, metallic shee that seemed to reflect the city’s vibrant lights in sharp, clean lines. Elohans also loved to use an abundance of Neon, and so Every building and Shoot was adorned by tubes emmiting Neon lights. Everything was precisely designed, with no hint of organic life. The district was a testament to Elohan’s vision, a place where the very essence of technology and order was embedded in the architecture and environment.

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In contrast, the district of Synara, another of the Gods, was an entirely different world. Her domain was lush and vibrant, filled with organic growth and a riot of colors. Plants and flowers spilled over in abundance, and the air was alive with the scents of fresh earth and blooming flora. Synara’s district was like stepping into an old-world garden, a stark and comforting juxtaposition to the mechanical perfection of Elohan’s realm.

Yet even in this city of near perfection, the remnants of the old, flawed humanity persisted. The irony of it all. Cain shook his head, his mechanical eye catching a glimpse of a beggar hidden in the shadows, a relic of the past who had somehow slipped through the cracks of Eden’s immaculate facade.

The man was huddled against a wall, wrapped in a tattered coat that had once been fine, the edges frayed and stained. His hair, though graying and unkempt, had a certain refinement to it, as if it had once been neatly styled. But it was the man’s eyes that caught Cain’s attention—sharp and calculating, like those of someone who had once commanded respect. A deep scar ran across the man’s face, from his left brow to the corner of his mouth, a mark of some long-forgotten battle. It was the sort of scar that told stories, that hinted at a life lived far above the gutter where he now resided. Cain hesitated for a moment, wondering what had brought the man to this state, but quickly pushed the thought asid, and made a note to report the man’s location later. Eden isn’t supposed to have beggars.

As Cain continued walking, a sharp ping echoed in his mind, a signal from his memory pad. His right eye blinked rapidly as the message displayed across his vision, bold letters scrolling across the interface. Elohan summons you. Come to the tower immediately.

He didn’t hesitate. Turning sharply, Cain made his way toward Elohan’s tower, the central spire that dominated the district’s skyline. The tower itself was a masterpiece of design, a needle-like structure that seemed to pierce the heavens, its surface made of reflective, obsidian glass interwoven with intricate, pulsating lines of neon blue. The lines twisted and converged at points, forming symbols and patterns that were at once beautiful and utterly alien.

As Cain finally approached the entrance, he saw other Ascended gathering—a mix of men and women, all with varying degrees of cybernetic enhancements. Some had only minor augmentations, a mechanical eye here, a reinforced limb there, while others were more machine than human, their forms almost entirely encased in sleek metal. They acknowledged Cain with curt nods, their expressions as cold and unreadable as his own.

Cain stepped into the tower’s main hall, the doors sliding shut behind him with a soft hiss. The air inside was cool, almost sterile, and the soft hum of Machines and the building’s systems resonated through the floor. The hall was vast and circular, its walls lined with the same obsidian glass as the exterior. Dim blue light filtered through the floor, casting an eerie glow that made the shadows dance.

Cain’s eye flicked to the massive doors at the far end of the hall—the entrance to Elohan’s chamber. The doors were marked with the god’s insignia, a complex geometric pattern that seemed to shift and change when looked at directly. They stood as a reminder of the power and order that ruled over Eden, a force that was both their creator and their master.

The doors began to slide open with a low, mechanical groan, and Cain took a deep breath straightened, preparing himself to face his god.