The air in the cramped apartment was heavy with the scent of burnt circuits and oil, the kind of smell that clung to your clothes and skin, marking you as one of the undercity’s forgotten. A faint blue glow flickered across the walls, cast by the mismatched array of salvaged monitors and makeshift screens that dominated one corner of the room. 

On the floor, amid a sea of discarded wires, shattered circuit boards, and half-built gadgets, a small boy crawled. Kite was barely a year old, his tiny hands grasping at pieces of scrap like they were treasures. His parents, too engrossed in their work to notice him at first, sat hunched over a rusted workbench. His mother, with grease-streaked fingers and tired eyes, worked tirelessly to coax life into a broken plasma torch. His father, a wiry man with perpetually oil-stained fingernails, muttered curses under his breath as he fiddled with a power cell that refused to hold a charge. 

“Kite, not that one!” his mother called out suddenly, her voice tinged with both exhaustion and affection. She lunged forward just in time to snatch a jagged shard of metal from his chubby fingers. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

But Kite only blinked up at her, his wide eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. He wasn’t crying, wasn’t fussing. Instead, he reached for another piece, a small resistor, his tiny fingers grasping it with a precision that seemed almost unnatural for a child so young. 

His father chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag. “He’s got your knack for scavenging, Mira. Little guy’s already picking out the good bits.” 

Mira shook her head but couldn’t hide her smile. “He’s going to need more than that if he’s going to survive down here.” 

The smile faltered, replaced by the weight of a truth they both understood too well. Life in the undercity wasn’t kind, and the glow of optimism, like the artificial lights overhead, was always flickering, always on the brink of going dark. 

Kite babbled softly, the sound almost musical against the mechanical hum that filled the room. He had managed to slot the resistor into an old, cracked data pad. It sparked faintly, startling him, but instead of crying, he giggled. 

“Would you look at that,” his father said, crouching beside him. “He’s already trying to fix things.” He picked Kite up, holding him high above the cluttered floor. “Our little genius. You’re going to change the world, you know that?” 

Mira snorted, returning to her work. “Let’s start with him growing up first.” 

But as Kite squirmed in his father’s grasp, his tiny fingers still reaching for the glowing pieces below, there was something in his wide-eyed gaze that hinted at more. Even then, surrounded by scraps and shadows, Kite seemed to see possibilities where others saw only ruins.  

By the time Kite turned eight, the world of wires and shadows he had known since he could crawl had only expanded. The cramped apartment was still their sanctuary, albeit one patched together with scraps and sheer willpower. The faint blue glow of monitors, the hum of outdated machinery, and the occasional pop of sparking circuits were as much a part of his life as the lullabies his mother sang softly at night. 

But today was different. Today, Kite was going to school. His mother crouched in front of him, tying the fraying laces of his secondhand shoes. They were a size too big, the soles worn thin, but they were the best she could find. Her hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but exhaustion. The work never stopped, and neither did the worry. 

“You’ll like it,” she said, forcing a smile as she adjusted the straps of his faded backpack. “You’ll make friends. And you’ll learn things that even your dad and I can’t teach you.” 

Kite tilted his head, his wide eyes filled with curiosity. “Like what?” “Like how to read properly,” his father said from the doorway, his voice warm but tinged with that ever-present weariness. “Numbers, too. Not just the ones you see on circuit boards.” 

Kite frowned. “But I already know numbers.” His parents exchanged a glance, equal parts pride and concern. Kite’s brilliance was undeniable, but the world didn’t always know how to handle brilliance, especially not in a place like the undercity. 

The school was a dilapidated building wedged between two towering factories that spewed smoke into the already dim air. Its walls were stained with grime, and the faint hum of machinery from the neighboring structures seemed louder than the distant voices of children. 

Inside, the classroom was no better. Rows of mismatched desks filled the small, stuffy room. The teacher, a tired-looking woman with dark circles under her eyes, greeted Kite with a forced smile. 

“This must be Kite,” she said, glancing down at the boy clutching his mother’s hand. Her gaze softened as she took in his oversized shoes and too-thin frame. “Welcome to our class.” 

Kite’s mother knelt beside him, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Be good, okay? Listen to your teacher and… try to make friends.” 

Kite nodded solemnly, though he wasn’t entirely sure how one went about making friends. He stepped into the classroom, feeling the weight of his parents’ gaze as they lingered by the door. 

The other children were a mix of wary and curious. Most of them looked like Kite, thin, tired, and wearing hand-me-downs. One boy, larger than the rest, sat in the back with a scowl that seemed permanent. A girl with a missing front tooth and tangled hair offered Kite a tentative smile, which he returned with a small wave.  

The girl is a small, scrappy nine-year-old with an unusual and slightly eerie charm. Her messy pinkish brown hair sticks out in all directions, as if she’s been playing in the dirt, which she probably has, and it often falls into her face, obscuring her mischievous expression. Her bright pink irises, a striking contrast to her otherwise youthful features, seem to glimmer with a secret she’s not yet ready to share. Her slightly pink-tinted skin adds an odd but subtle warmth to her otherwise childlike appearance. 

Her clothes are a patchwork of worn, oversized pieces, a baggy, tattered shirt with uneven stitching and stains from living in the undercity, paired with mismatched shorts that are too short and frayed at the ankles. Along with this her arms and legs are covered in bandages slightly dirty bandages. Her bare feet are dirty and calloused, hinting at a life spent running around without care or shoes. Despite her ragged appearance, there’s an undeniable liveliness about her, even as her missing front teeth give her a gap-toothed grin that’s both innocent and slightly devious. The girls appearance helping to blend into the rough environment around her while retaining a subtle hint of her true nature. 

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The day’s lesson was basic arithmetic. The teacher wrote numbers on a chalkboard, her voice droning as she explained how to add and subtract. Kite, seated near the front, watched intently but couldn’t stop himself from fidgeting. 

When the teacher handed out simple worksheets, Kite finished his in just three minutes. When she came by to check his work, she frowned. 

“Did you copy someone?” she asked softly, her tone more curious than accusing. Kite shook his head. “No. I just… knew the answers.” 

The teacher studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Good work.” But as the day went, on kite would answer every question that the teacher asked the class with ease. Kite began to notice the other children watching him. Some whispered, while others avoided his gaze. At recess, when he approached the jungle gym, the larger boy from the back of the class blocked his path. 

The boy is a bulky, stocky kid for his age, with a hard, almost feral edge to his appearance. His face is round and chubby, but his wide, dark eyes and scowl make him look much older, a product of the tough environment he’s grown up in. His messy, jet-black hair falls in uneven chunks around his forehead, often sticking up in wild tufts, as if he’s too rough to care about grooming. His skin is a bit sallow from lack of sunlight, and there’s a constant layer of dirt that clings to him, giving him a perpetually grimy look. 

His clothing Is basic but practical, consisting of a torn, oversized hoodie that’s fraying at the cuffs and hem. It’s a faded, dull gray, once probably a hand-me-down from someone bigger, but now worn and patched in multiple places. Underneath, he wears a faded, too-large t-shirt that barely fits him, with stains from spilled food and grime. His pants are rough, dark cargo pants that are a size or two too big, cinched tightly with an old rope in place of a belt. His boots are heavy, clunky, and worn-down from running through the 

undercity’s grime-filled streets, the soles barely hanging on. Despite his small size, he has an air of aggression about him, like he’s ready to lash out at anyone who gets too close. 

“You think you’re better than us?” the boy sneered. Kite blinked, genuinely confused. “No. Why would I think that?” 

“Cause you’re showing off,” the boy growled, shoving Kite backward. Kite stumbled but didn’t fall. He stared at the boy, his mind racing not with fear, but with possibilities. How could he defuse this? Should he fight back? What would his parents want him to do? 

Before he could decide, the girl with the missing tooth appeared, pulling Kite away. “Leave him alone, Rad,” she said, her voice firm despite her small frame. 

Rad glared but didn’t push the matter. As he walked off, the girl turned to Kite, smiling again. “Don’t mind him. He’s just mad ’cause he’s not smart like you.” 

Kite nodded, though he didn’t entirely understand. He followed her back to the jungle gym, a strange warmth spreading through him. For the first time, he felt something like hope, hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find his place here. 

That night, as his parents asked about his day, Kite told them everything. His mother frowned at the mention of Rad, but his father chuckled. 

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “You’re tougher than you look.” Kite wasn’t sure if that was true, but as he lay in bed, staring at the faint glow of a half-assembled gadget on his nightstand, he decided he wanted it to be. 

The faint hum of machinery In the apartment never truly stopped. It was a constant, lulling presence that filled the silence. Kite lay on his small cot, a thin, patched blanket pulled up to his chest. His eyes were fixed on the half-assembled gadget on the crate beside him, a cobbled-together mix of wires, metal scraps, and a salvaged power cell. He didn’t really know what it was going to be yet, just that it was his. 

The door creaked softly, and Kite glanced up to see his mother slipping into the room. She moved quietly, her worn slippers barely making a sound against the scuffed floor. In her hands, she carried a small tin cup of something steaming. 

“You’re still awake,” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that made the shadows in the room feel less oppressive. Kite nodded, sitting up as she approached. “I was thinking about school.” 

She sat down on the edge of his cot, handing him the cup. “Here, drink this. It’s just warm water with a little honey. Helps when your mind won’t rest.” 

Kite cupped it carefully in his small hands, taking a cautious sip. The sweetness was faint, but it felt like a luxury in their world. 

“Did something happen today?” she asked, brushing a strand of his dark hair from his forehead. “You’ve been quiet tonight.” 

Kite hesitated, staring into the murky liquid in his cup. “It’s the boy I mentioned. Rad. He… he shoved me.” 

His mother’s hand froze for a moment before she resumed gently stroking his hair. “Why would he do that?” 

Kite shrugged. “He said I was showing off, but I wasn’t. I just… knew the answers.” 

His mother sighed, her expression softening with both pride and concern. “Sometimes, people don’t like it when someone stands out. Especially here, in the undercity. They think it’s safer to blend in, to not draw attention.” 

“But I didn’t mean to make him mad,” Kite said, his voice small. “I know,” she replied, cupping his cheek with her calloused hand. “You’re a smart boy, Kite. Smarter than most people down here. That’s going to make some people jealous, and others scared. But it’s not a bad thing.” 

He looked up at her, his wide eyes searching her face. “Then why does it feel bad?” 

She smiled sadly, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Because it’s hard being different. But you have something special, Kite. Something your father and I see every time we look at you. And one day, the world will see it too. You just have to be brave until then.” 

Her words lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a second blanket. “Will Rad push me again?” Kite asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Her expression hardened slightly, and she straightened her back. “If he does, you come tell me or your father. But I think you’re strong enough to handle yourself. You don’t have to fight, Kite. Sometimes just walking away is the bravest thing you can do.” 

He nodded, taking another sip of the honeyed water. “Okay.” For a while, neither of them spoke. She simply sat with him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder as he finished the drink. The faint blue glow from the main room filtered in through the cracked door, a reminder of the world outside their small sanctuary. 

“Do you think I’ll ever be like you and Dad?” he asked suddenly, looking up at her. Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“You make things. Fix things. Help people. I want to do that too.” She smiled, her tired eyes brightening for a moment. “Oh, Kite. You already do. Every time you pick up a piece of scrap and see something more than just trash, you’re like us. You’ve got that spark. And one day, you’ll do things your father and I could only dream of.” 

The warmth In her words filled his chest, pushing away the lingering sadness of the day. “Now,” she said, taking the empty cup from his hands, “get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day, and I’m sure that curious little brain of yours will find plenty to get into.” 

She tucked the blanket up around his shoulders, pausing for a moment to study his face. Then she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. 

“Goodnight, my little genius,” she whispered. As she stood and moved toward the door, Kite watched her go, the weight of her words settling in his mind. He didn’t fully understand them yet, but he felt their importance, like a tiny ember sparking to life. 

When the door clicked shut behind her, Kite rolled onto his side, his eyes drifting back to the half-built gadget on the crate. He reached out, running his fingers over the cool metal and tangled wires. “One day,” he thought, echoing his mother’s words. “One day, I’ll do something amazing.”