The roar was deafening, a wave of sound that crashed against the metal walls of the Citadel’s vast assembly hall. Thousands of faces, pale and gaunt from generations spent beneath the earth, were turned towards the elevated platform. Upon it stood Mayor Thomas Shaw, his figure bathed in the harsh glare of floodlights. His voice, amplified by the hall’s archaic sound system, echoed with a fervent intensity that sent shivers down the spines of the assembled crowd.
“Citizens of the Citadel!” he boomed, his voice resonating with an almost messianic fervor. “For three thousand years, we have lived in the shadow of the past, entombed in this Concreate and metal womb, haunted by the ghosts of a world lost. We have endured, we have persevered, we have survived!” A thunderous applause erupted from the crowd, a desperate cry for hope in the face of centuries of confinement.
Shaw raised a hand, silencing the throng. His eyes, burning with an almost manic gleam, swept across the faces before him. “But today… today marks a new beginning! Fifty years ago,” his voice dropped to a near whisper, a touch of melancholy entering his tone, “my dearest friend, James Vox, and I discovered a truth that would change the course of our history. A truth that was kept hidden from us for far too long.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. “The surface… it is habitable once more!”
A gasp rippled through the crowd, a mixture of disbelief and awe. Shaw’s voice rose again, regaining its former power. “For fifty years, we have prepared for this day! For fifty years, we have toiled and strived, building the means to reclaim our birthright! And now, the time has come!” He gestured towards a massive holographic display that flickered to life, showing images of lush green landscapes and vibrant blue skies. “The lottery… this is not just a game of chance. It is a beacon of hope! It is a chance to build a new future, a future free from the darkness, a future where our children can once again walk beneath the sun!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices filled with a renewed sense of purpose. Shaw’s words, powerful and charismatic, had ignited a fire within them, a burning desire to embrace the unknown.
* * * A few days prior,
Lyra Vox had returned to her cramped quarters, the metal door groaning in protest as she pushed it open. The single flickering light cast long, dancing shadows across the bare walls. Her gaze fell immediately to the floor, where a folded piece of paper lay, as if dropped in haste. Her heart quickened. She hadn't left it there.
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She picked it up, her fingers tracing the rough folds. It was old, the paper thin and yellowed, but the handwriting mirrored her own father's distinctive scrawl. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her – disbelief, hope, a flicker of fear. He had been gone for nearly twenty years, a phantom limb in her memory.
She unfolded the letter, her breath catching in her throat as she read the first line:
"Lyra, My sweet daughter. I'm your father and I'm still alive."
The words sent a jolt through her. The truth? Her father had vanished nearly twenty years ago, a mystery the Citadel authorities had never been able to solve. A flicker of hope ignited within her.
The letter continued, the familiar script weaving a heartbreaking tale. "When you were a child, I used to tell you stories of the world before, of the sun on your skin and the wind in your hair. I told you of the sky, a vast blue canvas without end. Those stories weren't just tales, Lyra. They were memories of a world long forgotten."
A tear traced a path down Lyra's cheek. These were her father's exact words, the same bedtime stories he'd whispered to her when she was six years old and full of innocent wonder. The familiarity was a balm to her soul, a connection that transcended time and absence.
The letter shifted, urgency creeping into the tone. Father is alive. But he’s outside the Citadel, in a world far harsher than you can imagine. He wants my help.
The plea continued: Find me, Lyra. It’s your only chance to know the truth. There was no signature, just a single, hastily drawn symbol – a circle with a slash through it, a symbol from her childhood that held no meaning now.
Lyra clutched the letter, her mind a whirlwind. It had to be him. The stories, the symbol, it all fit. Yet, a nagging doubt lingered. How could this be possible? How could her father be alive after all this time?
Driven by a desperate hope, Lyra sought out Mayor Shaw. He had been her father's closest friend, a constant presence in her life after his disappearance. She trusted him implicitly. Showing him the letter, she explained the familiar phrasing, the childhood stories that only her father could have known.
Shaw listened intently, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. "Lyra," he said, his voice grave, "this is… extraordinary. If James is truly alive…” He trailed off, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "We must do everything we can to find him. the lottery is in few days and we need to get your name in it. Ill talk to the general and hell put you in an existing pmc where you can learn and earn." Lyra was about to ask something but Shaw in a hurry said, "No time just wait till the lottery."