Zeb

Location: Leight City: Months before the Festival

Ever since I can recall, my dreams have been haunted by the image of a young girl, alone and exposed to an encompassing darkness. In these dreams, she glows softly, a solitary beacon amidst the enveloping shadows. She explores the darkness with a curious gaze, seemingly oblivious to my presence as I observe from the shadows, invisible to her. Each time I attempt to reach out, the dream ends abruptly before she can acknowledge me. However, tonight's dream unfolds differently. As my hand moves towards her, she turns to face me, and for the first time, I remain in the dream. A gasp escapes me as her eyes turn pitch black, contrasting her glow. Her expression shifts to one of urgency, and she says, "Zeb, when the moment arrives, don't hesitate—just shoot. I'll be okay, I promise," offering a gentle smile.

For a split second, I'm frozen, her message echoing in the depths of my mind. Do I know her? Her face, illuminated and earnest, flickers with familiarity, stirring a distant memory or a feeling I can't quite place. Her words, 'don’t hesitate, just shoot,' doesn’t resonate with me in any way

A line from a book, or a scene from a movie, perhaps—my mind races to connect the dots. Perhaps she is a dream walker, someone I haven’t met but will meet soon.

Without hesitation, I find myself nodding, a silent promise to heed her advice despite not fully grasping the gravity of it. "Who are you?" I ask, but the words seem to get lost in the vastness of the dream.

Before I can grasp more, the reality begins to unravel at the edges, the dream dissolving as her image blurs into streams of light. My heart pounds against my chest, a drum of war and warning, as her answer follows me into the waking world “Ravenna”.

I'm thrust back into my bedroom heart racing, staring at the mundane checkered pattern of my ceiling. The weight of her words presses down on me, a portentous fog that refuses to lift. Who was she, and why did she behave differently this time? The urgency of her plea, 'Don’t hesitate,' haunts me, a shadow over my thoughts. If she is a dream-walker I am yet to meet, I smile to myself “Looking forward to meeting you Ravenna.

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The training halls of Leight University's Science and Meta Arts are filled with the sounds of new students preparing for their placement exams. I'm watching from the observatory, focusing on Darren Jones. He's the son of a High one in Leight City and was recently admitted here after the Nexal temple identified him as a vessel. Darren demonstrates his psychokinesis by expertly launching small knives at illusionary enemies, which vanish upon impact. His abilities seem too advanced for a beginner; his energy is unusually high. Deciding to investigate,I take a deep breath and clear my mind. With my intention clear, I focus my energy on my eyes to activate ‘the sight’. Through this ability, I observe Darren's energy field, confirming my suspicions. He's infused with Nexus energy, visible as black currents within his energy field. This power is immense but unstable, especially as he channels it into the knives targeting the illusions.

“What have you been up to Darren?” I mutter to myself

“What do you mean?” Syph's voice suddenly cuts in from behind. She walks and stands beside me observing the bouts.

Not looking at her I don’t respond. I can feel her looking at me, probably trying to read me. “Why are you not in class Zebedee? ” I wince as she calls me a name I despise.

“The classes are inferior to my capabilities. Observing the quaint struggles of novices proves far more engaging”. Then turning to look at her I add “And it’s Zeb”.

"Your conjuring could use work. Relying solely on shaping existing shadows will be a weakness in combat," she remarks coolly, her voice laced with condescension. "Aren't you tired of being bested by me, little brother?""

"Improving my combat techniques isn't my priority at the moment," I say, maintaining my indifference.

“But chasing conspiracy theories is. I know why you are here” she says, frustration evident in her voice. Syph has a habit of trying to delve into my private thoughts. I mentally block out my true intentions.

As though she can anticipate my thoughts, she continues, "I'm not reading your mind. I don't need to, to understand you. Focus on what truly matters. You're the future holder of our father's legacy," she scolds. It amuses me that she believes I'm interested in inheriting a powerless title under the temple's control. My concerns lie elsewhere, like the plague that has gripped this continent, known as depletion.

The same sickness that claimed mother. Though the official stance is that the illness's origin is unknown, I've always suspected our father wasn't truthful about how our mother died.

"I know you're trying to uncover the truth about Mum's death. You refuse to believe it was an arbitrary illness," she says, her words dripping with insincerity

Unconcerned with her misleading or uninformed statements, I scan for Darren and find him speaking with another student. The training illusion powers down as the shadow opponents finally fade away. “But asking these blasphemous questions will land you in trouble with the temple and Father.” She walks towards the entrance of the observatory and leaves to attend to the students. “Stop spying on my students Zebedee,” she says before finally leaving.

She is right, I don’t want any attention on me, at least not until I have proof of my suspicions.

Leaning against the observatory glass, I observe Darren preparing for a duel with Syph, part of his examination. I can't help but feel a bit sorry for him, given her known ruthlessness. I just hope she doesn't intimidate him too much before I get the chance to approach him.

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The night is cold and tense as I venture into the shadowy fringes of Leight City, just at Rust town’s border. It's a lawless zone, free from surveillance, where the residents fiercely protect their privacy from prying drone cameras, either by physical destruction or the clever interventions of Rust Town's renowned tech wizards.

As I go deeper into the outskirts of Leight City, the air shifts perceptibly. The artificial brightness of the city fades into a duskier gloom that clings to the abandoned structures like a persistent fog. The once-vibrant hum of technology is replaced by an eerie silence, broken only by the distant clatter of loose metal and the occasional scurry of unseen creatures in the rubble. The smell of rust is thick here, mingling with the faint, acrid scent of destroyed technology.

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I blend into the shadows as I tail Darren with caution. Periodically, he pauses, perhaps sensing he's being tracked, but then proceeds.

My pace slows, maintaining a careful distance as Darren navigates through the maze of neglected streets and alleys. I spot graffiti, and its hues change due to the use of low-quality tech ink. One piece boldly declares, ‘Rust Town, Where the Nexus Dwells’. The irony doesn't escape me. Their deity may not reside here, yet it seems to exploit them to augment its power.

Darren eventually stops at an old cathedral, hesitating before the rusting gates. Taking a deep breath, he pushes the gates open and disappears inside. I emerge from behind a decrepit hover truck, approaching the house with a casual demeanor, hands in my pockets. With a desire to remain unnoticed, I step back before leaping effortlessly over the 3-meter fence, landing silently on the other side.

As I approach the building, an odd phenomenon occurs the structure flickers in and out of visibility, struggling against the veil of an illusionary cloak. These cloaks, products of advanced tech wizardry, are rare and typically possessed only by those with significant connections within the government or the Nexal temple. Observing the building intently, I seize the moment it becomes fully visible and head straight for the imposing metal entrance. My heart races with anticipation as I firmly grasp the raven-shaped door handle and push my way into the vast, run-down hall.

The moonlight seeping through the shattered stained glass casts vibrant patches amidst the surrounding decay. Cobwebs span the statues and intricate carvings, now merely witnesses to their neglect.

The altar stands barren except for a dust-laden podium at its heart—or so it appears initially. A smirk crosses my face as I detect a presence, someone trying to remain unseen. I walk confidently towards the altar, the oppressive silence of the hall punctuated only by my footsteps, which seem to stir the shadows around me to life, enveloping me like a second cloak.

Reaching the altar, I pause, closing my eyes to take a deep breath, confirming my suspicion of the hidden individual's presence. Slipping a small knife from my back pocket,

"What a shitty cloak you’ve got there," I taunt before sending the knife spinning towards the altar. The blade halts abruptly in mid-air as the illusion begins to dissolve, revealing Darren who catches the knife just inches from his eyes—a narrow escape from what could have been a grievous injury.

He lacks the skill to both conceal himself and wield his psychokinesis simultaneously. Darren retaliates by throwing the knife back at me, but I command the surrounding shadows to intercept it. The shadow, morphing into a hand, playfully twirls the knife as I advance towards a visibly shaken Darren.

"Who are you?" he stammers, fear in his voice. I only widen my grin to heighten his fear. My face is obscured by the shadows, appearing entirely black. Darren, in a fleeting moment of courage, sends several knives my way, but the shadows form a barrier, deflecting them effortlessly.

In desperation, he throws the altar at me, which the shadows, shaping into a large hand, catch and fling back at him. He stops it mid-air but misses the knife headed his way, which then strikes him in the side. He winces in pain, clutching his wound. My grin broadens as I narrow the distance between us. Surprisingly, he makes a final effort for hand-to-hand combat, but my shadows seize his arms and pin him against the wall.

My shadow lightly clasps his shadow's neck, enough to hint at the severe consequences of his non-cooperation. Hurting a shadow inflicts pain far greater than any physical injury. His fear is palpable, evident in his shaking and rapid heartbeat. Being this near allows him a detailed view of my face, a sight capable of striking fear into the most courageous souls.

“Please,” Darren’s voice cracks, a mix of fear and desperation clinging to each word. “I don’t want to die.

I pause, the weight of his plea hanging in the air. “Your fate hangs on more than just my mercy,” I say, my voice a low murmur. I notice unconscious individuals partially hidden behind an ineffective cloak.

"I swear I've done nothing wrong. Please," he begs further.

I can't help but laugh at his nerve. "You've been busy, Darren," I observe, his shock clear when I call him by name despite his metallic disguise. My shadow peels away his mask, eliciting a cry from him.

“How did you, a mere novice, come to wield such potent Nexus energy?” I press, as the shadow's hold on his neck strengthens.

"I...I don't know what you mean. My parents are high ones; they won't overlook this," he tries to intimidate.

"You haven't answered my question," I tighten the hold, making it harder for him to breathe. The pain is so intense his eyes lose their color as he writhes in torment. Loosening my grip slightly, my shadow hovers over his injury, not pressing, but threateningly close.

When he's somewhat composed, he admits, "I'm just a broker, I don't know anything.

I act as a go-between. The Rusties trade their energy with me for cash or rare technology," he stumbles over his words.

"And where does all this energy go?" I probe. I have my theories but want his confirmation.

He hesitates, avoiding my gaze.

"I'm not sure," he claims, prompting a frustrated sigh from me and a tighter squeeze.

"I swear by the Nexus, all I do is collect the energy through a device. I keep a bit for myself and then send the rest off to an unknown destination with a stealth drone," Darren explains, grimacing from the pain.

Trying to justify his actions, Darren continues, "I'm not the worst. Some brokers strip the Rusties of all their energy, leaving them to deplete instantly." Uninterested in his babbling I ask as the shadows around me become darker and take a menacing monstrous form mirroring the anger growing in me.

Ignoring his excuses as my shadows darken and assume a threatening, monstrous shape reflecting my mounting anger, I press him further.

"Who got you involved in this? Who approached you?"

He shakes his head, tears welling up, "I don't know. Someone visited me in a dream, hiding behind a mask, and gave me all the instructions to begin."

Learning this only confirms my theory. An illicit energy trade linked to Nexalism is depleting people's life force. The process not only drains the donors but also poses a risk to the recipients if they're not compatible, leading to the same deadly depletion. This revelation brings back painful memories of my mother's death.

Memories of the day she died resurface; I was around 10 years old. How I ended up there is unclear, but the image of her lying on the floor of Dad's office is vivid. Her face was gaunt, her eyes empty, and her body reduced to nearly half its original size. Dad, emotionlessly observing her, said, "She is gone, Zebedee. She suffered from the same illness as you." He knelt to my height, adding, "That's why you must be strong, to harness the power within you, or you'll meet the same end." After saying this, he walked away. Pulled back to the present by Darren's feeble cries, my rage over these recollections compels me to tighten my grip, nearly deciding his fate then and there. He begs for mercy, his voice choked with fear.

"There is more,” he pleads, gasping for air. Intrigued, I slightly relax my hold.

"I've heard rumors of a large-scale energy collection at the Waning festival. I'm not sure of the specifics, but it's an ideal spot for gathering a significant amount of energy all at once," he shares. Surprised by this information, I completely let go of him.

Indeed, the festival, with its collective high energy and emotion, is perfect for such a purpose. But why would anyone need so much energy, if not for the Nexal temple? As Darren tries to escape, my shadows quickly seize him, suspending him before me.

“Please, I am sorry. The pressure of my family’s position is too much. I was afraid of not being powerful enough to get into the university”

Before he can beg further, I infuse my voice with energy, commanding, "You'll forget this meeting ever happened. You'll forget me. You will cease taking energy from others and will slowly suffer depletion yourself." After my declaration, I let him drop, and he collapses with a moan. While mind shifting isn't my specialty, I've picked up a few tricks from Syph. I could have extracted the information through this method, but my method is more fun. I notice the unconscious individuals are now fully exposed; they're still alive but at risk of depletion without energy replenishment.

Leaving the cathedral with the device used for energy collection, I plan to reach out to a freelancer in Rust Town. My involvement has to remain under wraps to avoid complications with the temple.