The atmosphere was heavier here, near the walls of the city. We both stood still, bound in a silence that held as much anticipation as dread. Kael had barely glanced my way since our arrival, his back turned, shoulders squared as he faced the ominous structure before us. The cyber cloak he'd handed me draped over my shoulders, an odd mix of warmth and coolness seeping through its fabric. I exhaled, watching as my breath formed a mist in the chilly air. This marked the end of the forsaken Lugusia Forest and the beginning of what lay ahead: the notorious cybercity.

Kael finally broke the silence, his voice low and rough. "I'll head to the right, to the gates." His gaze met mine for a fleeting moment, and a hint of something unspoken lingered in his eyes. "That cloak will help you... keep up with those awful physical stats of yours." He gestured to it, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. We stood there, staring. He stammered out, "Good luck, my f-f-friend."

An automatic smile found its way to my face. "I promise we'll meet again, friend," I replied, though doubt clung to the edges of my words. Kael returned my smile, albeit hesitantly, then turned toward the gates and walked away.

As he disappeared into the shadows, the reality of our situation pressed in. We may never meet again. And, more unsettling, I might not even survive to see another dawn. The cybercity would either accept me or leave me as another forgotten corpse at its gates. I lowered my head and studied my palm. The pain, that constant throb, was gone, but there was something else. A strange sensation as though gravity had loosened its hold, my body lighter, drawn into a strange phase of existence. I'd crossed a threshold, one I could feel pressing down on me, the way air compresses before a storm. I was stepping into a place I had no right to enter.

I glanced up at the wall again, its massive, glistening pillars towering above, unyielding and alien. The walls were constructed from some unknown material that seemed both wet and dry, a slick surface to repel anyone who might dare to climb. I took a leap, but the air, heavy and viscous, fought against me as though it were designed to restrain flight. My gaze drifted to the wall's peak, hidden by the thick clouds that blotted out the sky, casting everything in a muted gray. It would rain soon, and rain was rarely forgiving; it always dragged memories with it, ones I'd rather leave buried.

I pulled my cloak tighter and peered down at my chest. The rune glowed beneath the fabric, a steady pulse urging me forward, hungry for what lay beyond these walls. It expected me to act, to step into the unknown without question. But there was just one problem: I had no plan, no idea how to infiltrate a city that had already devoured the ambitions of countless others. I looked over at the path Kael had taken, a small pang tightening in my chest.

But there was nothing left to do but try.

I walked on, one foot dragging after the other, my eyes tracking the wall for any sign of a gate. But the shadows were deep, and no matter how much ground I covered, the entrance eluded me. The cyber cloak kept fatigue at bay, but there was a dull hunger gnawing at me, a reminder of my lack of supplies. Eventually, I slumped down against the wall, feeling the cold, unyielding surface press into my back. I could walk a bit more, maybe keep searching—but just then, a noise stopped me dead in my tracks.

The faint rustling came from the sparse dead trees nearby. My instincts kicked in, and I slipped behind a nearby pillar, just out of sight. Peering around, I spotted a group of masked figures shuffling through the darkness, their heads and bodies completely obscured by thick coverings. They were dragging several large bags, moving with a disturbing ease, as though this was routine. Their low voices barely reached me, murmuring things I couldn't quite make out. Then, without ceremony, they dropped the bags into a shallow, sunken pit in the ground.

One of the men bore a badge—a skull, twisted into a design that had a disturbing techno-aesthetic to it, clearly belonging to the cybercity. As I watched, one of the men waved his hand over the pit and snapped. A spark ignited, flickering down into the depths, and a moment later, flames leaped up. The contents of those bags started to smolder and burn, sending a foul smell into the air. My stomach churned as the truth dawned on me. Bodies—they were burning bodies. Whether they had been dead, alive, or somewhere in between, I couldn't tell, but the sight alone had bile rising in my throat.

I edged a little further forward, straining to make out any detail that might give me answers, all while keeping dead silent. There, embedded in the wall, a faint light glowed—almost imperceptible until you knew where to look. A door or a portal. So, they had their own private way in and out of the city, an underground passage that kept all of this hidden from the eyes of the public and the players.

They finished their grim task, the flames licking hungrily at the remains, and one by one, the masked figures stepped back through the portal. I tried to piece together what I'd seen. If these people, or whoever they worked for, could manipulate fire with a mere snap, then they were a different breed of threat altogether. Runes might be restricted within the city to prevent chaos or rebellion, but if these men wielded powers beyond the limits of rune magic, then the organization running things here had an upper hand—a ruthless, corrupted grip on control.

Watching them disappear into the portal, I knew one thing for certain: the cybercity was a far darker place than its gleaming lights suggested.

They had vanished, every last one of them slipping back through the portal—but the portal itself lingered, a pulsing, shrinking shimmer in the night. My pulse quickened. This was my only chance. If it closed, I'd be left stranded outside, with no way to breach the city walls.

Ignoring the stench of burning flesh and the faint, haunting echoes of pain that seemed to resonate from the pit, I approached the portal. I pulled the cloak tighter around me, and, as if responding to my very thoughts, the fabric shifted, stretching up over my mouth and nose, muffling the smell and dampening the eerie cries. The cloak swathed my face, leaving only my eyes and ears exposed, an extension of my own will. I could feel the hum of the portal, a strange rhythm pulling me forward, urging me onward.

I stood at the edge, breathing heavily, feeling the last threads of my hesitation slipping away. The portal was beginning to diminish, its glow fading slowly, almost reluctantly. No more time for second thoughts. I clutched my chest, the rune pulsing beneath my hand, as if sharing in my resolve. With one last, deep breath, I reached out, fingers trembling, and pressed my hand to the swirling surface. In an instant, the world around me blurred, and I felt myself pulled through, absorbed into the strange, humming dimension that lay beyond.

"What?" The word escaped my lips as I stumbled forward, blinking at the strange surroundings. The portal had spat me out into a cramped, grimy dead-end, boxed in by towering buildings with rusted wires hanging like twisted vines overhead. Laughter and muffled voices filled the air, drifting down from the shadows above. Men lounged on windowsills, others dangled from the wires, some perched precariously on the building edges. They drank and joked, oblivious to the world below—a world that felt like an unkempt machine, grinding on despite itself.

I jammed my hands into my pockets, head down, and started walking, moving cautiously toward what I assumed was the city's core. Behind me, the wall loomed as formidable as ever, a silent witness to my entry. I didn't dare meet anyone's gaze, keeping my focus on the cracked pavement and the harsh glow of neon signs flickering overhead. Cars zoomed in the distance, an undertone of speed and danger adding an edge to the chaotic ambiance.

I reached a crossroad where two narrow alleys veered off to the right and left. In one, I saw women draped across men, half-naked and glazed-eyed, a bitter scent of smoke thickening the air around them. In the other, a brawl was in full swing—two men slugging it out in the center of a loose crowd of spectators, some cheering, some jeering, while a few girls watched with indifferent expressions. The way men sprawled over exposed women, with drinks in hand and vacant, leering eyes, stirred a pang of revulsion in me. This place reeked of indulgence and decay, like a forgotten corner of the city where people chased oblivion rather than life.

I pushed forward, ignoring the stench of garbage piling in the alley corners, the rats scurrying between scraps. Neon lights buzzed weakly over a few dingy bars, their signs missing letters, casting broken halos over the dirty sidewalks. I knew I was in the poorest district of the cybercity. Even the rune on my chest seemed to beat in a strange rhythm, a light, almost eager pulse, as if it were feeding off the city's dark energy.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

My jaw tightened. Whatever had led me here, I knew I'd need to keep my wits about me.

I kept moving, weaving through the shadows cast by buzzing neon signs and the hulking silhouettes of rundown buildings. The streets here felt alive in a way that made my skin prickle—not with excitement, but with the sense that I was trespassing in a world that didn't care who I was or why I was here.

I kept moving, weaving through the shadows cast by buzzing signs and the hulking silhouettes of rundown buildings. The narrow alleys and streets felt like veins, twisting and pulsing with the city's lifeblood—a raw, unfiltered energy that was part menace, part allure. The deeper I went, the louder it grew, a hum of voices rising and falling, each one blending into the next in drunken shouts, sharp bursts of laughter, and whispered arguments. Every corner seemed to hold someone slouched in shadow, each silhouette leaning against walls mottled with peeling paint and grime, eyes following me with a fleeting flicker of interest before moving on.

Bars lined the street, each looking more dilapidated than the last, yet somehow alive with the sounds of lives being lived fast and rough. Neon lights flickered above doorways, their fractured glows splashing color onto the wet pavement below, illuminating puddles that reflected pieces of the broken sky. I passed one bar, then another, each spilling out the heavy scent of smoke and stale beer into the night, mingling with the metallic taste of the city air. A few patrons, swaying as they stumbled from one place to the next, jostled past me, their laughter loud, brash, the kind that carried the weight of having forgotten how it felt to laugh any other way.

Ahead, a bar caught my eye. Its sign was barely legible, buried under layers of grime and dust, only a few of its letters flickering with the last vestiges of light. "Neon's Edge"—or something like it. The words blinked in and out, trying desperately to stay alight, casting a feeble glow over the entrance, where shadows seemed to pool thickest. The sound of muffled music thumped from inside, a steady bass line pulsing like a heartbeat, carrying with it the faintest notes of a melody that was almost drowned out by the noise of the crowd.

I paused, my mouth dry. An idea took root in my mind, tempting yet foolish—maybe I could slip inside, get a drink, something to wash the grit of this place out of my throat. I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, feeling only the smooth, empty lining. No money, no tokens, not a single thing to trade. My fingers curled in frustration, but the thirst gnawing at the back of my throat was enough to keep me moving forward.

Without a second thought, I stepped through the door, bracing myself for whatever lay on the other side.

Inside, the room unfolded like a scene from a memory, dimly lit and soaked in hues of red and blue, the colors bleeding together in the haze of smoke that hung heavy in the air. The lights seemed ancient, barely clinging to life, casting distorted shadows that danced over the walls and across the faces of those packed into the room. People were everywhere, some hunched over tables littered with empty glasses, others leaning against the bar, their heads bent close in murmured conversation or raised in laughter that echoed like hollow shells.

A group of women lingered by the entrance, draped in clothes that seemed both worn and vibrant, colors dulled by use but not yet faded. They noticed me immediately, their eyes keen, assessing, taking in every detail from the cloak that wrapped around my shoulders to the faint traces of weariness etched into my expression. Their gazes weren't hostile—just curious, a practiced, well-worn curiosity that knew when and where to linger.

One of them stepped forward, her movements fluid, deliberate, a smile curving her lips as her eyes locked onto mine. She was close now, close enough that I could catch the faint trace of perfume mixed with smoke and something sharper, an edge I couldn't quite place. Her gaze flicked to my cloak, lingering on its fabric as though she'd already seen a hundred like it, yet found something in mine worth noting.

"Haven't seen you around here, stranger," she said, her voice low, each word coated in a warmth that felt practiced yet inviting. Her hand lifted, fingers brushing lightly against my arm, a touch that held me in place without force. "Lookin' for a drink?"

For a moment, I hesitated, caught off guard by the softness of her tone, by the way her hand rested against my sleeve, guiding me closer without a hint of pressure. Her eyes held a glint of amusement, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips as though she already knew the answer. I could feel the weight of her gaze, its intent, a subtle invitation wrapped in the guise of casual interest.

I glanced around, taking in the murky shapes of patrons hunched over tables or crowded around the bar, their faces partially obscured in smoke and shadow. Laughter erupted from a nearby corner, loud and abrupt, drawing a few heads before fading back into the hum of conversation. Someone brushed past me, the scent of alcohol and sweat trailing after them, mixing with the layered smells of the room—cheap perfume, cigarette ash, spilled beer, and something else, something raw and metallic that clung to the air like a second skin.

The woman's smile widened, her hand still resting on my arm. "Not much of a talker, are you?" she murmured, her voice barely audible over the noise. She leaned in just a fraction closer, her gaze never leaving mine, as though testing the distance, waiting to see if I'd pull away or lean in.

"First time in the Edge?" she asked, her voice low and smooth, each word measured. Her gaze flicked briefly to my cloak, taking in the details with a slight, knowing smile.

"Yeah," I said, almost too quietly against the noise of the bar. I cleared my throat, glancing around, unsure if I looked as out of place as I felt.

Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, this place doesn't judge. All are welcome as long as they pay, or…" She looked me up and down, as though calculating, then finished, "keep to themselves." Her eyes narrowed as she added, "Looking for something to drink?"

I hesitated, my hand reaching for my pocket before I remembered it was empty. "I am… though I'm a bit short on…"

"Money?" She chuckled, a hint of irony in her tone, as though she'd heard it all before. Her gaze drifted to the bartender, who was wiping down the counter with a rag that looked like it had seen better days. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a murmur. "People here trade all kinds of things—skills, stories, even secrets."

"Secrets?" I echoed, uncertain, but she only shrugged, her eyes glinting with a hint of amusement.

"Everything has a price." She turned toward the bar. "Let me get you a drink this time. You look like you need one."

I nodded, loosening my grip on the cloak as I followed her, threading my way through tables littered with empty glasses and ashen cigarette stubs. At the bar, she said something quietly to the bartender, who grunted and turned to reach for a bottle hidden toward the back of the shelf. A glass soon appeared in front of me, filled with amber liquid that shimmered in the dim light.

The woman raised her own glass, holding it up to me in a casual toast. "To strangers and stories," she said, her gaze steady and unreadable.

"To strangers and stories," I replied, raising the glass to meet hers.

I shifted awkwardly, feeling the weight of her gaze as she took another slow sip, savoring her drink as though testing my patience or simply trying to make me uneasy. The liquid glistened as she set her glass back down, her eyes lingering on me with a faint glimmer of amusement.

I reached out, resting my hand against the edge of the counter as I glanced down into my own untouched glass. The drink swirled inside, amber-colored and faintly shimmering under the bar lights, carrying that sharp, unmistakable scent of alcohol. The woman gave me an encouraging nod, her eyes watching with something between curiosity and mischief. She raised her brow, half-expecting, half-daring me to take a sip.

The thought crossed my mind then—no one was watching, no one to give me disapproving glances or forbid me from doing it. And yet, I hesitated, fingers brushing the glass but not lifting it. I'd grown up around people who drank whenever they pleased, housekeepers slipping flasks into aprons or offering liquor in crystal decanters to the adults who came and went like shadows through my life. It would have been easy, too easy, to just ask for a drink back then. And yet, I never did.

The woman caught the pause and let out a soft, knowing laugh. "Well?" she prodded lightly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass in a slow, absent circle.

With a dry swallow, I finally picked up the glass, feeling its cool weight in my hand. She nodded approvingly, her smile widening just a bit, as though I'd passed some unspoken test. I raised the glass to my lips, inhaling the bitter, smoky scent, feeling my heart pound a little harder as I tipped it back and took a hesitant sip.

The taste was sharp and biting, sending a warmth trickling down my throat that seemed to expand through my chest. I suppressed a small cough, the burn surprising and strange, but something in the warmth that followed was... comforting. I took another, smaller sip, letting the flavor linger this time, feeling the edge soften. My dry throat eased, the ache and grit washing away with that unfamiliar warmth.

The woman laughed again, softer this time, a smile lighting her eyes. "Not bad, huh?"

I shrugged, swallowing another sip, trying to disguise the unfamiliar feeling that this simple drink was giving me—something like freedom, maybe, or the faintest taste of rebellion. For a moment, I let my shoulders relax, leaning back into the bar, letting the atmosphere fold around me. The low hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter, the clinking of glasses and shuffling of footsteps—it was all strangely soothing.

I glanced at the woman, who was watching me with a look of mild interest, her fingers still tracing the edge of her glass. She seemed at ease here, like she belonged in this haze of dim light and cigarette smoke, in this room filled with strangers sharing brief moments of connection.

She tilted her head, her smile widening just slightly. "And as for the payment..."