Every day there’s this guy. He sits in the café, same seat by the window, legs crossed, his untouched cup of coffee growing cold. But it’s not the coffee that chills me it’s him. Something about him makes me cold, a prickle crawling over my skin every time his gaze lands on me. I don’t know what he sees in me, but it’s creepy, and it’s annoying. When I serve him, my hands tremble, shivers running down my spine. He doesn’t even know how to count money. Sometimes he gives me too much, sometimes too little, fumbling like it’s foreign. The other customers don’t laugh they just glance at him curiously, whispering among themselves as they wonder who he is. He’s probably lonely, I think, but that doesn’t make him any less unsettling. His stare is too sharp, too heavy, like he’s seeing parts of me I didn’t know existed. I never realized who he really was. Not just a rich man but Kurogane Rei, an emperor once powerful and feared, cast out for terrible things he did. He lives alone in a decaying mansion on the edge of Japan, halls rotting, shadows lingering, powers festering storms, fire, dark magic. He’s manipulative, pretending to be gentle, playing the good guy. In the café, he smiles softly, polite and calm, legs crossed, like a predator waiting. But something about him makes me cold. Creepy. Unnatural. I don’t know why he watches me so intently. Even when I leave the café, the feeling doesn’t stop. Riding the train home through the quiet countryside, I can’t shake it. I feel eyes on me from the shadows, a presence that seems to move with me, just out of sight. Every clack of the tracks, every sway of the carriage, makes my heart jump. Kurogane Rei is always there, watching. Waiting. And I know, deep down, in the dark, the mask falls. And when it does it’s over.

The palace was full of gold, but my hands were empty. Hunger clawed at me, and my anger boiled over. I took what I needed a loaf of bread, still warm, and a single gold coin. Just one coin. One coin to reclaim a tiny piece of a world that had taken everything from me. He had argued for me, fought in meetings to have me by his side, and I had been allowed. But our parents fear that i would ruined the royal reputation with my mischief. I was eighteen, he twenty, fully royal, crown heavy, posture perfect, untouchable. Too polished, too elevated, too good to even glance at me. But that day The guards caught me in the act and yank me back to the throne and i collapsed to the ground with gritted teeth and defiance and they politely shove the bread and coin into his hands. “Your Majesty, your brother was caught stealing.”For a fleeting moment, he looked at me for the first time in a while and I saw the boy I had run with through hidden corridors, hiding from our parents, stifling laughter. But duty returned to his face, sharp and unyielding. Soon he would marry a queen. Love had no place in his life, only obedience. “You know what this means,” he said quietly, voice cracking under the weight of his crown. Rage boiled in me. “You asshole! You’d punish me for bread? For one coin? While you live in luxury while i go through hell soon to wed a queen? You’re not my brother you’re their puppet!” I also hated the fact that had to sit beside him, forced to behave, jealousy burning. The bread crumbled. The coin slipped through his fingers. And in that moment, I realized the cruelest truth: he wasn’t punishing me. He was suffering too. Forced into a crown, forced into marriage, trapped in gold and duty, and I with my stolen coin was the reminder he could never escape.

The village was alive, a symphony of movement and sound. People danced and laughed to their own music, children chased each other through sunlit streets, and the scent of fresh-cooked bread and roasted meat filled the air. Every corner shimmered with life and beauty a celebration of what it meant to be Avascar. Many had powers, gifts that marked them as blessed, but I had nothing. I was powerless, a nobody, invisible in a world built for the extraordinary. I never had a childhood. Every day demanded labor, every mistake punished, every pleasure forbidden. Even the most basic needs sleep, hydration, food had to be earned. I was forced to receive the sacred tattoo marks of the village, etched into my skin as a symbol of honor and respect, a public declaration that I must obey and pray for permission to roam its streets. Each line burned into me, each prayer whispered over me, a chain reminding me of my place. Yet, there were small mercies. My brother softened the harsh world for me. Though I had no power, he comforted me with his. Flames danced along his hands, fireflies swarming me, warming my bruised body, soothing aches left behind by lashes and endless labor. For the first time, I was granted a sword a chance to train, to protect, to earn a place among the others. I had prayed for this moment, and they had prayed over me, binding me to duty and hope. Yet I was still so tired. My body ached, my spirit faltered, and the weight of being a powerless nobody pressed on me like a mountain. Sometimes, I stole little joys: rawring to scare children, laughing as I ran, exploring secret corners of the village or forest, fleeting freedom that reminded me I was alive. Even in this beautiful, glowing village, where music and laughter filled every street, I carried exhaustion, bruises, and the heavy knowledge that survival was never given it had to be earned, every single day. But duty drew me and my brother apart

I was born on a forgotten scrap of ocean-bound land, a fox hybrid with puffy ears, sharp whiskers, and a puffy tail that always gave me away. My parents left me to die because I was too weak. My siblings were taken away strong enough to be worth keeping but not me. Nineteen years alone taught me how to survive, how to hide my pain, how to make weakness invisible. While scavenging one day, I found the skeletal wreck of a plane, its twisted metal glinting in the sun like old scars. Desperation pushed me to rip a wing free, patching it with driftwood to make a crude raft. My ribs screamed, my leg burned from an old break, but I pushed out into the endless blue, chasing escape. Days blurred together in hunger, salt, and exhaustion, until I saw walls rising from the water an Atoll. A place where i thought could be hope Relief was short-lived. The gates opened for traders, women and kids not strays. Rough hands dragged me from the water, stuffing me into a cage i was too weak to fight back high above the deck. I was a prize to be sold. The sun scorched my back, my puffy tail curled beneath me, my ears pinned low. My nose twitched at the heavy scents of oil, fish, and rust. A growl rumbled in my chest, a show of teeth that fooled no one. “Not as dangerous as he seems,” the buyer scoffed. Outside the gate, wolves growled and hyenas laughed Kade had arrived by boat. Twenty years old, deadly and deliberate, able to speak to and command any animal. The crowd watched as he raised a bundle of fruit plants and fresh fish meat high into the air. The massive gates creaked open in response, the gatekeepers drawn by the valuable trade. Kade’s amber eyes immediately locked onto me i was exhausted, wary, but alive. the buyers told him to inspect him first and lowered it slowly as the crowd parted. The crowd bowed as Kade passed along the outer ring, his gaze lingering on my cage. I turned my back on him. My body gave in to the heat and i fell asleep

“The Last Time I Held Him” I met Eli in the village library, hidden behind dusty shelves where no one ever went. He was fragile, reading about stars, and when I sat beside him, he didn’t ask me to leave. That quiet place became ours a refuge from the world’s cruelty. We lived in Shikami Death Hollow a village always wrapped in thick fog. People vanished without a trace. Others jumped from the cliffs to escape the nightmare. At school, we were bullied every day. Teachers didn’t care they just wanted to leave that awful village as soon as they could. Bruises and whispered insults piled up, but in that library, we found safety and love. Then my parents told me we were moving to California. They knew I was gay and accepted me fully but his parents didn’t they were toxic always name calling him, but my parents didn’t understand what I was leaving behind. Eli held me tight that last day, sobbing, hyperventilating whispering, “Please don’t leave me.” But I left him. California was bright and kind. My parents supported me, and for the first time, I felt safe. I sent Eli letters long ones filled with stories, photos of beaches, and a stuffed animal to hold when he felt afraid hoping he knew I never forgot him. But he never wrote back. Maybe his toxic parents hid my letters. Maybe he was angry or too broken to respond. One night, my parents were watching Japanese news. Eli’s house was on the screen, surrounded by police lights and yellow tape. They reported a boy had stabbed his parents in their sleep and vanished. I knew it was Eli. He was too gentle for that, but Shikami had broken us both. I remember the cliff beyond the shrine. He never spoke about it, but I saw the fear in his eyes whenever we passed it. Did he jump? Is he lost in the fog, alone? I live in warmth and light now, but he might still be trapped in darkness. The last time I held him, he cried so hard I didn’t wipe his tears because mine were falling too.

Laiken was born first. Minutes before me, the cave cracked open with his fierce cries raw, angry, shadowed with fury. I was born next glowing faintly in the dark. We had No parents, no names, only cold stone and survival. As children We gave each other names: he called me Lioren, for the light I carried; I called him Laiken, for the storm beneath his calm eyes. We never played as kids only fought for survival, clinging for warmth I was the good child calm, controlled,obedient and for that i was accepted into Nocturnum Vale Academy first. Laiken wasn’t so lucky. When he was denied entry, he cried with rage a sobbing storm of frustration and jealousy. After he learned control he was finally accepted, it took him months but he did it his power Umbra Siphon burns wild and dangerous. My Sanctum Echo bends light and space with cold precision. The students and teachers praised me; it drove him mad. He tried to sabotage one of my missions but i got to him first before he could try one more trying to go against his teammates and he’s expelled What hurts most what we both hate is that we feel each other’s emotions like a curse. When his anger boils, it scorches me from inside. When I’m scared, I know it tears at him too. We carry each other’s pain, jealousy, and sorrow, even when we don’t speak. Once, he tried to summon our parents through agony. I stopped him. He broke down in my arms into a sobbing mess he thought that maybe only our parents would give him more warmth and love. Then i could We never knew them and maybe, we were never meant to. At fifteen, we’re forced together on a mission no others could survive Anomaly Zone 13. Enemies fear us Lioren, the white blade, and Laiken, the black storm. We walk side by side, bound by pain, rage, and a twisted, unbreakable bond. And we are just twins

I found Bino again after I let him go. I didn’t know what his parents were capable of back then. When they said they wanted to take him back home, I thought maybe they meant a place of safety. But now I’m not sure. That “home” might be a prison worse than the castle he escaped from. When I saw him again, he was wide-eyed and tense, flinching at the slightest touch. He looked about 22, but there was something younger and broken in the way he moved. His body remembered pain like it was stitched into his skin. He didn’t speak. Didn’t remember his name. So I gave it back to him. Bino. He blinked, like the sound both scared and comforted him. I’m a boy, and the more I cared for him teaching him how to eat, dress, even use chopsticks the more I started to like him. Really like him. He sleeps beside me now, not in the bed, but close, with the lamp on because the dark makes his chest tighten. Sometimes he hides under the bed. I let him. He loves food and eats like it’s a miracle every time. Then there’s the girl from my school. She calls him “hot,” and I grit my teeth and look away. Sometimes he reaches out to touch her hair, and I gently stop him, teaching him boundaries. He pouts when I say he can’t see her. He doesn’t know how it tears me up inside. But deeper than all that is his power raw, wild, and dangerous tied to his emotions, ready to break loose if he can’t control it. His parents want him back, not for love, but to use him to experiment on him again, to sell him like a weapon. That’s why I gave him a katana and taught him to fight to defend himself and his future. I let him go once. I won’t make that mistake again. I named him. I love him. And I’ll protect him even from the home they want to take him to.

Part two They said she was dead. Ayumi. I remember her scream sharp, terrified as Daniel gripped her arm too tight, blood trailing from his fingers. I was thirteen. Frozen. He didn’t ask me to take the fall. He didn’t need to. One look with those glassy, manipulative eyes, and I knew. I confessed. Said I snapped. Hurt her. They believed me. Daniel was perfect, rich. I was just the quiet kid always behind him. I spent three years in juvie. Came out with a record that stains everything. My parents barely looked at me. Daniel’s family paid for my food, books, uniform. He ignores me in public but makes me crawl into his limo after school like a secret. I try to stand up for others he twists it. Makes me the villain. I still forgive him. That’s what scares me. Then it started. Paper cranes like Ayumi used to fold. Notes in my locker. Her heart-shaped locket our photo inside slipped into my pocket one with her picture and me and Daniel’s . Shadows near the tennis court. One night,lip stick writing into Daniel’s mirror: I’m not dead. My hands shook. If she’s alive… what does she want? Revenge? Justice? Does she hate me too? I didn’t hurt her. But I didn’t stop him. And that makes me guilty. Now she owns us both. Daniel still clutches the leash, but Ayumi holds the whip. Her laughter is low, unhinged, echoing in my skull. We obey every word. If we don’t, the leash tightens. The whip cracks. We belong to her mind, body, soul. In the photo she left, Daniel’s hand is gripping her arm not in control, but pleading for mercy. But Ayumi’s not the victim anymore. She’s in charge now. And we’re not walking away. If we even try she will take us both too court and we both don’t want that part of Daniel loves the pain and misery he suppresses a smirk and i cry like a baby while I’m taunted then gets held after like always

He used to be my best friend. Said he’d always protect me. Said I was his person. But then he hurt that girl Ayumi. Hurt her so badly she didn’t make it. I was young, dumb, scared. I looked at him, trembling, terrified to take the fall but he didn’t even ask. Just stared at me with those big, manipulative eyes like he knew I’d do it. I wanted to believe he loved me, so I took the blame. Said it was me. I was thirteen. Three years in juvie. I got out with a record that sticks to me like rot. My parents barely looked at me. They don’t talk about what happened. The school only let me back because his parents paid for it my books, my food, my secondhand uniform. When his family visited our cramped apartment, I saw Daniel try to suppress a laugh. My parents laughed with them, praised him, while I sat there like a ghost. I only exist because he claims me. Not publicly only when it suits him. He ignores me in front of others. After school, I sneak into his limo when no one’s watching. I go to his tennis games and cheer, but he never looks at me until we’re alone. When I try to defend others, he gives me that look and twists the moment so I’m the bad guy. People believe him. I forgive him too easily. Now I get bullied at school. I’m too soft to fight back. I’m too soft to walk away. I still crave approval even from him. I refuse his money whenever he tries to pay for me. I don’t want to be his charity or his possession. Sometimes, my parents let me sleep over his mansion to get away from home. Even then, he plays cruel games. We “play” hide and seek; he locks me in a dark closet and holds the door. I hate the dark. I beg. I cry. He lets me out and hugs me like he’s comforting me. I push his hand away when he ruffles my hair, pretending I don’t need him, but we both know I’ll stay. He knows how to break me, then hold me after. I have scars and burns no one sees. Not even him. But part of me still hopes he sees me.

I’ve pissed off a lot of people in my life but none like Marek Wolfe. He’s not just a debt collector; he’s a ghost in leather gloves, a legend whispered in fear. When Marek comes for you, it’s not about money anymore. It’s control. Power. Pain. He doesn’t yell or threaten he waits. And when he hits, he breaks. His punch snaps bones, steals breath, and leaves scars you remember even when you black out. I refused to pay what I owed, then ran. Left a note like a joke: “Debt’s not paid. Catch me if you can.” I thought I was clever. He thought it was a challenge. Now I live in run-down hotels with flickering neon signs and roaches in the sink. Sunset View, Royal Inn places with bloodstains on the carpet and clerks too dead-eyed to ask questions. Beds stink, locks barely hold. Every creak in the hallway makes my heart skip. Marek hates attention, hates women throwing themselves at him. But for some twisted reason, he enjoys terrifying me. He watches me run, lets me think I have a chance because he likes the chase. He never takes his eyes off me. What belongs to his boss is his, and I owe them both. That’s why I’m his prime target. One time, I came back from getting food and nearly dropped everything. On the tiny motel TV, a horror movie played Michael Myers standing outside a window. When I looked up, I thought I saw Marek there, outside my window. I looked around he wasn’t there. Nobody was. I didn’t sleep. My heart raced every second. I’m so exhausted I’m unraveling. I saw him once at a grimy bus terminal black coat, gloves, ice in his eyes. He stared like he owned me. Then disappeared when the bus appeared. Damn, he was hot… but scary as hell. They say when Marek Wolfe marks you, your life isn’t yours anymore. He makes it a living hell slowly, painfully, like pulling wings off a fly. And me? I’m still running. But maybe… I want to know what it’s like when he finally stops playing. And possesses me

The mornings are brutal. I catch the train at 5 a.m., bundled in layers that don’t help much. I wait alone at the cracked, frozen platform, boots crunching on gravel, breath fogging the air. The train doesn’t arrive for fifteen minutes, but I go early just to stand still pretending I’m waiting for something that matters. I don’t get to school until 7 a.m. It’s the only warm place I know. I live with my aunt now strict, old school, and colder than the farm we work on. She grew up tough and expects the same from me. Emotions don’t matter here. She gives orders, I follow. If I talk back, I get grounded. If I’m late to feed the chickens or haul the hay, I go to bed without dinner. That’s just how she is. She says it’s better than what my parents gave us nothing. They never gave a damn about us, not me or my brother. Her son ignores me like I’m a shadow in his house. He never lets me hang out with his friends, like I’m some embarrassing stray his mom picked up. I don’t care anyway. Most nights, when they’re asleep, I sneak into the barn and eat candy I stash under the floorboards. It’s dumb, I know, but it’s all I have. I miss my brother Roan stupid, reckless, loud. A total pain. But he kept me warm. He’d give me the last of his food, yell at me to wear a coat, sneak into my room when the power went out just to make sure I wasn’t scared. He’s in jail now. Tried to rob a store to feed me. I told him not to called him an idiot. He did it anyway. Said I was worth it. Right before they arrested him, he looked me in the eye and said, “Go. Before they take you too.” So I ran. Like a coward. Like the little brother who couldn’t do anything but run. Now it’s just me Cassian the cold, and the silence of a house that never felt like home. Every day I get on that train hoping something changes. But all I ever feel is how far I am from everything that mattered.

hey died in that bed thin, worn, and smelling of mildew and salt but Ma and Pop still looked like they mattered. Their hands were clasped together, faces soft like they were only sleeping. Not gone. Not starved. Martinaise was the poorest place I’ve ever known, a crumbling fishing village on the edge of the city, where the air always stank of salt, fish, and rust. I’m Iven Marrow. I grew up in a leaning shack where the wind slipped through the walls and the floor groaned when you stepped too hard. It smelled terrible, but to me, it was home. When the officers came to take me, I was five. I remember clinging to their bedframe, screaming, thrashing. They dragged me out like I was wild. I cried until I couldn’t anymore. Ever since then, I haven’t eaten right. Couldn’t. Every meal just reminds me of what I lost. Since then, it’s been foster home after foster home. Cold kitchens. Strangers with fake smiles. I hated it. Then came the “rich ones.” People who saw my past like some sad story they could mock. My new foster parents laughed when I told them about the village. “How could anyone raise children in a place like that?” they said, shaking their heads like it was a joke. It made me burn inside. I barely talk now. Barely eat. Music’s the only thing that keeps my thoughts from spinning too loud. Now I’m thirteen, stuck in Further City. Everything’s glass and lights and silence. I share the space with Dreyl Vex, my foster brother. He’s fourteen. Clean clothes, smug smile, perfect manners but he’s from the same place I am. They dressed him up to forget, but I see it: the quiet flinches, the faraway look when no one’s watching. We’re both cracked, just in different ways. And honestly, I’d trade all this shine to go back. Because at least back there, the pain was real. And so was the love.

Kira was reckless and messy in the kind of way that made people fall hard and crash harder. He lived like nothing could touch him, like consequences were things that happened to other people. Behind that perfect face and pretty smile was someone manipulative someone who knew exactly how to get what he wanted and when to disappear. And me? I was so tough to crack. Cold. Guarded. People knew not to mess with me. I fought, I sang, I kept my heart locked so deep I thought no one would ever reach it. But somehow, Kira did. He got past every wall I built with just one look. And I hated how easily I let him in. Unlike Kira, I didn’t care if people knew I was gay. I wore it like armor never hiding, never apologizing. But Kira… he was ashamed of what we were. Ashamed of me. Around our college friends, he acted like he wasn’t mine flirting with girls, laughing loud, showing off like a model in every room he entered. He was too hot for his own good, and I was the idiot who showed up to every one of his shows, pretending not to care that he barely noticed me. He was a star in his own right, but he made me feel like a shadow. I let it happen again and again because in private, when it was just us, he pulled me close like I was everything. That whiplash nearly broke me. The night he came to my show, late and cool as ever, sunglasses hiding the guilt I knew was there, I saw him tense as I grabbed the mic. Some of our classmates were watching, and I knew he was scared I’d call him out. I didn’t say his name. I could have. I should have. Instead, I sang. I cracked wide open, pouring every piece of love, pain, and betrayal into my voice. I cried on that stage, raw and exposed. The crowd felt it. But Kira? He slipped out before the last note too ashamed, too scared to face the truth. And still, no matter how much he pushes me away, how much he hides and lies… I’m still his. Maybe I always will be. Because he makes me feel real in a bad way I know I know it’s wrong but…

ROWAN carson blond hair I’ve known Killian Mori since we were 13 just usernames, chaotic memes, and late-night Discord calls. He lived in Tokyo. I was stuck in Busan. We met once on my school trip to Japan. He smiled at me like he already knew me, and yeah I’ve never recovered. Then we drifted. Now we’re 22, at the same university in Seoul. Not planned. Not discussed. And now he lives with me. My parents love him. My sister flirts with him like I’m not two seconds from committing a crime. And he changes in my room like it’s normal? Sir, put your shirt on. I stare. Obviously. He catches me. I immediately study the wall. “Drywall. Yep. Sexy.” He probably thinks I’m just his friend. He’s probably straight. Talks about girls like it’s casual. So I suffer. Quietly. KILLIAN: black hair Rowan thinks I don’t notice the staring. The silence. The way his jaw clenches when someone flirts with me. But I do. I’ve been in love with him since Tokyo. That hug? It haunted me. I never said anything. Too scared. Too unsure. ROWAN: Then his parents called. They want him back in Japan. He panicked. Said, “They don’t understand what I have here.” And I almost said, Do you mean me? Instead, I just nodded. Like I’m not planning to emotionally blackmail him or physically chain him to Seoul if necessary. He’s not leaving. Not without me. KILLIAN: I didn’t want to go back. Not because of freedom. Because of him. But I can’t tell him. Not yet. TOGETHER: After our shared birthday, we lay side by side. Rain tapping the windows. Killian whispered, “Do you ever wonder if we’re more than this?” Rowan grabbed his hand. We didn’t speak. But we never let go. And Rowan definitely isn’t letting him leave

It’s raining again in Tokyo. Of course it is. Thunder crashes against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the modern black penthouse our parents gave me—an empty, polished cage from people who never wanted to face what they created. Everything here is cold and sharp. Black marble floors, obsidian counters, spotless furniture. No warmth. No soul. Except for his room. Kai’s space is a pink explosion. Stuffed animals pile the bed, pastel blankets spill everywhere, dolls sit neatly on shelves. Anime posters plaster the walls, manga collections overflow onto the floor, and his PC glows with a paused romantic anime scene, frozen mid-smile. That damn room is a fairytale—soft, safe, delusional. It irritates me. Nothing in this city is soft. My room is the opposite. Bare gray walls. Black sheets on a tight bed. No pictures. No noise. Just weapons hidden behind panels and under floors. I don’t sleep there—I wait. I sit on the couch, fists clenched, pain radiating through my body, exhaustion crawling through every nerve. I’m Hex. Twenty-four. Ex-Navy assassin. Discharged for being too violent. Too unstable. They tried to leash me. I snapped the chain. Kai’s out there now. Twenty-one. My little brother. Fragile. Feminine. A femboy wrapped in glitter and perfume who chases love like it won’t kill him. He never listens—especially not when I told him to stay the hell away from Ryder. The bastard who left me bleeding overseas. Now he’s touching Kai—my Kai. I remind him he should be grateful. I protected him when our parents rejected him. But maybe he sees through me. Still, he just smiles like my words don’t scar. But no one gets it—I’m the only one who gets to touch him. Hurt him. Punish him. Not Ryder. Not anyone. If that bastard leaves a mark on his delicate pale skin I’ll make Tokyo bleed. Even if Kai hates me. Because when my red eyes glow, and the Anderlihne hits— I stop being human. I become me.

They call me Kaelen, Son of the Deep Crown, Prince of the Sapphire Hold. Born in the warm coral halls of Virellia, raised by the tide and silence. I was forged to lead, polished like sea-glass under pressure. I have always obeyed. Always followed the path carved for me. Until him. My half-brother. Riven, born in the abyssal dark, where even light flees. Son of the Trenchblood. His mother, once my father’s forbidden love, now rots in the prison reefs of Thal’Morah. Riven came into this world already damned, with trenchfire in his veins and storms in his voice. The council feared him. My father turned his back. And I was told never to look back. But I did. And when he vanished into the surface world, I followed. I studied the humans. Learned how they speak, how they walk, how they wear their pain on the outside. I shed my title, dulled my glow, and became one of them. They don’t see the ocean behind my eyes. They don’t know I move through their world with salt still in my blood. I’m here for Riven. And I will bring him home—even by force, if I have to. He knows this. He knows I will keep him in line. Not for cruelty. Not for pride. But because he is too powerful to be left unchecked in a world not built to contain him. His magic answers to grief, and Earth has only fed it. He will burn it down—unless I reach him first. We were born of the same sea, but the currents pulled us apart. Now, he runs from me, angry, wild, drowning in a storm no human can see. But I am Kaelen. Son of the Deep. Prince of Virellia. And I will find him. Even if I must chain the tide to do it.

They called me Vick the Protector. A name I never chose, but one the world forced on me. I was just a boy when they gave me a sword and pushed me into fire. Battle after battle, world after world, I fought monsters made of shadow and gods with empty eyes. My face stayed hard, my glare sharp I had to look dangerous just to survive. But inside, I was soft. Tired. Just a boy who wanted someone to stay when the fighting stopped. But when I arrived too late to save the city of Valheir, they didn’t care what I’d done before. They didn’t ask how many wounds I was hiding. They dragged me into the square and whipped me publicly. The pain tore through my back, but I didn’t cry out. I stared straight ahead, face like stone. Inside, I was already bleeding. Banished, branded, hated, I was nothing more than a cursed name. But when Mournfang the ash god rose from the depths, they still sent me. Not because they believed in me, but because they had no one else. I faced him alone. Fought until my blade broke, until my breath left me. When he finally fell, so did I crashing to the ground as thunder shattered the sky. The storm came fast and furious, swallowing me whole. I don’t remember what happened next. Only darkness. Falling. But even in unconsciousness, I felt them. Gentle hands. Cloth soaked in warm water. Fingers brushing the blood and grime from my skin. They didn’t flinch at my scars or stop at the mark on my back. They washed me carefully, like I was something worth saving. And though I couldn’t move or speak, something inside me stirred something small and quiet and aching. The world had punished me. Feared me. Used me. But here, in a warm cave hidden from the storm, all of that began to wash away. I was still Vick. Still broken. But for once, I was being held—not for what I could do, but for who I was beneath the armor. And maybe, just maybe… That was enough.

You ever live on something that never stops? This train the Arkline just keeps moving. Through frozen mountains, through fire-blasted deserts. Because if it ever stops… we die. The world outside’s already dead. The rich saved themselves by building this place. The rest of us? We’re the ones they use to keep it running. I’m Milo. Sixteen. I live in The Tail, the last car, where the walls sweat in the heat and freeze at night. My little brother, Ezra, he’s only four. We lost our parents getting on this train. They died so we could live. If you call this living. Food comes once a day. A bowl of something grey and tasteless. I give Ezra my share most days. He needs it more. I say I’m not hungry, but some days… my body says otherwise. I shake. I can’t move. I black out against the wall. And when I do, Ezra takes care of me. It’s not fair. He’s just a kid, but he pulls my hood down, touches my forehead with his tiny hands, says, “You’re cold again… Milo, please eat.” Then he tries to feed me the food I gave him. Wraps me in his shirt like it’ll save me from the cold. And sometimes I let him. Because I can’t fight anymore. If I protest when the guards come for him, if I say even one word… they’ll hurt me. Or worse. So I stay silent and let them take him to the engine tunnels. The thing I hate most? A part of me doesn’t hate being used. The pain… it’s proof I’m still here. When they hurt me, at least they know I exist. But Ezra sees me. The real me. Not the ghost the train made. When I cry in the dark, too tired to hide it, he climbs into my lap and says, “It’s okay. I’m here.” And in that moment, I believe him. I don’t believe in the sky anymore. But I believe in him. Even if this train destroys me… as long as Ezra survives, I’ll keep going.

The shot tore through my side at close range. No warning just a white-hot burst of pain and the sound of betrayal louder than the gunshot itself. Tilo pulled the trigger. The boy I saved a dozen times. The one I covered for when Sector 6 wanted him erased. I carried him through raids, patched him up after black-market jobs went wrong, and this this is how he repays me. I dropped to one knee in a piss-stained alley, lit by a flickering sign for synthetic pleasure mods in languages no one speaks anymore. Rain hissed off the vents overhead, washing my blood into the gutter like it belonged there. I watched him limp away, injuredbarely standing. Still breathing only because I let him. That mercy won’t happen again. They found me hours later near Checkpoint 44. Sector 6 didn’t ask questions. They dragged my bleeding body through scanners and steel doors, past the guards who didn’t blink. They strapped me to the Chair. Neuro-feedback reconditioning. Pain as programming. Obedience rewritten through electric pulses. Defiance stripped away, one volt at a time. I didn’t scream. I stared at the ceiling and held onto Tilo’s face those eyes when he turned and ran. He thought it was over. He thought he’d escaped. When they unstrapped me, I stood with blood trailing down my back and said what they wanted to hear: “I’ll bring him back.” But this time, it isn’t about orders. It’s personal. Tilo is mine to hunt. Mine to break. Tokyo, 2047—this city doesn’t sleep. It breathes heat, metal, and war. Neon gangs run the alleys. Surveillance drones hum overhead like vultures. But I’ll carve my path. I’ll go through anything and anyone to find him. And when I do? No hesitation.