The city of Arclight sprawled across the horizon like a beast that refused to die. It was massive—like two cities smashed together, then stretched even wider.
Towering skyscrapers gleamed in the center, their glass and steel catching the sun, while sprawling slums and crumbling districts fanned out around them. Three years after the Abyss Gates opened, Arclight had become a patchwork of hope and despair.
The rich and the Hunters lived in the heart of the city, surrounded by clean streets and guarded walls. The rest? They clung to the edges, where Fin and Meg called home.
Fin's part of town was the worst of the worst. Broken pavement, rusted husks of cars, and the constant stink of rot and smoke.
It was where the poor ended up, the ones too weak or too unlucky to climb out. The slums weren't just neglected; they were forgotten, left to fend for themselves when monster breaks happened.
Fin had grown up there, scraping by, dreaming of something better but never quite believing it could happen.
Until now.
That morning, he stood in their tiny apartment, staring at a small pile of cash on the table. It was everything he'd saved over months of hauling scrap—worn bills and a handful of coins, barely enough to matter. Beside it was another stack, bigger, messier, shoved toward him by Meg.
"Take it," she said, arms crossed. Her purple hair was tied back, and she had that stubborn look she got when she wouldn't take no for an answer. "All of it."
He blinked. "Meg, that's your money. You've been saving for—"
"Forget it," she cut him off. "You're a Hunter now—or you will be. This is your shot. I believe in you. Take the damn money and go."
He stared at her, throat tight. Meg wasn't soft. She didn't do mushy stuff. But this? This was real. "Thanks, Meg," he said, voice low but genuine. "Seriously. I… I won't let you down."
She smirked, brushing it off. "Yeah, yeah, don't get sappy on me. Just don't die out there, okay? I'd hate to lose my chip-stealing buddy."
He chuckled, pocketing the cash. Then he hesitated, glancing at her. "Hey, uh… before I go, you want to do one last dumb thing? For old times' sake?"
She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What, like when we tried to skateboard off that busted roof and you ate dirt?"
"Better," he said, grinning. He darted to the corner of the room and grabbed an old, beat-up radio they scavenged last year. It barely worked, but if you smacked it just right, it'd sputter to life. He gave it a whack, and a staticky pop song crackled through the speakers.
"Oh no," she groaned, but she was already smiling. "You're not—"
"Dance party," he declared, cranking the volume as high as it'd go—which wasn't much. He started flailing his arms, doing the most ridiculous moves he could think of, like a scarecrow caught in a windstorm.
Meg burst out laughing. "You look like a dying chicken!" But she jumped up anyway, joining him with her own chaotic style—spinning, stomping, and tossing her head so her purple hair flew everywhere. The floor creaked under them, the lightbulb flickered, and for a minute, the slums didn't feel so heavy.
The song cut out mid-chorus, the radio dying with a sad whine. They both froze, panting, then cracked up again. "Stupid piece of junk," Fin said, kicking it lightly.
"Still the best dance party we've had," she replied, flopping onto the couch. She grabbed her chip bag and tossed him one. "Here. Victory chip for not breaking your legs."
He caught it and ate it, grinning. "Thanks. You're the worst dance partner ever, though."
"Says the guy who dances like he's fighting his shadow," she shot back, sticking out her tongue.
He laughed, then turned to the cracked mirror by the door, tugging on his "best" clothes—a faded gray button-up that smelled faintly of mothballs and jeans with a hole patched so many times it was more thread than fabric.
They were old, really old, hand-me-downs from some cousin he barely remembered. The shirt hung loose on his skinny frame, and the jeans were stiff from disuse. But it was the best he had.
"Looking like a real fancy man," she teased, leaning against the wall.
"Shut up," he said, but he smirked. Then he paused, looking at her in the mirror's reflection. "Hey, Meg… if I actually pull this off, I'm getting us out of here. The slums, this dump. All of it."
She blinked, caught off guard, then softened—just for a second. "Yeah, well… you better. I'm not living with your monster-stink forever." She punched his arm lightly. "Now go. Be a hero or whatever."
He nodded, adjusting his shirt. "Yeah. Hunter Fin. Sounds weird, huh?"
"Sounds awesome," she corrected, shoving him toward the door. "Get out of here, weirdo."
"I will be back soon."
With a deep breath, he stepped outside. The slums greeted him with its usual charm—gray skies, a distant siren, and the faint growl of something that might've been a monster or just a busted engine.
The center of Arclight, where the Hunter Guild sat, was ten miles away. No bus money, no ride. Just his boots and a whole lot of nerves.
He started walking.
---
The first mile was familiar—cracked streets, boarded-up shops, people huddled under tarps. Fin kept his head down, hands in his pockets, the cash a heavy weight against his hip.
But as he moved farther from the slums, the air felt different. Lighter, maybe. Or maybe that was just him, scared out of his mind.
What if they laughed at him? Some scrappy kid from the slums, waltzing in with torn clothes and a wild story about punching a monster? He wasn't trained. He wasn't tough. He was just… Fin.
His stomach twisted, and he almost turned back twice. But Meg's words echoed in his head: 'You've got a shot. Don't waste it.'
Mile after mile, the city changed around him. The slums faded into slightly less awful districts—warehouses, pawn shops, flickering neon signs. People stared as he passed, their eyes lingering on his patched jeans and scuffed boots.
He felt small, out of place, like a rat sneaking into a palace. But he kept going, step by aching step.
Three hours later, he stopped, legs burning, and looked down.
The ground beneath his feet had changed. Where the slums were all dirt and broken asphalt, here it was smooth concrete, clean and even. He lifted his head, and the difference hit him like a punch.
Ahead, the center of Arclight sparkled—tall buildings with shining windows, streets free of trash, people in crisp clothes walking like they owned the world. Behind him, the slums stretched out, dull and gray, a stain on the city's edge.
He stood there, right on the line where the two worlds met, feeling the gap in his bones. The slums were home, but they were also a cage. This—whatever *this* was—could be something else.
Something better.
He adjusted his shirt, took a shaky breath, and stepped forward. The Hunter Guild was close now, its sleek headquarters looming a few blocks ahead. He didn't know what waited for him there—rejection, mockery, or maybe a chance.
But for the first time in his life, he was walking toward it anyway.