The world was ending — again.
Aera Solis crouched beneath a twisted steel beam, arms wrapped around her knees, lungs burning from the smoke that filtered through the cracks in the broken walls. The building above her groaned with every distant impact, concrete straining like old bones. Another shell exploded nearby, sending a violent tremor through the floor. Dust rained down. Somewhere outside, a scream was swallowed by the thunder.
She hadn't meant to be here.
This city was supposed to be neutral — or at least unimportant enough to avoid attention. But war didn't care about maps. Now, artillery fell like rain, indiscriminate and merciless. The place she had entered only hours ago for shelter was quickly becoming her tomb.
Aera had never felt so small. She wasn't a soldier. Not a fighter. Just another wanderer trying to make sense of a dying world. Her satchel, filled with old documents and data drives scavenged from forgotten archives, sat beside her — precious, but useless against a falling sky.
Her heart beat faster as another explosion shook the foundation. This one closer. Too close.
The ceiling split above her.
She braced for the collapse.
But instead of rubble, it was a sound that broke through — low, sharp, and mechanical. A hiss of compressed air. Then footsteps. Too smooth to be scavengers. Too precise to be panicked.
A wall across the room was sliced open by a clean breach. Smoke poured in from the edges of a high-frequency cutter, and then they stepped through — figures clad in sleek armor, matte black with gold-etched insignias she didn't recognize. Six of them, maybe seven. Moving like one.
She froze.
One of them — taller, at the center — stepped forward, scanning the room with glacial calm. His helmet retracted with a whisper of steam, revealing a face that didn't look tired or cruel — just... focused. Every line carved by discipline, not time.
Aera couldn't speak. She didn't know who they were. Soldiers? Enforcers? Rebels?
The tall man looked straight at her, eyes narrowing slightly as if calculating something only he could see.
"Civilian," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "You're in a confirmed artillery grid. Extraction is standard."
Standard?
One of the others approached her — a woman this time, her helmet still on — and extended a gloved hand. "It's okay. We're here to evacuate survivors."
Aera hesitated, blinking. She wasn't used to kindness from armed people.
Then another shell dropped, shaking the building. No time to think. She took the hand.
"We've got her," the woman called out.
The leader nodded once. "Three minutes. Move."
The team flowed around her like a current — alert, wordless, focused. Aera followed them through the fractured halls, her footsteps clumsy beside theirs. The man leading them — the tall one — never looked back, but somehow, she felt his presence guiding them through every turn.
Outside, the city was on fire. Drones whined overhead, scanning for targets. Buildings collapsed in slow, agonizing cascades. But above it all hovered a sleek black dropship, silently descending like a blade through smoke.
As they approached the ship, another blast lit up the street behind them. Aera stumbled. The tall man turned, caught her by the arm without missing stride, and lifted her back to her feet.
"You're okay," he said. Not cold. Not warm. Just... true.
She stared at him. "Who are you?"
There was a flicker — not hesitation, but something unreadable in his eyes.
"I am Kael Riven."
The name meant nothing to her. But somehow, the way he said it made her understand that it should have.
They boarded the ship. As the ramp sealed shut behind them, Aera turned and looked back one last time. The city she had known — or tried to — was gone. Swallowed by smoke and fire.
She sat in silence as the dropship rose, listening to the hum of engines and the soft static of tactical comms. The woman who had pulled her out offered a ration pack. Aera didn't take it. Her eyes were still fixed on Kael, who stood near the cockpit, speaking quietly to his unit.
He wasn't what she expected from a soldier.
He hadn't been cruel. Or kind.
He had been inevitable.
And something in her gut whispered: this wasn't the end of her journey. It was the beginning.