“Found it!”

  The piece of metal glowed in his hand under the sunlight. It was smooth beneath Yakaov’s fingertips—a small green pte engraved with T66L5. Old, sure, but he already had the perfect home for it. A smug grin tugged at his lips.

  A loud mechanical rumble echoed nearby, shaking the junkyard ground beneath him.

  “Shit,” Yakaov muttered, sliding down the mountain of scrap.

  “My signal to leave,” he chuckled, sprinting as fast as he could. The tracker wasn’t far behind—one wrong move and he’d be fttened right along with the metal. Hurdling over sharp scraps and tangled wires, he shouted:

  “Volito!”

  The hovercycle shot forward through the haze, sleek and humming with energy. Yakaov leapt on just in time, and Volito zipped across the ndfill, weaving through the chaos like it had done this a thousand times.

  Behind them, the junkyard shrank into a speck, swallowed by distance.

  Volito glided across the rubble towards Breel—Yakaov’s home. A ghost town nestled southwest of Naos, the capital. Once, long ago, it had been part of Earth. Now, it was just one of many broken pieces of Aria.

  Breel was a skeleton of the old world. Crumbling buildings, faded paint, shattered windows. Few people lived here, most just passed through on their way to Sham—a wless western district crawling with criminals and bck market deals. The kind of pce you went to if you wanted to disappear.

  Volito halted in front of a rge concrete building—windows busted, balconies crumbling, its structure scarred by time. Not exactly welcoming. But for Yakaov, it was home.

  He’d grown up here, scraping by, hiding in the ruins, begging for drops of M5—the nutrient-rich elixir that kept Arians alive. He’d been lucky. Cleo and Randle, the couple who ran the local inn, had taken him in, fed him when they could. Offered him a room, even. But Yakaov preferred the abandoned top floor. Quieter. Safer. His own.

  He climbed the decaying staircase, boots echoing on the hollow steps. At the top, he ducked into his apartment. A mess of metal sheets, wires, and scattered clothes greeted him. He didn’t mind. Tossing his bck jacket to the floor, he dropped his bag on the bed and scratched through his dark hair.

  “Swear I left them here somewhere…” he muttered, rummaging under the bed. Eventually, a tin box full of aluminum chips and wires caught his eye. Jackpot.

  “Just a couple finishing touches.”

  He maneuvered the wires into pce, attaching the green pte to a round device. It lit up softly.

  “There we go,” he grinned.

  Yakaov set the device on his nightstand and flopped onto the bed. The room was barely bigger than a closet, lit by five glowing screens on the wall. Notes, sketches, and blueprints covered every inch of space. Boxes were stacked to the ceiling, filled with strange tech and forgotten parts. It was chaos—but it was his chaos.

  The inn was quiet, as usual. Hardly anyone passed through Breel unless they were going to Sham. It was too dangerous—full of criminals, mercenaries, and rogue dealers. The only visitors were the occasional Naos patrols, searching for stolen goods or fugitives running from the empire.

  Inside, the café-bar was dimly lit. At the counter, Cleo wiped down a few old bottles. Her short bob dipped across her face as she scrubbed. She looked up with a grin as Yakaov walked in.

  “Hey, Yak!”

  Yakaov smiled and slid onto a stool. “Where’s Randle?”

  “He was reading earlier. Should be down soon,” she said, wiping the bar. “You know how he is.”

  Cleo and Randle were opposites—she was fire and chatter, he was all quiet calm. But somehow, it worked. Yakaov always admired them.

  “RANDLE!” Cleo bellowed, hands cupped around her mouth. “COME DOWNSTAIRS, YAK’S HERE!”

  Yakaov chuckled. Cleo was always loud, always full of life. She had a way of making even a quiet pce feel warm.

  Randle eventually shuffled down the stairs, book still in hand. “Hey there, Yak. Hit the ndfill today?”

  “You bet,” Yakaov grinned. “Found the st piece I needed.”

  “Knew you would.” Randle cpped him lightly on the back. Despite the worn cap shading his eyes, his smile was clear. A few strands of green hair peeked out from under the brim.

  “So what’s the invention?” Cleo asked, pouring tea for the three of them.

  Yakaov reached into his bag and pulled out the device. It was small, round, with a strap on the back.

  “It’s a sensor,” he expined, attaching it to Randle’s shoulder. “It detects sudden energy changes. If it picks up a surge nearby, it’ll vibrate—like a warning system.”

  Cleo raised her brows. “Useful, with all those rumors flying around.”

  “What rumors?” Yakaov asked, genuinely confused.

  Cleo gave him a look. “You really need to listen to the news sometimes.”

  “He doesn’t,” Randle smirked. “He’s too busy building gadgets.”

  Cleo leaned on the bar. “Three attacks. One in Atheer—in the mines. Two more in Luch, where a couple of herbologists were attacked. No one knows what happened. Empire hasn’t released any real information yet.”

  Suddenly, the bell above the inn’s door chimed. They turned as a figure stepped in.

  A tall man with tan skin and long brown hair stood in the entryway, dressed in traditional warrior attire. White, loose-fitting pants. A matching cape. A silver belt fastened around his waist, holding a polished sword. His sharp features were unreadable, his eyes dark and calm.

  Cleo straightened. “Hello, sir. How can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’d like to reserve a room. Two nights,” he said. His voice was deep, rasped, but polite. “And a cup of coffee, please.”

  Randle’s sensor buzzed against his arm. He looked down, amused.

  “Damn, Yak. Your sensor works—it hasn’t stopped vibrating since the man walked in.”

  The man gnced toward them. “You made that?” he asked Yakaov, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

  Yakaov nodded. “He sure did!” Cleo added proudly. “Yakaov’s a genius. Only 20, and already makes gadgets that sell to merchants. He even upgrades Randle’s arm.”

  Randle lifted his mechanical arm with a small smile.

  “What’s your name, sir?” Cleo asked, pcing a steaming cup in front of him.

  “Jaisco Imer,” the man replied, taking a sip and humming with quiet satisfaction.

  “You headed to Sham?” Yakaov asked, leaning in. The stranger was different from the usual patrols. There was something different about him—something calm and dangerous.

  “Perhaps. I haven’t decided.”

  Yakaov nodded thoughtfully.

  “I’ve got to head to work before I’m te,” Randle said, downing the rest of his drink. “Thanks, Yak. I’ll test out the sensor on my shift.”

  He kissed Cleo on the cheek, nodded at Jaisco, and walked out.

  Outside, the sky melted into a fiery orange. The sun hovered low on the horizon, casting gold over the ruins. Inside, Jaisco sat at the bar, sipping coffee, the soft glow of his luminos tablet lighting up his face. He looked timeless. Like he’d seen more of the world than anyone else in the room.

  Yakaov found himself watching the stranger. The man’s posture was calm, almost regal, his face lit gently by the glow of the luminos. He looked like someone who had lived many lives, crossed many borders. There was a stillness to him that made Yakaov both curious and uneasy.

  “Where are you from, sir?” he asked quietly, approaching.

  Jaisco looked up, eyes cool. “Zvezda,” he said, then returned to reading.

  “That’s really far,” Cleo chimed in, surprised. “Did you come all the way from Zima?”

  “No. I traveled here from Atheer. I’m rarely home,” Jaisco replied casually, like crossing districts was just part of his day.

  Yakaov blinked. Even reaching Naos felt like an impossible dream, and that was technically within their own district. He’d only been once, years ago, when Randle got his synthetic arm.

  “That’s where the st attack happened, isn’t it?” Cleo asked.

  Jaisco paused, staring off in thought, then gave a small nod.

  “They say the thing causing the attacks… it’s not human,” Cleo added, voice dropping.

  “No one knows what it is. Or if it even happened at all,” Jaisco said, his voice low.

  “You think it’s fake?” Yakaov asked.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “A lot of rumors sweep through the empire. They rise, then vanish. Forgotten, like they never existed.”

  Yakaov sat in silence for a moment, absorbing that. He’d always dreamed of leaving Breel—traveling across the empire, learning new things, building better machines. But he never had the money. And Sham? That wasn’t a pce you visited without backup. It was suicide to go alone.

  “There are worse things out there than these attacks,” Jaisco said, breaking the silence. “You should always be prepared. Always alert.”

  Then he looked directly at Yakaov.

  “Say, boy. Who taught you to build the trinket you gave the man earlier?”

  Yakaov perked up. “I taught myself! Randle showed me a few basics when I was younger, fixing trains and circuits… but I figured out the rest.”

  Jaisco raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

  “Well, I’ve upgraded Randle’s synthetic arm a few times—reprogrammed the chips, improved the motion. I’ve made scanners to detect merchant scams, fixed hover engines from old tractors going to Luch… just simple stuff.”

  “That’s more than simple,” Jaisco said, impressed. “So why are you still in this town?”

  Yakaov’s smile faded a bit. “Merchants don’t pay much. They say my work’s junk. Buy it cheap, resell it.”

  Before Jaisco could respond, the bell over the inn door rang again.

  The three of them turned as someone stumbled in—Erin, the town guard. He was out of breath, sweat dripping down his forehead.

  “Cleo…” he gasped. “It’s Randle…”