I woke up in this world and couldn't remember anything.
The only thing left in the haze of my mind was a fractured image, me? I'm not sure, but I saw a person, standing tall before a roaring crowd, lifting his right hand, palm flat, facing the ground with stern expression. There was confidence in that man's stance, courage in the way he wore his military uniform. Whenever I have that dream I felt it was me, I didn't just feel, I was certain. I could remember hearing someone mentioning his name which made me feel more and more that it is me, his name... it started with Adol...
"Hey, Montana! What you up to sitting there staring into the sun like some kinda prophet, hunger does make one act with serenity, innit?"
The voice yanked me from the fog and brought me back to reality.
I blinked and turned towards the voice. My only friend in this damned world stood before me, hands on his hips and a smug grin plastered across his face. El Pable Escondido. Broad-shouldered, messy black hair that curled around his ears, and eyes like someone who never learned how to back down. He was loud, impulsive, and stubborn, but in a way that made you respect him.
He was also the only one I trusted.
"Just thinking," I muttered.
"Dangerous habit," he snorted, plopping down beside me on the rusted pipe. We were behind the textile factory, break time, smoke and steam hissing from every corner of the brick-walled alley. The scent of oil, sweat, and molten metal filled the air. In this part of town, the sky always looked like it was choking.
We lived in the age of steam now. Mana had slowly dried up. Some blamed the gods. Others blamed science. Whatever the cause, people had moved on as out of a thousand, less than 70 people can use it making it sound more and more like a myth to current people.
Factories rose like castles, and the poor, like us, were their soldiers (slaves). El Pable and I had left the orphanage three years ago. We slept in the storage shed out back and worked every shift we could get just to afford dry bread and watered-down stew.
"I hate this life," El Pable muttered suddenly after sitting down with his stomach grumbling. "This factory bullshit. Waking up, scraping by, bowing to people who wouldn't give a damn if I died. Everything is fucked up, day by day, death bodies filled the streets, hungry children roam around, day by day a new sickness outbreaks happened, we don't know when it will be our turn and out there! In streets neater than here, the air fresher and surrounding and kids happy lives the rich people who don't give a f if we die. I hate this life!"
"We survive," I replied flatly, "we are living a better life than them that is all that matters isn't it?"
"Yeah? That what you call it? Survival? Bullshit, I don't want to only survive, that is for the normal people and I don't believe in normal, I have a destiny, I'm supposed to rule not serve, I'm supposed to make rules, not live by them. Tsk."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers twitching like they wanted to strangle fate. "You know what I want, Montana? The underground."
I said nothing.
"No, really. Think about it," he continued. "No clocks. No shift whistles. No foremen breathing down your neck. Just freedom. A life where you take what you want. Money, power, respect. Where you're feared and respected. Make rules and not live by them. I heard of a guy... runs the whole port district without ever being seen. Like a ghost. Controls the black market. People listen when he whispers and even the top leaders must make deal with him or else he has the powers to expose their darkest secrets to their enemies. That's the life I want."
I turned to him, expression neutral. "You want to be feared?"
"I want to be free and if that means being feared then so be it."
"That world you're dreaming about? It eats people alive. You see the shine, the surface, but underneath it's all blood, betrayal, and addicts selling their souls for another dose and if you managed not to succumb to the madness of killing, sex and drugs then you might die during your journey of climbing up by friends or colleagues betraying you and even if you managed to, you do know you will have to live your life in fear forever right?"
"Better than selling your time for scraps."
"Most people down there don't rise, Pable. They crawl. They rot. The ones who rise? They're the minority. They do things you and I can't even imagine. You want to live like a king, but you'll die like a dog."
He scoffed. "So what? We live like dogs anyway."
We sat in silence. He was right, I had no way to refute him.
Then he turned to me, eyes glinting. "What about you, Montana? What's your dream life?"
"I don't have any." I replied.
"Come on pal, I know you do. Tell me, you can count on me never telling anyone." El Pable Escondido pester me, unwilling to give up.
I didn't answer.
Not because I didn't want to.
Because something... shifted.
My vision blurred. I could almost see it again. A field, endless and scorched. The sound of boots marching in rhythm. The thundering sky split by fighter planes. I saw a man, me? someone else? I couldn't tell, raising a flat hand. Thousands screaming in unison, saluting. Famine. War. Flags waving under gray skies. Power that demanded obedience. Power that broke nations.
My chest tightened.
Then the vision vanished.
"Yo, space cadet. You hungry or possessed?" El Pable elbowed me.
I blinked. "Huh?"
He laughed, standing up and dusting off his pants. "C'mon, man. Let's grab something to eat before we go back in. Maybe that'll knock whatever god-haunted dream you were having out of your skull."
I stood slowly, still shaken.
"Yeah... food sounds good."
We walked off together through the steam and soot, two orphans with pasts buried in fog, futures uncertain, and names that once terrified the world.
End of Chapter One.