Trenches – Chapter 57: The Bridge of Fates
The neon veins of San Juan pulsed against the night. Skyscrapers rose like iron titans, their glass skins painted in cascades of glowing advertisements and holographic projections. Flying transports weaved between the towers like flocks of metallic birds. And above it all, glowing brighter than any tower, stood the crown jewel of the city—
The Rainbow Bridge.
It wasn't stone. It wasn't steel. It was something else entirely—something that seemed alive. The bridge arched high across the cityscape, crystalline segments bound together by radiant streams of pure energy. Bands of color rippled across its length like ribbons of light, weaving into each other to form a breathtaking spectrum. It was as if the heavens themselves had bent down and left behind a fragment of their wonder.
But beyond its beauty, there was weight. Everyone who looked at the Rainbow Bridge could feel it—an ancient, alien presence. It wasn't just a bridge. It was a key, a lock, a force that dwarfed the imagination of humankind.
And now, for the first time in his life, Moro Kim Jama stood before it.
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The Glow of Memory
Moro's breath caught in his throat. His fists clenched without him realizing, as if his body were bracing itself. For the briefest instant, the glowing spectrum of the bridge blurred into firelight.
A memory.
He was small again, legs dangling from the edge of a metal desk inside a cluttered lab. Tools and wires scattered everywhere, machines humming with broken rhythms. The air smelled of burnt copper.
Across from him, JJ knelt down, his rugged face softened by the glow of the torch he had just lit. A flame danced lazily at his fingertips—it always amazed young Moro how his father could command fire so casually, like it was part of him.
"The Rainbow Bridge," JJ said, eyes narrowing as if he were speaking of something sacred. "It's not a road, Moro. It's not even just a passage. It is a threshold. A bond between realms. A place where power gathers, where the boundaries of this world blur."
The boy's eyes widened. "So it can… take you anywhere?"
JJ chuckled softly, brushing soot from his cheek. "Not just anywhere. To places that can break a man… or make him. Few can stand before it. But maybe one day, Moro… it will be you."
The boy beamed, heart pounding, eyes shining with the dream of it.
And just like that, the memory burned away.
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The Guard's Warning
"HEY! You there—step away from the bridge!"
The sharp, metallic bark snapped Moro back. A CD9 guard, clad in black and chrome armor, strode toward them. His visor glowed red, scanning. Behind him, others tightened formation, rifles at the ready.
Herbet raised his hands nervously. "We're just looking. No harm done."
"Orders are orders," the guard snapped. "Civilians aren't allowed this close. Move along."
Kaya placed a hand on Moro's arm, urging him gently. His aura had already begun to stir, a faint shimmer in the air. He exhaled slowly, letting the heat fade from his chest, and turned away.
Together, the trio stepped back into the neon flood of San Juan's streets, leaving behind the bridge's heartbeat.
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The Streets of San Juan
The city was alive. Food stalls hissed with steam, merchants shouted, holograms flickered promises of luxury above the poor. And beneath it all, the unseen hand of the Agency pressed its grip over the city like chains made of shadows.
Moro felt it—the injustice crawling beneath the lights. And then, as if summoned by thought, he heard the cry.
Around a narrow corner, a techno-guard loomed over a trembling woman. Her young son clutched an apple so tightly it bruised in his hand.
"You think you can steal from this city?" the guard sneered, his baton humming with energy.
"He's hungry!" the mother pleaded. "Please—just this once—"
The guard raised his weapon.
And it stopped mid-swing. Moro's hand clamped around the man's wrist like iron.
"Enough," he said, voice low, dangerous.
The guard's visor glowed brighter. "Stand down, stranger. This isn't your—"
"Apologize," Moro interrupted, his blue aura beginning to flare.
The man scoffed, ripped his arm free, and swung. In a blink, Moro sidestepped and drove his fist into the guard's ribs. The blow cracked armor and sent him skidding into the wall, unconscious.
Shouts erupted. More guards closed in. Rifles hummed.
But Kaya was faster. She blurred forward, her body moving with lethal grace. She twisted one guard's weapon, dropped him with a strike, spun into another with a kick, and hurled the third into the pavement. She stood in the rain, hair clinging to her face, golden eyes burning.
The mother gasped, clutching her son close. Tears welled as she whispered, "Thank you." And then she was gone into the night.
Moro's jaw clenched. This city devours its own people.
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The Shadow with the Sword
Then… silence.
The rain slowed. The streetlights flickered. A weight settled into the air, heavier than any guard.
And there—blocking the street—stood a lone figure.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, cloaked in black that swayed in the wind. His left eye glinted faintly beneath the hood, the right scarred, hidden. At his side hung a sword—a blade that seemed to hum with restrained violence. His aura seeped into the air, sharp as steel, pressing down on everyone present.
Kaya froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
"…Dad?"
The name left her lips like a wound.
Kiro's presence filled the alley. He said nothing, his face unreadable, but the silence was answer enough.
"The Agency sent you…" Kaya's voice trembled between anger and despair. "…to kill us?"
Kiro's reply came like stone breaking. "Yes."
Moro's aura burst to life, blue flames licking across his skin, rain sizzling as it touched him. He stepped forward, body tensed, eyes locked.
Kiro's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. His voice was calm, almost proud.
"You've grown stronger, boy. Your father would be proud."
Then, in one smooth motion, he unsheathed his blade.
The ground shuddered as his Lion Aura roared to life, red and feral, an overwhelming storm that clawed at the soul.
Moro's blue aura surged in answer, colliding invisibly with Kiro's, the two forces grinding against each other like tectonic plates. The rain itself hung suspended between them, caught in the clash of wills.
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Scaro Watching
Far away, in the cold glow of CD9 headquarters, Scaro reclined in his chair, cigarette smoke curling upward. The monitors bathed his sharp face in blue light.
And there it was. The boy. Moro Kim Jama.
On one screen: Moro's aura blazing. On another: Kiro's blade drawn.
Scaro smirked, eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation.
"Yes… let's see which way this plays out. Whether the lion devours the cub—or the cub bites the lion's throat."
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The Standoff
Back in the rain-soaked street, the silence was absolute.
Herbet's breath hitched, fear freezing his legs. Kaya's heart pounded so hard it hurt.
And in the center of it all stood Moro and Kiro.
Father and daughter. Student and predator. Two legacies bound by JJ's shadow.
Neither moved. Neither blinked. The entire city seemed to hold its breath.
And then—
They both stepped forward.
The storm had begun.
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