Chapter 0 - The Last Run
The explosion came without warning.
A thunder tore through the ruined skyline, and the world turned white for a heartbeat.
Then fire bloomed where an apartment block had once stood. Concrete fractured. Glass rained down like crystal hail. The ground trembled as if the earth itself wanted to shake Ledoria (A city in the Middle East) free.
Through the smoke, two figures ran.
The boy was perhaps seventeen —curly hair matted with ash, face streaked with dirt and tears he no longer had time to wipe. His hand gripped that of a little girl no older than nine. She stumbled as they ran, breath ragged, shoes half-burnt from hours of fleeing through debris and flame.
Behind them, Ledoria burned.
Carpet bombs had reduced streets to graveyards of steel and stone. Artillery shells screamed overhead in irregular intervals, each impact punching another wound into what remained of the city. Smoke coiled into the sky like black serpents. Sirens no longer wailed. There was no one left to answer them.
They had been running for hours.
Their parents had not.
The memory chased the boy harder than the soldiers did. The knock on the door. The shouting. The insignia of the regime. The accusation spoken as if it were already a verdict.
Gunshots. Silence.
He squeezed his sister's hand tighter.
"Don't look back," he said, though he was the one who kept looking.
Ahead, somewhere beyond the shattered outskirts, was a pocket of resistance. A rumor. A hope. Militia forces gathering in the hills beyond Ledoria. If they could just reach the outer perimeter, someone would take them in.
Another explosion thundered to their right. The girl cried out but kept running.
Then the sound changed.
Not artillery.
Boots.
Shouted commands.
A patrol.
Regime guards were stationed along the outer boundary to prevent escape. No one left the city without permission—especially not Aelion. Those who tried were shot or taken. Sometimes both.
The boy's heart hammered as he spotted them emerging through the smoke. Three soldiers. Rifles raised.
"They've seen us," he breathed.
Gunfire cracked through the air.
Concrete sparked beside them. A bullet tore through a rusted signpost inches from the girl's head.
"Run faster!" he shouted, pulling her toward a narrow passage between two collapsed buildings.
If they could just reach that alley, they could lose the line of sight. Maybe circle around.
Maybe—
Another burst of gunfire.
The passage loomed ahead: a sliver of darkness between broken walls. Salvation.
They darted inside.
It wasn't a passage.
It was a dead end.
The wall at the far end had collapsed inward, sealing the route beneath a mountain of rubble.
The girl froze.
"No…" she whispered.
Footsteps echoed behind them.
The boy turned, pushing her behind him as the soldiers entered the mouth of the alley.
Rifles trained. Cold. Methodical.
"Stay behind me," he said, though he knew it would not change anything.
The first bullet struck the wall near his shoulder. The second found flesh.
He felt the impact before the pain—a violent shove that spun him sideways. His hand burned as blood soaked into his sleeve.
His sister screamed.
He reached for her.
Another shot rang out.
The scream stopped.
For a moment, there was no sound at all. No bombs. No shouting. Just a ringing emptiness.
She collapsed beside him.
The boy stared, unable to process what he was seeing. Her eyes were open but already distant, as if she were looking somewhere beyond the smoke-filled sky.
Boots approached slowly.
One of the soldiers stepped forward, rifle lowering until the barrel pointed directly at the boy's forehead. The metal looked enormous.
The soldier said to his fellow comrades: "This dirty little pig look like a trouble, I'll just shoot him here instead of taking him to the Labor camp" They nodded
The soldier's finger tightened.
Then—
BAM.
Springs of blood scattered across broken stone.
End of Prologue.