The neon rain slicked streets of New Ardent glimmered like broken jewels, reflecting the chaos of a city that had forgotten sleep. Holographic ads flickered above, promising everything from synthetic noodles to neural enhancements, while hover-bikes screamed past in uneven streams. Down here, on the cracked streets between towering spires, life had a rhythm all its own—fast, sharp, and unforgiving. Kade Reyes crouched under the dim shadow of an old maintenance tower, sleeves rolled up, elbow-deep in the engine of a broken hover-truck. Oil and grease smeared his hands and forearms, but he didn’t care. Work was a distraction. Noise was a distraction. The city’s pulse—its chaos was a comfort. A sudden hum vibrated through the ground, faint at first, almost imperceptible. Kade froze, wrench in hand, listening. It grew, deep and insistent, resonating through concrete and bone. His jaw clenched. He’d heard this before. The sky split. Not figuratively—literally. A jagged tear tore across

A new Ardent was coming apart at the seams. Kade stood on what was left of a skybridge—half of it had collapsed into the street below—and watched the Vaelith tear through the central districts like they owned the place. Which, honestly, they kind of did now. The explosions painted everything in shades of red and electric blue, glass fell like rain, and the air smelled like burning metal and ozone. He'd fought aliens before. Spent three years of his life doing it. But this was different. This wasn't some distant battlefield on a planet nobody had heard of. This was home. And these people—the ones screaming, the ones running, the ones dying—they weren't soldiers. They were just... people. Mila crouched beside him, working on one of her drones. "They're scanning for us," she said quietly. "If they find the tunnels, everyone down there is dead." Kade watched the shock troops move through the streets below. They were efficient. Methodical. No wasted movement, no hesitation. The relic hu

Silence came first. Not peace—Kade knew the difference. This was just the absence of sound, so complete it felt wrong. Like the city had stopped breathing mid-gasp and forgotten how to start again. He was falling. He knew that much. Wind tore past him—hot at first, then suddenly, impossibly cold. Above him, the sky burned white where the Siege Mech's reactor had exploded upward, punching a hole through clouds and atmosphere. The blast didn't roar. It screamed—a column of pure light vanishing into space like a spear thrown at God. Then everything went dark. Pain woke him. It was everywhere. Dull and constant, the kind that told him he was alive when part of him really wished he wasn't. He was lying on broken pavement under what remained of an overpass. Smoke drifted through the air like ghosts. Fires still burned in the distance, but the screaming had stopped. Too quiet. Kade tried to move. His body responded slowly, like a machine that hadn't been maintained in years. Everythi

The sky over New Ardent didn't darken naturally. It dimmed like something massive had passed between the city and the sun—an unseen hand lowering a veil. Vaelith dropships cut through the clouds in precise formations, but above them, farther out, unfamiliar silhouettes moved with the patience of predators that knew their prey couldn't escape. Three factions circling. Three different ideas of what Earth should be. And one planet caught in the middle. Kade Reyes stood at the edge of the transit hub's roof, watching contrails slice through the atmosphere. For the first time in his life, he didn't know where the next blow would land. Didn't know who would strike first, or why, or how to stop it. No relic whispering futures. No prophecy to follow. No safety net. Just him. Just responsibility. And God, it was heavy. They didn't call him a leader at first. They didn't need to. It started with looks. With the way conversations paused when he entered a room. Messengers asked what h

The city did not sleep after Kade Reyes spoke. It argued. Across New Ardent, lights burned through the night as people gathered in apartments, shelters, ruined plazas. Some replayed the broadcast on loop, dissecting every word. Others shut it off in anger, cursing Kade's name. Some just watched in silence, feeling something tightened in their chests, something they couldn't quite name. Hope, maybe. Fear, definitely. And above it all, unseen by most, forces moved into motion that could not be stopped. It started in District Twelve. A council security convoy rolled in just before dawn—armored vehicles pushing through debris-clogged streets under the banner of "Stability Enforcement." Loudspeakers blared orders for civilians to disperse, return to shelters, and trust the process. Someone threw a bottle. Nobody could say who fired first after that. By sunrise, District Twelve was burning. Mila watched the live feeds from the transit hub, jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. "T