[One Week Ago…]

The City of Nobles stood tall, lush, and bright in the hollow night, its people mirroring its pristine appearance. It was a city of wealth and prestige, every street practically lined with gold. Its skyscrapers towered high, like opulent pillars peering into the heavens. However, behind their shine and glory lay the shadows of the Ruined City.

The Ruined City lay quietly in the shadows of the City of Nobles, its buildings shattered, crumbling, and fading, broken… just like its people, who walked like mere corpses, their faces pale, sunken, and hollow. Their bodies moved like unseen ghosts without purpose, as they aimlessly roamed the streets, their steps light and barely audible.

Trash, used needles, crushed pills, and powders lined the corners of every street. It all added up so much it stood like rotten mountains that could fall at any second, yet none seemed to care. Broken power lines and electric poles lay strewn across the streets, flickering and emitting faint sparks in the muddy potholes and piles of trash.

A strong scent of rot and decay filled the air as sirens wailed loudly in the distance. The city was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the dull moon, which hung low in the hollow, starless night. The air was cold, and many of the residents lay cuddled beside the trash piles, praying for warmth as their fading bodies shivered, small, musty clouds of warm steam escaping their mouths with each dying breath.

The Ruined City was a fallen metropolis, once standing tall and proud, bright and lush, before it was set to ruin, drugs and crime dragging the star into the shadow of hell to be barely remembered by the world. It was once a place where dreams thrived, but now… it was a place where all died—in pain, misery, despair,... and darkness.

It was a place slowly abandoned by light, forgotten by happiness… and only welcomed by ruin and shadow- A Fallen Star.

[SON OF PRIME MINISTER VIOLENTLY ATTACKED by an unprovoked, RABID DWELLER who ESCAPED the RUINS. Maximum sentencing is to be expected… and deserved.]

A pale young man with short, slightly matted, black hair read the article as he sat along the crumbled sidewalk, a dark frown lining his face.

His eyes were not fixated on the words or the article itself, but on the printed picture of the supposed Dweller, a man so frail that his bones seemed to be mere shadows against his thin, translucent skin. His cheeks were sunken like the hollows of a forgotten cave, giving his face an unsettling, hollowed appearance. His eyes, large and protruding, seemed to bulge from their sockets, darkened by a mixture of fear and desperation. They darted wildly, reflecting a glimmer of panic as officers struggled to restrain him, their firm grips contrasting sharply with his fragile frame.

The young man's gaze lingered on the picture, its print reflecting in his grey eyes as his frown deepened before he crumpled the article and held it in his clenched fist.

“Tsk. Bullshit,” he cursed as the thin muscles of his jaw flexed.

‘Ksk. What kind of damage could a man who looks like a walking corpse do to a man who is over 300 pounds?’ he mocked.

But truly, what damage would a man who looked as though a slight wind was their greatest enemy do? It was all propaganda and bullshit; the Council Voting of the Nobles was approaching, and the Bastards of Money were desperate for as much attention as possible for their campaigns.

‘They could have at least chosen a man who feigned wellness instead of a clear Deadman,’ he sighed, leaning back and looking forward. He took in the sight and smell of the groaning addicts, the used needles, the powders, and crushed pills. There was no light except that from the dull moon; everything was destroyed. Shelters and homes crumbling in the moss.

 ‘Sweet Home,’ he jested sombrely, looking to the dead moon hanging low in the hollow sky.

It once had a vibrant glow, now a muted grey, like an old photograph that had lost its colour. Its surface was pocketed with deep craters and scars, shrouded in a thin, wispy veil of dark clouds that moved slowly, as if reluctant to part and reveal the desolation beneath. Its light was faint, casting long, haunting shadows on the barren landscape below.

He was used to it all, but today—right now—it really hit him just how messed up his life was. Would he one day end up like that man, labelled a Dweller, the worst of humanity, all for the profit and gain of the Bastards of Money?

Well, most likely, especially considering where he was going; nowhere.

He shifted his gaze from the lifeless moon to his side after hearing an empty can topple over. A little boy was clutching a pile of empty cans. The kid's clothes were tattered, his frame frail and sunken, a mere shadow of a child, destined to fade away.

His face fell as a sombre expression lined his features before he looked away, leaning forward while dropping the crumpled article beside his torn boots. He palmed his face with both hands, rubbing his eyes softly as he exhaled a deep sigh.

“I hate my life…” he murmured groggily.

A moment’s silence passed as he sat in silence, head lowered, before he felt a bright glow on his skin. It was irritating, and he tried to ignore it, but it remained until he got fed up and looked up to see a small golden light that flickered faintly but felt so bright.

He looked around to see if it was someone's doing, but he found no one. ‘Am I going crazy again, already?’ he wondered. He stared blankly at the small light as it hovered before him, its glow mirrored in his eyes. Something about it resonated within him; he didn't know what, but there was just something.

He didn't move but waited for it to disappear. But it didn't, and he extended his hand to touch it, curious— maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. The moment his finger grazed the faint light, his vision became bleary, and he felt like he was being pulled into something—something mysterious… and dangerous.