Aurora pulled her collar tighter as they walked through the slums of the Stone Kingdom. She had asked and Milo had led her here. The air smelled like rust and ash. This was where the discarded lived—those who’d rejected advancement, or had been rejected by it.

Some bore no implants. Others had mutations from failed genetic modification—skin mottled, eyes too bright or too dim. They stared from alleyways with vacant red eyes.

“Grimance,” Milo said quietly.

Aurora frowned. “So even though they rejected technology, they still chose to suppress their emotions…” She looked around. “And Josen just lets this place exist?”

“As long as they don’t step into his light – disrupt his utopia,” Milo said.

She glanced at a figure hunched against a wall, twitching. “Or what?”

Milo didn’t look at her when he answered. “Or they end up in a tank.”

Aurora’s stomach twisted. The air here didn’t buzz like the rest of the kingdom. Instead, it sagged. Then she saw it.

Graphite. Stark and fading. Etched into the wall of a crumbling building—a face. It wasn’t beautiful or even realistic, but it was raw. The lines scratched in like someone had needed to remember it.

“A craving,” she muttered, remembering what Milo had once said.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Aurora muttered. She slowed, staring. She held her hand out as she looked at the face – the pain sketched on it. As they walked, more appeared. On the backs of benches. On slabs of rusted steel. Under broken lights. Smears of charcoal. Bursts of illegal color. Some looked like eyes. Some like mouths, half open in a scream or a song. You could feel the pain…insinuate the story.

Aurora glanced at Milo. But he said nothing. Just kept walking, following.

She stepped closer, brushing her fingers against the wall. The graphite smeared under her touch.

Who was doing this? She needed to find them.

She straightened slowly, her breath visible in the cold. “I think I found someone to join our team,” she said. Milo didn’t smile, but his eyes shimmered. “Then find them.”

She turned toward a passerby—a short woman bundled in torn synth-fiber. “Excuse me, do you—” The woman shoved past her without a glance. Aurora stumbled, caught herself, and dusted off her coat. “Well, that didn’t work,” she muttered, glancing at Milo. She repeated this step with two others, same result. She refused to look at Milo this time, fearing she might slap him for smiling.

“There has to be another way,” she murmured. Her eyes flicked back to the walls—the lines, the streaks, the brushstrokes. They weren’t random. Some were faint, some newer.

She saw more murals. A trail. Breadcrumbs.” Milo stayed behind, letting her go. She followed the trail until it stopped. An empty wall. No new sketch. No mark. Just a patch of concrete stained by age and neglect.

Aurora frowned, but pushed down disappointment. She turned in a slow circle. No generator hum. No hidden door. No further clue. A true dead end.

Milo’s voice echoed faintly in her head. “Then lead it.” Lead me, seemed to be the unspoken thing he had said.

She glanced around—rusted piping, a broken terminal, debris scattered like forgotten thoughts. Then she spotted a shard of dark graphite tucked in a crack along the wall. Someone had dropped it. Or left it.

It didn’t matter, Aurora crouched, picking it up. She hesitated then stepped to the wall and pressed the graphite to stone. Her lines weren’t graceful. Not like the others. But they were hers. Aurora’s arms stroked widely a perfect kingdom with mindless beings – Josen’s ambition achieved to perfection. Then, the words: “keep hiding.”

She stood back, studying it. Something tight in her chest loosened. Then she walked away, back toward Milo. “Let’s go.” They stepped toward the next phase of her plan: to prepare for the release of the magic users.

—--------------

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Aurora muttered, rubbing graphite from her fingers as they emerged from the slums.

Milo glanced sideways, the corner of his mouth curling faintly. “You recovered quickly. But from what you told me… you left a message. A challenge, really.” He tilted his head. “Do you think they’ll admire that? Or simply find it… irritating?”

Aurora shrugged, though her face flushed. “Even if the latter, they’ll survive. A person with that talent can’t be built like Selus, running on flattery or outrage.” Her gaze dropped. “Still… it was a gamble. They might not crawl out just because I dared them to.”

Milo shook his head slowly. “No. You didn’t just leave a message.” He glanced toward the paintings. “You spoke in their language. And they’ll notice. People like that always find meaning—especially when it was meant for them.”

Aurora just sniffed hard. She had entered the coordinates nearby Josen’s experimental facility. No time wandering. They’d move forward anyway. “I hope you’re ready. This is where you shine.”

Milo huffed a quiet laugh. “Funny. I never imagined being anyone’s weapon. Not even yours. I don’t know whether to be offended or fascinated.”

“Fascinated,” Aurora retorted. “Obviously.”

Milo tilted his head into a small nod, like a kid who’d been caught wanting this result all along, but he ultimately didn’t mind. The kingdom’s polished core had faded behind them, replaced by bare scaffolds and humming vents. The air here was sharp—sterilized, stripped of warmth. Ahead, the facility loomed: clean, seamless, deadly in its silence.

There were no guards, just as Milo said. Aurora checked the slate in her hand, fingers steady.

“Entering this into the system will loop the cameras around the main control and containment chambers for seven minutes,” he said. “I’ll go in and tinker with the tanks and overall system so we’ll be ready to extract them when the time is right..”

“Seven minutes,” Aurora echoed. “That’s tight.”

“I built it to help Josen rise to power,” he said. “To outmaneuver the…previous ones who were in power. To help him stabilize things. Adjust the people to his vision.”

Aurora’s expression sharpened. “And now we’re using that design flaw to break in.”

He gave a faint shrug. “Poetic, isn’t it?” He handed her a small chip and turned to leave, looking back.

—----------

She pressed the button, starting his time and waited.. The door slid open with a soft hiss. Milo stepped through alone.

There were no guards or resistance, just clean metal and humming silence—the kind that came from a place that didn’t expect to be touched. No crime, great. I guess Josen didn’t account for Milo… Or is that why he created the Titans…

The control core was colder than the rest of the facility. Lights pulsed faintly along the walls. He didn’t slow. Each step landed deliberately, like the silence welcomed him. He walked as if he’d never once considered being stopped. This was his kingdom too, once. He found the central terminal and brushed his fingers along its edge, almost fondly, like greeting an old lover turned enemy. He pulled the small chip from his coat and slid it into the console.

The lights stuttered, not much. Just enough for someone watching closely to know something was wrong. Milo stood still as the system ran through its checks. Then— the interface accepted him. Of course it did.

He moved with calm precision. Not typing, not scrambling, just adjusting. Like someone rearranging chess pieces long after the game had been won. Screens flickered to life: emotional readings, behavior patterns, compliance charts. He made a few quiet changes. He stepped away from the console, already finished. As he walked out, the lights behind him dimmed—like they knew who had been there.

It was done, they could free the magic users when they wanted to. Just…not yet.

“And now we wait,” Aurora said quietly. “Find the artist. Let the paintings soften them. Then give them something simple. The kind of thing that lingers on your tongue and makes you wonder what else you’ve forgotten.”