It's been five thousand years since the shadow creatures took the surface.
Humanity fled underground, into a city built by the old civilization.
When you stuff the whole world into one cage, problems are bound to follow.
Same old story—and one I've come to despise.
. . .
I walked past rows of vendor stalls and neon-lit food carts, the air thick with the smell of grilled meat, smog, and cheap perfume.
A scream cut through the noise.
Down the street, a kid in ragged clothes bolted from a convenience booth, half a loaf of synthbread clutched in his arms. The store owner shouted after him, but no one gave chase. A Peacekeeper leaned against a lamppost nearby, sipping some overpriced energy drink. Didn't even flinch.
I kept walking. A few blocks later, another shout—this time, a thief dashed out of a luxury boutique with a bag in hand.
The Peacekeeper here moved fast. Too fast. Tackled the guy into the pavement like it was the highlight of his week. People clapped. The store owner even tipped him.
I didn't clap.
I just stared. Then looked back—toward where the first kid had vanished, still hungry.
Two crimes. One mattered more than the other.
That's how this city works.
I turned back to the first store and pointed at the bread, raising three fingers. The owner handed them over, but I gave him more than the total. Way more.
"Dear customer," he said, frowning. "I believe there's a mistake."
"Keep the money." I turned and walked off.
I strolled through alleyways for a while before finding the boy—hiding beneath an abandoned doghouse. He was breaking the bread in half, feeding it to his little sister.
Even from a distance, I could hear them.
"See?" he whispered. "Told you you'd get to eat today. Is it good?"
She beamed—bright as the sun. "Yes! It's delicious! What about you, brother? Do you want some?"
He shook his head. "No, it's okay. I've already eaten."
"Okay!" she chirped, all smiles.
I watched for a moment longer. Then placed the bag of fresh bread nearby, made a little noise so he'd notice—and turned into smoke, drifting quietly away.
. . .
[Sunny, where have you been? We're fifty seconds behind schedule.]
The voice of an old man crackled in my earpiece.
"Sorry, I just got dinner."
[Seriously? At this time?] He was pissed.
"Save the interview for later, Wo. What's the situation?"
[You—] He bit back the scolding and got to the point.
[They've already started the party. We must stop Gravendor from using that fruit, or the city's done for.]
The Fruit of Advancement. Linked to the Great Tree.
Those chosen by the tree gain power that bends the laws of physics.
Good, evil—the tree doesn't care. It chooses based on one thing: will.
And whatever Gravendor's will is, we have to stop him.
I switched channels to my teammates.
"Eve, Ginto. What's your situation?"
They were mid-conversation when I tuned in.
[Eve, do you think it's worth it? Using the fruit?] Ginto asked, a note of envy in his voice. He was just an ordinary human—just exceptionally good with a sword.
[It depends. Sure, if someone who's already gained powers eats another Fruit of Advancement, their age jumps fifty years. But their powers grow exponentially.] Eve paused. [Of course, you become a magnet for catastrophe.]
[Do you want to use it, Ginto?]
He didn't answer right away.
[… I don't know.]
[Hey, even without it, you're strong. Cheer up.] Eve encouraged.
Ginto grunted in response.
I waited until their chat settled.
"I repeat—status?"
[Right, sorry. We can execute the plan, but we're behind schedule, so we'll have to move fast,] Eve replied.
"Understood. Have you located the fruit?"
[Yes. It's hidden inside the cake,] Ginto said.
"Then proceed."
[Yes, sir!] they responded in sync.
I switched back to Wo.
"How did Gravendor find the fruit? Isn't the Great Tree supposed to be sealed?"
[If it's the Tree's will, nothing can stop it,] he said, offering no more. I didn't press. He had his reasons.
I turned toward the mansion. Fancy cars lined the street. Elegant men and women glided across the pavement like royalty.
Then I spotted him—a man stepping out of his car and heading into the woods.
. . .
I emerged from the woods in a stolen outfit and approached the party entrance. The doorway was blocked by the Invitation Officer.
"Invitation card, please."
I patted my pockets, found it, and handed it over. He scanned the card, then gave me a long, suspicious look.
"You're Lonc's son?"
I smiled. "Yes. Is there a problem?"
He studied me a few more seconds, then nodded to a nearby guard. They patted me down.
"Easy, fellas. I'm not going anywhere."
"He's clear," one of them said.
The officer stepped aside, plastering on a polite smile.
"Apologies for the trouble. Please, enjoy the party."
The moment I entered, the scent hit me—expensive wine, perfume, and hypocrisy thicker than the smog outside.
Victorian chandeliers hung like glowing spider webs above velvet drapes and gold pillars. Polished floors reflected the guests' curated smiles.
Everything looked perfect—until you looked closer.
At the room's center stood a ten-foot statue of an angel holding a sword of justice, wings spread wide. But beneath it, human figures clawed upward—thin, desperate, broken.
Not reaching for salvation.
Reaching for escape.
"Symbol of protection," a guest whispered to her partner.
Protection, huh.
I moved deeper into the crowd. Waiters weaved between guests like trained birds. One stumbled, nearly dropping a glass. A woman snapped her fingers. A guard stepped from the shadows and quietly led the boy away. I caught a glimpse of the bruise on his wrist.
At a nearby table, three politicians laughed over drinks.
"I printed a fake Honor ID for my bulldog," one said.
"Could've had him lead a patrol squad in Gram," another snorted.
"A better job than half those Phoenix brats," the third added.
Their laughter faded behind me.
[Sunny, we've got guests.] Eve's voice was urgent. [Two o'clock.]
I glanced smoothly—Vie and the Priest.
"Invite them to play," I said, grabbing a wine glass as a waiter passed.
Behind me, a drunken merchant slurred, "They're auctioning a fruit tonight. Not sure if it's real, but one bite and you might bend the air... or drop dead."
Another guest chuckled. "Survival of the richest, huh?"
The room hushed.
Heads turned.
So did I.
Gravendor had arrived.
His suit looked like it could pay off a district's debt—silver buttons, blood-red trim. His smile was polite, almost pleasant. But his eyes were hunters'. Cold and calculating.
He raised his glass.
"To progress... and to peace, even in the shadows."