Kayen Telani's empty seat was louder than the morning bell. Rumours hissed through Zone 7 High before homeroom even started. Some swore he'd hacked a KPLC drone and been dragged to a blacksite; others claimed a shadow beast carried him off in front of screaming vendors. A few insisted he'd robbed a cred kiosk and raced a hoverbike clear to Mombasa. One girl said her cousin's VPN had pulled real footage of a winged monster snatching him into the clouds. Every story was wilder than the last, but each retelling ended the same way: Kayen was gone, and nobody knew why.
Across town, Zemo Roka lay on his unmade bed, staring at the ceiling. Half-built drones and cracked hover-cores littered the desk, but he hadn't touched a tool since Saturday. Aunt Grace and Uncle Mwangi whispered in the hall, worried about the boy who suddenly spoke in single words and haunted silences. When Mwangi left for the night shift, the house fell quiet—until a firm knock rattled the front door.
Grace opened it to a tall elder in a white robe stitched with black Celestial runes and a sharply dressed young man in an obsidian suit. The elder introduced himself as Seer Umoro of the Skyborn Custodial Order; his companion, Attaché Rien, activated a slim data-rod that pulsed with recording glyphs. They requested to speak with Zemo about "the Sector 7 incident." Grace fetched her nephew, then lingered in the kitchen doorway, pretending to rinse dishes while she listened.
Zemo took the armchair opposite the visitors, legs rigid. Umoro's deep voice flowed like low thunder: "Tell us what you saw." Zemo described the monster—black wings, red furnace eyes, claws clamped around Kayen's shoulders—as it rose above the skyline and veered west toward Kakamega. Rien logged altitude estimates, time stamps, every trembling detail. They pressed gently about Kayen's habits, any oddities before the abduction; Zemo answered, cheeks hot and voice cracking only once.
When the questions ended, Umoro rose and bowed. "Your testimony speeds salvation, young engineer. We will find him." The door closed behind the agents; Grace set down a dripping plate, deciding in that moment to believe every word.
The upper platforms of Nairobi Prime shimmered like crystal when Selasi's golden wings broke the cloudline. Armor scarred from battle, she touched down on thecitadel's sky-deck, Kayen unconscious in her arms. Captain Davis Wilter landed beside her, dragging a rune-shackled Aahliya Shenati across the tiles. Councilman Eliadan Muthui approached, white-plated guards in step. Davis saluted, reported the prisoner, and marched Aahliya toward the Deep Vaults.
Selasi adjusted Kayen's weight. "He needs sigil medics, rest, clean clothes."
Eliadan's reply was soft but absolute. "Suite Arathu-Three is prepared. Ensure he is tended and guarded. Inform me the moment he wakes."
She almost asked what scheme brewed behind her father's calm eyes, but swallowed the question and carried Kayen into the glowing corridors.
Above them, in the council chamber, High Judge Tavion slammed a crystalline console. "Effilim's taint cannot be caged. If that vessel breathes, we are already at risk." Debate crackled—pre-emptive purge versus guarded mercy—while one floor below the boy in question lay motionless beneath healing sigils.
Twilight draped Zone 7 in violet haze. Zemo's door remained locked, the house hushed. Grace stood at the fogged kitchen window, city lights flickering across the panes. She whispered to the neon horizon, "Bring him home safe—both of them," then turned off the tap and let the silence settle.