The scent of melted plastic and iron dust lingered in the air like a curse. Cities no longer smelled like home; they stank of salvage and survival, especially the ones in this part of the continents districts.
Jin stood atop a rusted overlook, the skeletal remains of a collapsed radio tower groaning beneath his boots. The sun baked the sandblasted husks of what was once Akhara-Veil, an ash-choked fortress-city located on the east coast of Africa, a hybrid metropolis risen from the wreckage of shattered refugee ports and scattered tech enclaves. To the west, the smoke trails of distant Rift flares stained the sky. To the east, in the distance, shimmered Ekunra, one of the last few functioning ports before the coast and possibly Jin's first step out of this continent.
He gritted his teeth.
Ekunra was rumored to be a place of "transit miracles"—a coastal city under constant siege by monsters yet still stubbornly functioning. They said it had a port, half-sunken and disease-ridden, run by smugglers and warlords with access to sea-crossers and Force-glider boats. But rumors had also begun to surface: the vessels there were unreliable, barely held together by scrap and prayer. Worse still, many travelers who arrived at Ekunra seeking passage had vanished, never seen again—trafficked, sold, or consumed by the shadows that governed its underbelly. If Jin could reach there, maybe just maybe he could find a lead. But doubts clawed at him. The lack of trustworthy vessels and the fear of vanishing into the illegal undercurrents of the Ekunra port made him hesitate. The real journey, he realized, wouldn't be through storm or sea—it would begin right here, in Akhara-Veil, in the belly of a city that still whispered truths behind alleyway eyes. He needed answers before he moved. A map. A name. A chance. He would need to walk deeper into the city's bones to find them.
But that wasn't what haunted him.
Jin pressed a wrapped hand to his chest. The gauntlet was broken, fused in parts, but he kept it anyway. His arm underneath shattered during the Leviathan's ambush had not healed clean. It was still usable, barely, but every movement throbbed with pain and memory. A cursed reminder. He hadn't slept well. The Leviathan didn't chase him in dreams. Something else did. Voices. Static. Glimpses of twisted Force-light on walls. He'd begun seeing Force currents around people—tiny warps in reality. That shouldn't be possible. He wasn't a user. Was he? Could be possible, this trauma may have been worse than he thought. He just distracted himself with this purpose.
Akhara-Veil was once a haven for salvagers, scavengers, and broken soldiers—a temporary utopia built on cooperation and desperation. But that unity was shattered when the Second Rift Surge tore through its defenses. Supply lines collapsed, its leadership vanished, and what was left was picked apart by rival gangs and starving migrants. Now it was barely breathing. Shanty towns clung to the ruins of tech towers, and monster skulls were mounted like idols along roads to ward off raids. The people were hard-faced and silent. Even children walked like survivors, not innocents.
The City of Bones, they called it. Because it was built on the graveyard of the Second Rift Surge. Thousands had died here. The Second Rift Surge had happened ten years after the world first broke, targeting specific zones where Rift instability had worsened. Africa, especially the eastern coasts, bore the worst of it. Unlike the other continents, there was no reinforcement, no shielded cities, no Force-stabilized infrastructure sent from Neo-Kyoto or Australis. Just screams, chaos, and silence. Since then, the fear of another Surge fueled the continent's spiritual paranoia.
Religions here were broken mirrors of old faiths. Out of the ashes rose cults and fractured religions. The Penumbra Faith believed the Force was the final test of human sin. The Breachborn claimed they were descendants of Rift-touched prophets. Then the Ashwalkers, a cult growing quietly in Akhara's ruins, preached that another Surge was inevitable, and only those who offered their bodies to the Force willingly would survive. Preachers raved at corners, shouting that the Force was the hand of God; others called it the Devil's code. A woman with wires braided into her scalp stood on a rusted bus and screamed. Her frame was lean from hunger, her eyes hollow but defiant. Lines of exhaustion carved her face, but the strength of someone who'd survived two lifetimes flickered beneath the grime. She had the presence of someone who should have been in their prime, not begging the world to see her pain. Jin's steps slowed. He looked at her not with disdain, but confusion laced with sorrow. He had spent four years in this continent roaming around and focused on any mission assigned to him—always as a weapon, a soldier on a leash. He had never paused to see what survival meant for the people with nothing to trade but their bodies and pain. He felt it then—guilt. Regret. Why hadn't he looked sooner? Why hadn't he gone back, when the fighting stopped, when his crew died? She was screaming now, but it was her existence that screamed louder.
"You all beg for more Force like it won't rot your soul! Look at us! Look at what we've become! Monsters in clothes!"
She was pelted with batteries and left bleeding. No one looked back. Jin could see it now: the apathy, the disconnection. No one trusted anyone, not even their own reflections.
He turned away, following the winding path down into a crowded side alley choked with rusted vendors, torn tarps, and old surveillance drones turned into lamps. He didn't expect trouble. Not from a place this hollowed out.
But then he saw her. A woman, dust-covered, with an expression carved in defiance cornered by three men. They weren't subtle. Their hunger wasn't just for credits; it was the kind that came with years of being denied power.
Jin stepped into the alley. "That's enough."
The tallest thug laughed. "You lost, kid?"
He didn't answer. His good arm moved fast years of instinct kicking in. He struck the first man square in the jaw. The second one tried to rush him but was slammed into the wall by the sheer speed of Jin's pivot. The third reached for a blade. Jin kicked it from his hand, then shoved him away. No need to kill. He wasn't trying to send a message just trying to walk away clean.
They scattered, cursing. The woman remained still.
"Didn't ask for your help," she muttered.
Jin shrugged. "Didn't need your thanks."
He turned to leave.
"I'm Kemi," she said quickly. "And you're bleeding."
He looked down. His arm had split open again, a thin line of red staining his jacket.
"I can patch that. You look like you've been to war."
He paused. Then nodded slowly. "I have."
Their conversation stretched as they walked. Kemi explained the city's inner workings the trade lords, the enforcers, the corrupt patrols that hunted Force-users for sport. She had lived through it all. She wasn't just surviving; she was watching, learning. She'd been a courier, a runner, a smuggler.
"You're not the only one with scars," she said, revealing a shoulder tattoo. It wasn't decorative. It was a branding.
"I don't need company," Jin said. "I don't need responsibility. Not again."
"Maybe I do," she replied, eyes shining. "Maybe I need a way out. Maybe I want to matter to someone again. Just let me follow. I won't slow you down. Please."
He stared at her. She wasn't crying. Not really. But her voice trembled on that last word.
"Fine," he said at last. "But betray me, and I will end you."
"Fair," she whispered. "More than fair."
They made their way to the ruins of an old library vault forgotten by the city's elite, untouched by looters because no one looted knowledge anymore. She brought him there for safety, for rest.
And there, nestled between old datasheets and shattered archive glass, Jin found a record. A log. A scientific paper.
It was on bioslicing Force scars.
A banned procedure. Outlawed across continents. It involved using ancient biotech to stabilize Force infections—turning scars into siphons, making the energy flow harmless. Or weaponized. It failed more often than it worked.
And one of the test subjects? Displayed no Force expression. Like him.
He didn't say anything. Just stared at the page.
He didn't even realize she was watching him.
As dawn broke, Jin knew he still had very little information. He still had to go into town to get more. Supplies. Names. Maps.
He stepped toward the exit.
"I'm going with you," Kemi said.
"No." His voice was low. "I don't need a leash."
"You need someone who knows this place. And I need to feel like I'm not going to die here, useless. Let me help."
"It's dangerous."
"I've lived with danger. I've bled for less. Let me bleed for something better."
Jin looked away. The walls of his trust had been mortared with betrayal. But something about her—maybe it was the fact that she was broken too—made the silence longer.
"Alright," he said. "But first time you lie to me, I'll cut you loose. wouldnt even hesistate to kill you"
She nodded. "Then I won't have any reason to"
They stepped out into the ruin-light of the city.