BOOK 1: THE REMNANT
A soft humming filled the small kitchen as Mom cooked breakfast.
"Those bandits raided the village again," Father's voice was a low grumble from the table. "And not a word from the government. The price of oil has skyrocketed. If this continues…" He let the thought hang in the air, his frustration palpable. "Thank God they didn't kill anyone this time. But even if they did, what could we do? We mortals have such a small space in this world."
His gaze drifted to the window, towards the distant, hazy border of the Hollows' territory. "On top of that, we're the furthest from the Main City. No one cares about us out here." His expression turned solemn as he finally looked at his son, his eyes filled with a heavy, expectant hope.
Mohal straightened the black tie that felt too tight around his neck. The formal black coat, a hand-me-down from his uncle, was stiff in the shoulders. He forced a confident smile. "Don't worry, Father. It'll all be fixed. As soon as I pass the entrance exam for The Tome of Artifice today, I'll bring our whole family to the Main City. I promise."
He glanced out the window himself, his eyes finding the impossible sight on the horizon: a city, flying serenely in the sky. "There," he added, his voice full of conviction. "We'll be completely safe there. No more worrying about being looted by those Hollow monsters."
This was his fourth attempt. The cost of the exam had taken nearly everything they had, a bitter echo of the bad luck that had bankrupted his grandfather years ago, forcing them from the city to this forgotten village. But The Tome of Artifice was worth any price. It was the greatest school in the world, accepting only fifty students a year. An acceptance didn't just promise an education; it came with a scholarship and a small home in the Main City for your family. It was their one chance to reclaim the life they'd lost.
"Brother, look there!" his little sister cried, breaking his train of thought.
She stood by the table, her pink dress on backwards and her slippers on the wrong feet not out of confusion, but because she liked it that way.
"I know that look," Mohal said, narrowing his eyes playfully. "You're planning to steal my piece of bread again, but it's not going to work today. You need a new strategy."
"But I'm hungry!"
"You've had enough," he said, trying to keep a straight face as her lower lip began to tremble. "You'll get as big as that Babloo in the neighborhood."
"But Babloo is so strong! I want to be like him!"
"No means no," Mohal said sternly, though a laugh was threatening to escape.
"Okey..." she mumbled, looking up at him with wide, watery eyes that could melt stone.
"Mom, Dad, come eat," Mohal called, turning to his parents. "After this, I have to go pick up Zayn. We're going to the city together."
A subtle tension entered the room at the mention of Zayn's name. His mother's smile tightened. "I know I can't stop you from being around that boy," she said in a low tone as she sat down. "But be careful when you travel with him. That boy… he has a shadow following him."
It couldn't be helped. Zayn was Mohal's best friend, a very kind and a genius boy who had passed the exam on his first try, it's a free attempt granted to every child. But his genius was matched only by his exceptionally bad luck. His mother had left him after his father's death. He was adopted and re-adopted, but each time, just as he found a new family, a tragic incident would strike, leaving him the sole survivor. Now, the villagers saw him as a living curse, and only the local mosque would dare to give him shelter.
The sun climbed higher, its warm light spilling into the room. But with the warmth came a sense of urgency, a quiet sadness. They were parting ways, and even if it was just for two days, in a world like theirs, who knew what the cards of fate held?
After a final goodbye, Mohal left...
He found Zayn waiting outside the mosque, a stark figure in a set of white formal clothes, it was a gift from Mohal on his birthday. His dark hair was threaded with streaks of premature white, and the warm smile on his face seemed fragile, like a flower that had survived too many storms.
They met with a simple nod, both too nervous for small talk. It was one thing to pass the exam; it was another to attend a school with forty-eight other geniuses, most of whom weren't from a forgotten village on the edge of nowhere. They started their journey west, towards the Main City, letting the silence hang between them.
Five hours later, with backs tied straight to their seats and throats raw, they finally saw it. The Ascending Area.
Before them lay a city unlike any Mohal had ever imagined. It was a sprawling with glass and steel, where impossibly tall towers clawed at the sky, their surfaces blinking with a million frantic lights. Below, rivers of speeding vehicles carved paths through deep, shadowy canyons.
And high above it all, serene and ancient against the chaos, hung his true destination: the floating city...