The firelight hit Kai’s eyes first.
Real fire. Not chem-glow. Not reactor bleed. Burning trash and cracked synth-wood, orange tongues licking rusted barrels like warmth still meant something. He staggered out of the fog and into raised weapons, the taste of metal thick on his tongue.
“Stop right there,” a woman said. Calm. Level. The kind of voice that had already decided outcomes.
Five silhouettes resolved through the haze. Barricades welded from scrap. Tripwires strung low. A camp that knew how to survive nights like this. Kai’s violet aura flared without permission, a reflex born of fear.
Every weapon tightened.
“Easy,” another voice said. Male. Older. Rough, like ground metal. “Kid’s glowing, not charging.”
“I didn’t mean to—” Kai started, then stopped. His head throbbed. The voices inside him went quiet. Watching.
The woman stepped closer. Dark hair braided tight. Goggles perched on her forehead. Her rifle never wavered. “Name.”
“Kai.”
A pause. Measured.
“Last name?”
“I don’t have one.”
That earned looks. The kind that weighed childhood like evidence.
“Figures,” the older man muttered as he stepped into the firelight. Tall. Broad. Plasma burns crawled up one arm like melted circuitry. He carried a lance—industrial, repurposed, humming faintly. “I’m Jax. You ran through our perimeter during a blackout. That’s usually a death sentence.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“I was running,” Kai said. “From… them.”
“Define them,” Jax said.
Kai gestured back into the fog. Bodies lay out there. He could feel them—dust where people used to be. The sensation made his stomach twist.
The woman followed his gaze. Her jaw tightened. “Riko.”
A shape dropped from above. Silent. Lean. Crossbow already lowered, bolt notched with practiced ease. He scanned the fog, eyes sharp.
“Clear,” Riko said. “No heat signatures. Just… residue.”
“Residue?” Jax echoed.
Riko looked at Kai. “Like something erased the air where they were.”
No one spoke for a beat.
Then a new voice cut in, cheerful and sharp. “Ooooh. That’s not residue. That’s molecular displacement.”
A girl popped up from behind a console stack, fingers still dancing over a cracked holo-screen. Short. Wires braided into her hair. Eyes bright with curiosity instead of fear. “Hi! I’m Mira. Are you radioactive or just special?”
“Special is bad,” Jax said.
Mira shrugged. “Special is data.”
The ground tilted. The fog pressed closer, like it wanted Kai back. He swayed, vision tunneling.
A fourth figure moved fast—older, gray-bearded, coat patched with medical seals. He caught Kai before he fell. Strong hands. Antiseptic and smoke. “Careful,” he said. “Kid’s in shock.”
“Doc Hale,” Jax said. “Thoughts?”
Hale swept a handheld scanner over Kai’s ribs and skull. It chirped, confused, then chirped again. “Vitals unstable but not crashing. Neural activity is… abnormal.” He frowned. “Kid, what happened to you out there?”
Kai opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
The pressure inside his head rose. Not voices. Weight.
“All right,” Jax decided. “Inside. We talk before the fog eats us.”
They pulled Kai past the barricade. The camp was larger than it looked—nested defenses, patched solar sheets overhead, power cells humming in disciplined rhythm. A real crew. Not scavengers pretending at order.
As the perimeter sealed, the Dome groaned. Lights flickered once. Twice. Then died.
The blackout settled like a held breath.
“Clock just reset,” Mira muttered, tapping her screen. “Seventy-two hours till the corps remember we exist.”
Jax studied Kai in the dark, the firelight cutting hard lines across his face. “And you show up glowing during a Nexus outage.”
The word rang through Kai’s skull.
Nexus.
Something inside him shifted. Listening.
“We’ll figure you out,” Jax said. “But first rule of Ravena? If you survive a blackout alone, you’re either lucky… or dangerous.”
His eyes hardened. “Tomorrow, we test which one you are.”
Deep in Kai’s head, something smiled.
