[Velmora – Lower Sector Streets]
The streets weren't as loud as before—too many windows shattered, too many vendors gone. Where once House El'Vertigo's banners rippled with pride, now tattered remnants clung to buildings like old wounds. Smoke drifted from half-burned homes, and the air buzzed with tension. Armed rebels in patchwork gear replaced the old patrols, but their stares held the same suspicion.
Kiro moved like a shadow, hood low, coat trailing dust.
Pablo walked beside him, his coat covering the bandages around his torso. Every step made him wince, but he kept his head up—eyes scanning every face, every crumbling building, every child begging for synthbread on the corners.
"Is this... what we protected?" he muttered.
Kiro didn't answer.
A family huddled beneath a collapsed awning. A woman with a synthetic lung whispered lullabies to her children, even though her own breathing was broken.
Pablo clenched his fists.
"Back at the Keep... we were told we were saving the city. That El'Vertigo's rule brought stability. But these people... they don't look saved."
"They weren't," Kiro said softly. "They were controlled."
They passed a rebel ration line. A man shouted about distribution scams, another accused a rebel of hoarding supplies. A fistfight broke out. No one stopped it.
Kiro didn't flinch.
Pablo finally spoke again. "I'm not ready to go back to the estate."
Kiro looked at him.
"I want to see what else the Empire broke... and if I can fix even a piece of it."
Kiro nodded once. "Then stay close."
Above them, the sun struggled to pierce Velmora's dust-choked skies.
Below, the city braced itself—broken but breathing.
[Velmora – Rooftop Overlooking the Lower Sector]
The sun dipped behind the ruins of the spire, casting golden streaks across the fractured skyline. Kiro sat on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, sipping from a battered canteen. Pablo joined him, coat tight around his shoulders, wind tugging at his collar.
Below them, a group of orphans played in the dust, chasing a half-broken drone across the rubble.
They watched in silence until Pablo finally broke it.
"You never told me," he said.
Kiro didn't look at him. "Told you what?"
"How you got here. To this war. To... this power."
Kiro's eyes stayed fixed on the horizon.
"This is my home," he said. "Velmora."
Pablo's brow furrowed. "What?"
"I was born here. Before the banners changed. Before the Empire came."
The wind stirred as Kiro's voice dropped lower, harder.
"When Kargal invaded, my family fought back. We lost. I was taken, sold offworld as a slave before I even turned ten."
Pablo's eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing.
"Years passed," Kiro continued. "Work camps. Mine shafts. I stopped counting the planets. Then one day... I was dragged into the Hunt."
Pablo's fists clenched. "That again."
"A game for the rich," Kiro nodded. "They toss slaves into alien wildlands for sport. I was just another body."
"What happened?"
"I didn't die."
Kiro finally looked at him—eyes like dying stars.
"I found a relic. Some buried corpse of a forgotten god... and it gave me the Blood System. It changed me. Gave me power I didn't understand. But I knew one thing the moment I absorbed it..."
He looked back to the city's ruins.
"I was coming home."
Silence.
Pablo stared down at the streets, where the orphans laughed in the fading light.
"All this time," he said, voice hushed, "I thought we were the rightful ones. That El'Vertigo ruled for a reason."
He shook his head.
"You were born in the ashes I ignored."
Kiro didn't respond.
After a moment, Pablo asked, "Do you still feel like a slave?"
Kiro didn't even pause.
"No," he said. "But I'm not free yet either."
This time, the silence between them didn't feel like distance. It felt like something shared.
Like respect.