Chapter 1
THE CITY ONLY LOVES THE POWERFUL
The first thing you learn in Helios City is this:
Power decides whether people look at you or through you.
The towers in the upper districts shine so brightly at night that even the clouds glow around them. People up there call it beauty.
Down here, we call it a reminder.
A reminder that the strong live above the smoke while the rest of us choke beneath it.
I pull my hood lower as I move through the crowd.
Morning traffic fills the lower district streets workers, vendors, runners, people trying to survive before the city notices they exist. Giant screens attached to rusted buildings flicker overhead, broadcasting highlights from hero families like they’re royalty instead of weapons with good publicity.
A man in silver armor appears across one of the screens, stopping a collapsing transport vehicle with one hand while reporters scream his name excitedly.
“Another incredible display from the Valen family—protectors of the eastern sectors for three generations—”
Someone beside me laughs quietly.
“Protectors,” the old man mutters. “Yeah. Protectors for people who can afford protection.”
Nobody responds.
Because saying things like that too loudly gets people remembered.
And being remembered by the system is dangerous.
I keep walking.
The market streets narrow ahead, packed tightly with hanging wires, steam pipes, and buildings leaning into each other like they’re too tired to stand alone. The air smells like smoke, metal, sweat, and overheated machines.
Home.
Or the closest thing people like me get to one.
A group of officers moves through the opposite side of the street.
Black uniforms.
White masks.
District Control.
Conversation around me dies instantly.
People lower their heads and step aside without being told.
I do the same.
Not because I respect them.
Because I’ve seen what happens to people who don’t.
One of the officers stops near a fruit stand where a boy—maybe ten years old—is arguing with the vendor over stolen food.
The officer barely looks at him.
“Registration code,” he says coldly.
The boy freezes.
That’s all it takes.
The officer grabs him violently by the arm.
The boy panics immediately. “I have one—I do—I just—”
“Unregistered citizens are subject to detainment under Central Authority law.”
The crowd watches silently.
Nobody moves.
Nobody helps.
The boy looks terrified now, struggling as the officer drags him toward the transport vehicle waiting nearby.
And that’s the worst part about this city.
Not the violence.
Not the hunger.
The silence.
People here learn early that survival sometimes means pretending not to see.
My hands tighten slightly inside my pockets.
For one stupid second, I almost step forward.
Almost.
Then the officer beside the vehicle lifts his head slightly.
Scanning the crowd.
Searching for movement.
I stop myself immediately.
Getting involved gets you buried with the problem.
The boy’s shouting fades as the vehicle doors slam shut.
Then the transport disappears into traffic like nothing happened.
The street slowly begins moving again.
Like it always does.
Like people disappearing is normal.
Maybe it is.
A small voice beside me mutters quietly,
“They took my brother like that too.”
I glance sideways.
A little girl stands near the wall, clutching a broken machine part to her chest. She can’t be older than seven.
Her eyes stay fixed on the street where the vehicle vanished.
“He never came back,” she says.
Then she walks away before I can answer.
I stare after her for a moment.
Then I keep moving too.
Because standing still in this city is another way to lose.
My fingers brush against the necklace beneath my shirt without thinking.
Cold metal presses against my skin.
Old.
Worn.
The only thing I’ve had for as long as I can remember.
I don’t even know where it came from.
Only that I’ve never taken it off.
Ahead of me, another giant screen lights up the street.
This time the broadcast changes.
A group of elite students in dark uniforms walks across the display while reporters crowd around them excitedly.
Future heroes.
Future rulers.
One of them lifts her hand slightly, and blue energy crackles through the air around her fingers.
The crowd below watches with the same expression people use for storms.
Fear mixed with admiration.
I stop walking for half a second.
Not because of the power.
Because of the way everyone looks at them.
Like they belong to a completely different species than the rest of us.
Maybe they do.
A sudden explosion echoes somewhere deeper in the district.
People flinch instantly.
Then the sirens begin.
District Control vehicles speed overhead between the buildings.
Fast.
Urgent.
Someone nearby whispers nervously,
“They found another illegal.”
Another voice answers:
“No… they found something worse.”
The crowd starts moving faster now.
Shops closing.
People disappearing into side streets.
Fear spreading quicker than sound.
I pull my hood lower again and start walking.
Faster this time.
Because down here, danger doesn’t announce itself politely.
Sometimes it just arrives.
And sometimes,
if the system looks at you for too long
you disappear too.
