The sky burned over Radon.Not with fire — but because the lights of the Research Tower had switched to red alert.This wasn’t a routine arm.This was Sophie.

  Adrenaline smmed into her temples like a brick hurled full force.The chip in her pocket vibrated ominously, as if it knew it no longer belonged inside the Tower.“Taking care of you is going to ruin my life,” she muttered to it, then bolted.

  The Tower behind her pulsed with harsh, unnatural light.Screams echoed in the air.“Thief! Heretic! Sons, after her!”The voice was ced with hatred — and ecstasy.Fanaticism.

  Neon lights from the Academic District shimmered in puddles left by the acid rain.Sophie veered hard left, nearly smming into the sterile wall of a medical clinic.Each step tore at her legs, but she couldn’t afford to stop.

  Cameras.Shit.Three of them scanned the street like searchlights, tracking her movement.She ducked under the first beam, knocked over a metal bin, and rolled beneath a jutting balcony.For a heartbeat, she could feel the city breathing on her neck.

  Behind her — footsteps.Heavy, military boots, and the lighter, rhythmic stride of the Sons of Singurity.Their robes rustled in the darkness like shadows guiding them.“You will not escape purification!” someone howled.

  “Purify yourselves with an auto-da-fé, you lunatics...” Sophie panted, diving into a narrow gap between two apartment blocks.

  The scent of ozone and overheated tech hit her nostrils.In the Academic District, everything was new, gleaming — and deadly.Every camera was wired into the central system.Every move analyzed by an AI buried somewhere deep beneath the Tower.Time was her enemy.

  She vaulted a fence and slid down a rusted drainpipe, tearing her coat.She hit the ground hard on one knee, but sprang up again.Her mouth tasted metallic.Not blood.Pure fear.

  Sophie cut between two buildings, vanishing into a dark, slick alley behind the academy.The ground beneath her was cracked and uneven — broken sbs like the city’s rotting teeth pushing through the dirt.

  One step too far.One split-second mistake.

  She clipped a protruding piece of metal and crashed forward.Her body hit the ground.Something sharp tore into her knee.She gritted her teeth.

  “Fuck…” she hissed, dragging herself into a crouch.

  Blood soaked through her torn pants — thick, dark, and sticky.But there was no time to check the damage.Footsteps pounded closer.Voices grew louder.Their fanatical cries echoed off the walls like a curse.

  “Surrender!” one of the Sons shouted.“Give us the chip! Cleanse your soul!”

  “Cleanse yourself, you moron…” she muttered.

  She rose.Her leg throbbed with pain, but she wouldn’t stay down.Every step was hell.She limped, forcing herself to keep running.Just a little farther.Just survive.

  She darted between bio-waste containers and mounds of trash.One of the camera lights hovered above her like an executioner’s eye —but she turned at the st moment.

  No more adrenaline.Only pure resolve.Rage itself dragged her forward.

  Someone tripped behind her.Another cursed.She had a few seconds.Maybe less.

  But it was enough.

  She kept running — blood on her leg, chip in her pocket, fear clinging to her back.And the fire — the fire inside her that could no longer be extinguished.

  They were close now.She could hear their breath, their words, their terrifying certainty.The light from their fshlights flickered on the walls like bdes.

  Then someone stepped out of the shadows.

  A tall man.Short, dark hair.Dark coat.His voice calm — but firm.

  “Hey!” he called out. “She went that way! Had a bck hood and something in her hands!”

  He pointed in the opposite direction from where Sophie was running.So naturally — as if he were one of the patrol himself.

  The Sons froze.Gnced at each other, then at the man.One of them broke off immediately.Two others hesitated — for a heartbeat —then followed the path he’d shown.

  Silence returned faster than expected.“Behind the dumpster,” he said quietly to Sophie, who was barely staying on her feet.

  She nodded and slipped behind the heavy metal container without a word.Lucien joined her moments ter, crouching beside her.He smelled of cold smoke and some kind of old machine oil.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “Don’t thank me yet.”He didn’t look at her.His eyes were fixed on the alley, listening intently to every sound.

  A second passed.Two.Three.

  From the street came only the fading footsteps of a pursuit gone the wrong way.

  Lucien slowly turned his head toward her. His eyes glinted faintly in the dark, like they saw more than they should.“You’re hurt,” he said quietly.

  “Nothing new.”

  He nodded, but something in his gaze shifted.Like he’d just made a decision.Like he’d realized — in that one second — that she might need him longer than he’d pnned.

  Sophie dropped her gaze, trying to steady her breathing.Behind the dumpster, the silence wasn’t comforting. It was the kind that made you listen even harder.She felt the pain in her leg, the sweat on her neck… and a presence.Too close. Too unfamiliar. And yet, strangely familiar.

  The man — the one who had saved her ass — sat barely half a meter away.He didn’t move. Breathed slow and steady.His presence was like a bandage on a raw wound — soothing, but painful.

  In the half-light, she looked at him.

  Gray eyes. Shockingly bright. Too bright.There was something unnatural about them — like they reflected light that wasn’t even there.Pale skin, like someone who hadn’t seen the sun in years.And that smile — not quite friendly, not quite ironic.Cynical. Controlled. Safe.Goddamn it.

  Sophie swallowed hard.“Thanks… again,” she muttered, gncing at the street — but her thoughts were already drifting elsewhere.

  “It’s quieter,” he said, low, almost a whisper.“But they’re still out there.What happened?”

  There was something hypnotic in his voice.Like every word was deliberate.Like he didn’t really care what she said — but still, he listened.Carefully.Genuinely.

  “I stole something from the Tower. Something important.The Sons came at me like starving dogs.”She paused.“Or maybe more like preachers with axes.”

  “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

  “Only when I really have to.”

  Lucien gave a small nod. That was all.No judgment.No pity.No questions.

  For a moment, Sophie couldn’t take her eyes off his face.Up close, he looked even stranger.Severe. Shadowed.He wasn’t handsome.He was… dangerously compelling.Like something you shouldn’t touch — but reach for anyway.

  She realized she was staring.Snapped her gaze away, fast, like she'd been caught stealing.

  “So… do you have a name?” she asked, trying to shake off the awkwardness.

  “Lucien.”

  The name sounded like something meant to be spoken only once.Like a secret.

  She didn’t say anything else.She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more — that he’d saved her life… or that she was starting to care.

  She didn’t trust him.But even so — crouched beside him in the shadows — for the first time in days, she felt something beyond fear and fury.

  “We have to move,” Lucien said quietly, once the st shadow of the Sons vanished around the corner.

  Sophie nodded.Her leg throbbed, but she didn’t compin.

  They moved together — fast, low, sticking to walls and dead-end alleys, avoiding open ground.

  The city shifted with every step.The neon of the Academic District faded behind them, repced by flickering bulbs and the shadows of ruined facades.Walls here were cracked.Windows sealed with rusted metal sheets.

  The slums.

  The perfect pce to disappear.

  Lucien moved with confident precision, as if he knew every ruined alley and shadowed nook. Sophie trailed behind him, limping, but refusing to slow down. For a moment there was only the echo of their footsteps on the grimy concrete—and silence.

  “Sons of Singurity…” she finally began, gasping for air. “A year ago nobody even knew they existed. Now they run their own patrols, sermons, rituals. Like a pgue. It’s as if their madness is seeping out of every crack in this city.”

  Lucien didn’t answer. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw his gaze sharpen—more alert, as if he was filing away every word.

  “They used to be just a cult. Small. Laughable. Now…” Sophie trailed off as they passed burned-out graffiti on a wall: “Through Scorching—Toward Salvation.” “Now they’ve got access to the Tower. To politics. To people you’re not supposed to touch.”

  “Who leads them?” Lucien asked calmly.

  “Mat. A psychopath with a preacher’s gift. He believes the soul must be burned to be cleansed. People buy it. They’re terrified that Aberron is punishment—and he’s offering ‘salvation.’”

  “And you crossed him.”

  Sophie snorted. “I stole something that matters. Something that could stop them. But they won’t let go. They’re scared. And when the Sons are scared—they get really dangerous.”

  Lucien gave a slight nod. Not a word wasted. Only silence and watchfulness.

  They pressed on. The slums swallowed them whole. The farther they went, the darker it grew. Lights dimmed. The gloom thickened.

  Sophie gnced at Lucien. Even in the half-light he looked unnaturally calm—like he’d been cut from another world and pasted into this colpsing ndscape.

  She didn’t know who he really was. But his presence—cool, precise, unflinching—was oddly reassuring. As if, so long as he was there, things might still make sense.

  And that sense of meaning caught her off guard.

  The neon of the Academic District vanished entirely behind them, repced by the dim glow of dying fires and sputtering mps. Building walls were no longer sterile—they were peeled, filthy, alive with human suffering. They smelled of damp, rust, and cheap smoke. Yet within the chaos, there was something familiar. Something… strangely homey.

  Sophie stopped to catch her breath. She looked at Lucien, who silently surveyed their surroundings as though he owned every shadow.

  “So… who are you, really?” she asked quietly, but firmly. “And why the hell did you help me?”

  Lucien didn’t answer right away. As always—he chose his words carefully. And as always—he betrayed no emotion.

  “When I returned, I didn’t recognize this city,” he said at st. “I was on a diplomatic mission. Vordar.”

  Sophie raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. When the war broke out, I was captured. Vordar didn’t kill me—treated me like a worn-out card. They released me, expecting I’d die crossing the wastends.”

  He spoke as calmly as if describing the weather. But Sophie wasn’t an idiot. She saw a flicker of something heavy in his eyes.

  “And… you made it?”

  “Yes. Ruins, monsters, solitude… a lesser nightmare than what I see now in Radon.”

  He fell silent. For a moment, his gaze went dark—as if something inside him had disappeared.

  Sophie studied him in silence. The story sounded like a fairy tale—a perfect cover. Yet he was here. Effective. And… damn, something told her he was telling the truth. Or at least the version of it she wanted to hear.

  “If you’re lying,” she said sharply, “I’ll be the first to know.”

  “I count on it.”

  He smiled. That damned cynical smile again. And once more, something inside her stirred, even as she forced herself to ignore it.

  “Alright,” she said. “You want to save the Radon you remember? Then fight with me. Because what’s happening here… this isn’t the same city anymore. And it won’t save itself.”

  Lucien nodded.

  “Lead the way.”

  They made no oath. No grand decrations. Yet in that single moment, between two ragged souls, something took root. A fragile thread of understanding—or perhaps an alliance woven from lies and fear. Time would tell which it was.