Light began to flood Angus's eyes.
A flashlight beamed down on him, held by a towering elephant of a man. He blinked against the glare, his vision slowly adjusting. He lay sprawled across a green, threadbare couch that smelled like a thousand years of incense and dust. The walls around him were rusted metal, stained by time. Shelves lined the room—each one cluttered with small brass Buddhas and hand-carved relics.
He could feel thick wraps around his chest and arms. He patched me up, Angus realized. Even after I crashed through his roof.
The elephant man leaned in slightly, his long trunk swaying with slow grace as a grin spread across his wide face. His deep voice rumbled through the room like distant thunder. Towering at nearly nine feet tall and weighing close to 350 pounds, he radiated a calm yet commanding presence.
"Hello there. Human, I assume?" he said with a chuckle, placing one hand on his chest and lifting his head toward the ceiling. "Ho ho ho… I'd ask what brings you to my humble roof, but I suppose the answer is… gravity."
He laughed again, warm and unbothered. "Ever heard of a door, by chance? Still, I know it wasn't your fault. So, tell me—what happened?"
Angus's ears still rang from the impact, the sound around him muffled like cotton. But the elephant man's voice was just loud enough to cut through the fuzz.
"I was traveling," Angus said, rubbing his forehead, "used my magnetic boots to launch myself with reverse polarity. It worked fine—until I realized I didn't have a landing plan."
He gave a small shrug. "So I aimed for the softest thing I could see. Ended up… swaying toward your roof."
"Where are you heading, young man?" the elephant asked, raising a curious brow. "The Center isn't exactly the galaxy's top vacation spot."
Angus hesitated, searching for a half-truth that wouldn't give too much away. "Just… trying to get to the second floor."
The elephant's eyes widened slightly. "The second floor, huh? Must be someone important to get up there."
"Yeah," Angus replied, his voice unconvincing, eyes darting to the side.
The elephant stared at him in silence for a moment. Then, without warning, he burst into deep, rumbling laughter.
"What?" Angus asked, confused and a little embarrassed.
"You really are a terrible liar," the elephant said, wiping a tear from his eye. "But whatever you're up to must matter, so I won't press you."
Angus let out a sigh. "Well, I should probably get going—"
He tried to sit up, but pain shot through his side like lightning. His ribs protested, and his arms gave out, dropping him back onto the couch with a grunt.
"Whoa there," the elephant said, gently placing a massive hand on his shoulder. "You're lucky you didn't shatter every bone in your body. Rest, human. Heal. When you're strong enough, I'll take you wherever you need to go. Consider it a gift."
"But I crashed through your roof," Angus muttered through clenched teeth, feeling his bones grind with every word.
The elephant offered a kind smile. "I don't dwell on misfortune. I return it with kindness. Now relax—I'll start on food soon."
Angus drifted back into sleep, the comfort of the old couch wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. His breath steadied, the pain in his ribs dulled by warmth and exhaustion.
Tap.
A sudden light knock on his forehead snapped him awake.
"You fell asleep," the elephant said, standing above him with a gentle smirk. "If you want a proper night's rest later, you've got to stay awake for now. Anyway—food's done. I made stir-fried greens."
Angus blinked and slowly sat up, still groggy. "Hey… I never got your name."
The elephant gave a small laugh as he turned toward the kitchen. "It's Edward."
Angus nodded. "I'm Angus."
Edward turned and walked toward the small kitchen, grabbing two mismatched plates piled with steaming greens. He handed one to Angus and kept one for himself. They ate in silence for a while—the sound of soft chewing and the occasional creak of the rusted walls the only thing filling the room.
Angus took a bite, then another, his eyes widening slightly.
"This is… really good," he said between mouthfuls. "It makes me feel... better. Like, not just full—like something lifted."
Edward smiled without looking at him. "That's the goal. Food should heal more than just the body."
Angus wiped his mouth and set his plate down. "Thank you. Really."
"You're welcome," Edward said, now leaning back and stretching out his massive arms. "Now, you should rest while you can. When you're strong enough, I'll take you where you need to go."
Angus rested on the couch until morning, or what passed for morning aboard Dera Final. At exactly 8:00 AM, the world clock flickered into place—a massive hologram projected across the ceiling, used to simulate time in a place where real day and night didn't exist. It didn't chime or move. It simply was, always there, ticking forward in silence like a god that no one could escape.
But Angus never followed it. He didn't believe in the world clock. Never had. He ran on his own rhythm—his own sense of time.
Edward, though, had a timer rigged to the ship's official cycle. A soft beep echoed from the back room, synced perfectly with the hologram above.
Angus was already awake, testing his body with cautious curiosity. It felt… perfect—like he hadn't crashed through a roof the night before. No pain, no bruises. Even his arm, which had been twisted and useless, moved with ease, perfectly aligned as if it had never been broken.
He slowly rose from the couch, still stunned he could even stand. His fingers flexed. His legs held steady. He turned his hands over, staring at them in disbelief.
How?
Heavy footsteps echoed from the room to his right. The metal door slid open with a soft hiss from the automatic system.
"Good morning, Angus," Edward said, stepping into the room. "I see you're feeling better."
"I don't understand," Angus muttered, eyes wide as he looked up at the towering figure. "It's like I was never hurt."
Edward grinned, his tusks lifting slightly with a smile. "What a healthy body you have there," he said warmly. "Some people heal fast. Others just need a little help."
"Was it the food?" Angus asked, narrowing his eyes. "Did you put some kind of magic in it?"
Edward chuckled. "There was nothing wrong with the food."
"There was something in it—I know there's no way I could heal this fast."
Edward's smile didn't fade. "You want the truth? It wasn't the food. It was you. All I did was help reveal your soul and let your body do the rest. You healed yourself."
Angus stared at him, completely baffled. I healed myself? That doesn't make any sense.
"Okay, enough with the riddles," he said, shaking his head. "Was it some kind of super medicine? A special herb or—"
"Angus," Edward interrupted gently, his voice steady. "I didn't put anything in your food. That's the truth. You healed yourself."
There was a pause as the weight of those words settled over Angus.
Edward clapped his large hands together. "Anyway, no more dwelling on that. You wanted to get to the Center, right?"
"Yeah," Angus said, still trying to wrap his head around it.
"Alright then," Edward said with a grin. "Let's head out."
They made their way to a rusted two-seater hover truck, its frame groaning with age and patches of oxidized metal. Small blue lights glowed from each corner beneath the chassis, casting a soft hum against the dusty ground.
Edward climbed into the driver's seat, the vehicle tilting slightly under his weight. With a grunt, he jammed a square-shaped key into the mainframe embedded in the center console.
Rhh-rhh... rhhh-rhh...
The engine coughed and shuddered.
Then—vrrrrrrrm.
The hover pads kicked in, lifting the truck off the ground in a low rumble, sending loose dust and gravel swirling into the air.
"Come on, Angus," Edward called out with a grin. "The road's waiting—and so is the next chapter of your journey."
"Alright," Angus muttered, hopping into the passenger seat and shutting the door with a dull thud. The interior smelled faintly of incense and oil.
Edward stepped on the pedal, and the truck glided forward into the foggy stretch of road ahead.
The truck drifted through the heart of the Center, weaving between towering, decaying buildings swallowed by neon haze. The deeper they drove, the more twisted the city became.
On the sidewalks, people slumped against crumbling walls—needles still lodged in their arms, their expressions empty, lost in a chemical daze. The air was thick with the sour blend of sweat, burnt circuits, and rot.
They passed The Pit—a long, glowing strip bathed in harsh neon pink. Behind tall glass panels, figures posed in dimly lit rooms: women and men of all races—Orcs, Half-Elves, Lizardfolk, and more. Each wore barely enough to be legal, their bodies advertised like products. Some waved through the glass, others simply stared ahead, their eyes hollow.
It was a place where desperation met desire. A place where people sold their souls by the hour.
More and more clubs and food shacks blurred past as the truck hovered on. The streets pulsed with noise and neon, alive with chaos. Towering LED signs blinked with promises of pleasure, danger, or both.
Above them, black ships streaked through the sky—sleek and ominous, marked with the GU emblem: Government Unit. Red and white lights flashed from their tops in harsh bursts, scattering people from the roads below. Their engines let out a deep, thrumming roar that echoed through the alleys, a sound everyone had learned to obey.
These weren't patrols. They were warnings.
After many hours of driving, a colossal tower began to emerge in the distance. It rose like a ghost from the fog—slanted metal pillars stretching skyward, barely visible against the dim backdrop of the city. Between them, massive panes of glass shimmered faintly, encasing the core of the structure.
But it was the beam that truly drew the eye: a brilliant, glowing column of blue energy shooting straight up, so bright it pierced through the haze. It surged with silent power, stretching endlessly toward the ceiling of the ship, easily a thousand miles tall. From this far out, the structure seemed fragile—almost an illusion. But the beam? The beam was undeniable. Alive. Pulsing. Real.
And Angus couldn't take his eyes off it.
"We're almost there, Angus. Just a couple more hours," Edward said, his voice steady over the low hum of the engine.
"Okay. That's great," Angus replied, leaning back as they rolled toward the glowing edge of civilization.
Finally, they arrived.
A colossal gate stretched across the horizon—ten miles wide, five miles high. It was a fortress of metal and flashing lights, patrolled by guards in rows and watched over by military turrets and swarming surveillance drones. Crowds funneled in and out, and a sea of parked vehicles filled the massive lots.
As they approached one of the many entrance lanes, a hovering speaker crackled to life with a robotic voice:
"Parking to the right. Transporting vehicles to the left."
Edward turned the wheel, heading right toward the civilian entrance. They rolled up to a red laser barrier and a flickering holographic sign: "Pass Through to Pay for Parking."
As they passed through, the vehicle came to a hard stop. The engine died with a heavy thud.
"What was that?" Angus asked, startled.
"It's fine," Edward reassured. "Security protocol. They shut your engine down until you pay."
A smooth voice spoke from the console:
"Do not attempt to restart vehicle. Temporary lock engaged. Parking fee: 100 credits."
Edward calmly reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek credit chip. He tapped it against the reader. The laser dropped, and the engine hummed back to life.
"Thank you for your purchase," the robotic voice said.
They found a spot in the crowded lot and parked. Edward turned to Angus.
"Look, I know you don't have any credits. I'll spot you for now—but someday, I hope you pay me back."
"I will," Angus said sincerely. "After everything you've done for me, it's the least I can do."
Edward reached into his glove compartment and fished out a handful of loose credit tokens—old, scraped, but still valid.
"Here—500 credits. Not much, but it should keep you afloat."
Angus blinked in surprise. "Damn… that's generous. Thank you."
He shook Edward's hand firmly, then waved him goodbye.
That guy... I'm lucky his was the house I crashed into.
But as the engine faded from his mind, a creeping thought returned.
What am I even going to do up there? I'm probably still wanted… no idea what to expect.
Still, he kept walking—head low, eyes forward—toward the towering transporter gate.
Just as he neared it, a voice slithered through the noise:
"Hhhey…"
He ignored it.
"I'm talking to you, cute silver-haired boy…"
Angus tensed. Shit. He glanced around. A tall woman leaned against the side of a boutique stall near the transporter checkpoint.
She had long, gleaming blonde hair and pointed ears—clearly an elf. Her black bodysuit shimmered with streaks of pink thread woven through the fabric like veins. Her eyes glowed faintly, and when she smiled, it was like a magnet to his senses.
"Hello, boy," she said in a sultry voice, stepping closer. "What brings you here?"
"Uh… just traveling," he muttered.
Her eyes brightened, and a hot pink heart formed at the center of each iris.
"How about halting that little journey of yours," she cooed, her voice dripping with allure, "and come with me for a bit?"
She was inches from him now, her hand resting on his shoulder, tilting her head ever so slightly.
His mind blanked.
The world slowed.
He couldn't look away. Couldn't move.
He was caught in her trance.
Then—
A voice pulsed inside his head. The same one that whispered to him before.
Angus, break out… Angus, break out…
The words echoed, vibrating through his skull like alarm bells. Then, with sudden force, he tore himself back—physically flinging himself out of her grip.
She stepped back, stunned. "How did you do that? No one's ever broken my trance."
Angus didn't answer. He turned and ran.
As fast as his legs could carry him.
"Chh—did you get the target? Angus?" a voice crackled in Yuuwaku's ear.
"He… he broke out," she said, still stunned.
"Shit. Stay on him. We can't let him reach the second floor."
"O…kay…"
Yuuwaku stood frozen. Something deep inside her spine crawled with icy discomfort. It felt like her own spell had backfired. Like something in him reached out and pushed her away.
She stared after Angus, watching the silver-haired boy vanish into the crowd, his eyes glowing with something she couldn't understand.
"If I'm being honest…" she whispered, breath catching in her throat,
"…it felt like he reversed my spell.
And now I can't stop staring at him."