A hover car glided smoothly through the outskirts of the city, its engines humming softly against the backdrop of a recovering skyline. On the way to their destination, the streets told a story of devastation slowly giving way to hope—crumbled buildings half-rebuilt, scaffolds climbing like vines over shattered facades, and workers in hazard suits hauling away twisted metal.
But amid the progress, the scars remained: piles of rubble still yielding bodies, wrapped solemnly in white sheets as recovery teams worked tirelessly under the dim afternoon sun.
Alex sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. The sight hit him like a punch—families huddled nearby, faces etched with grief, as another form was carefully extracted from the debris.
Immediately, the vision Roselia had shown him flashed in his mind: the holographic carnage of Avaloria, innocents crushed under falling towers, their screams silent but deafening.
Guilt settled heavy in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.
