[SFX: Rain — persistent, trailing footsteps ]
The rain followed Levi like a bad debt.
He dropped from the loading dock, boots striking cracked concrete with a wet slap. The puddle beneath him rippled outward, releasing a faint stench of copper and decay. Behind him, the canal swallowed the last echo of the dead sodium lamp.
Darkness closed in.
But Levi didn't need light.
He knew these alleys the way other people knew family recipes—by the number of steps between safe corners, by which bricks shifted underfoot, by which turns led to dead ends filled with bodies instead of trash.
The bell had gone quiet.
The pressure in his chest hadn't.
It sat just behind his sternum now. Heavy. Patient. Pulsing once for every three heartbeats of his own.
Not pain.
Not yet.
Just… presence.
Like something extra had been slipped under his ribs while he wasn't looking.
He kept his pace steady.
Not hurried.
Not slow.
Running drew eyes.
Strolling invited knives.
The middle ground was safest—purposeful steps, head slightly lowered, shoulders loose enough to draw steel in half a second.
[ SFX: Neon buzzing overhead ]
A flickering sign buzzed as he passed a narrow cross-street. Half the letters were dead. What remained stuttered in sickly pink:
CLIMB
Below it, smaller text still worked:
Ascension Clinics – Your Future Awaits
Levi snorted softly.
He'd seen the posters. Glossy smiles. Perfect skin. Promises of power—if you survived the change.
Most didn't.
Those who did either vanished into the Spire's employ… or disappeared entirely into whatever black-site experiments the corporations ran above the smog.
A beggar crouched beneath the sign's overhang, coat more holes than fabric. He lifted a shaking hand as Levi passed.
"Spare cred for a meal, brother?" the man rasped.
A smile cracked his lips. "The old gods are stirring again. You feel it too, don't you?"
Levi didn't slow.
"Old gods don't pay rent."
The beggar laughed—a wet, rattling sound—and folded back into his cardboard shrine.
Further ahead, trouble announced itself before it arrived.
[ SFX: Low laughter — metal clinking ]
Levi angled left into a narrow passage between leaning hab-blocks. The walls pressed close enough that he could brush both shoulders if he spread his arms. Water dripped from a broken gutter above, tapping steadily against the oilcloth bundle across his back.
Behind him—
[ SFX: Boots scuffing pavement ]
Two sets. Maybe three.
They didn't follow immediately.
Weighing the cost.
Levi kept walking.
If they came, they came.
He wasn't in the mood to bleed tonight—but moods didn't mean much in the Districts.
The pressure in his chest throbbed again.
He pressed two fingers there, brow furrowing.
Still no pain.
But now there was vibration.
Subtle. Deep.
Like distant machinery waking beneath his skin.
The passage ended at a half-collapsed chain-link fence. Levi stepped over it carefully, avoiding the jagged ends.
On the other side—
Home.
Or what passed for it.
The shack crouched at the end of the street, wedged between a condemned hab-block and a wall of corrugated metal that might once have been a warehouse. No sign. No number.
Just a door that belonged on a tool shed.
He lifted the heavy bar, slipped inside, and dropped it back into place.
[ SFX: Dull clang — echoing too long ]
The sound lingered.
Home.
A single bulb hung from a frayed cord, casting weak yellow light. A mattress crouched in one corner, edges permanently damp despite the plastic sheet beneath. A crate served as a table.
On it rested the wrapped blade.
Placed carefully.
Like a sleeping child.
An oil stove.
A bucket half-full of rainwater.
A cracked mirror leaning against the wall.
Levi shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a nail. Water dripped steadily onto the floorboards. He stripped off the soaked shirt, wrung it out over the bucket, and draped it near the stove.
Gooseflesh rose along his arms.
He ignored it.
[ SFX: Stove igniting — weak flame ]
The stove caught, a thin blue flame licking around the wick. Pathetic warmth—but better than nothing.
He sat on the mattress, elbows on knees, staring at nothing.
The ration bar came out of his pocket.
He tore the wrapper with his teeth. Chewed.
Dust. Synthetic fat.
He forced half down, wrapped the rest, tucked it away.
Tomorrow's problem.
In the mirror, his reflection stared back.
Pale eyes too wide.
Scar livid against his skin.
Levi leaned closer.
His pupils were dilated.
Too much for the dim light.
Or maybe—
[ SFX: Bell — deep, resonant ]
Not outside.
Inside.
A single note vibrated through bone.
Then another.
Slower than any clocktower bell had the right to be.
Levi's hand moved before thought finished—fingers closing around the wrapped hilt.
The leather felt colder than it should have.
He closed his eyes.
Darkness behind them wasn't empty.
A vision—
A vast stone hall beneath a sun that wasn't a sun.
Black.
Burning.
Pillars cracked like broken teeth. Shadows moved across the floor—not random. Not mindless.
Marching.
Toward an altar.
Upon it rested a single blade.
Its edge pooled with something thicker than blood.
His blade.
Levi's eyes snapped open.
[ SFX: Sharp inhale ]
His breath came short. His heart hammered once—twice—then steadied.
The pressure in his chest matched it now.
One beat.
One answer.
He stared at the sword.
It hadn't moved.
Of course it hadn't.
"If this is you trying to communicate," he muttered to the empty room, "you're shit at it."
Silence.
He lay back on the mattress, boots still on, blade resting across his stomach.
Its weight was almost comforting.
Sleep came like a tide.
Slow.
Inevitable.
He fought it.
Pushed himself upright. Splashed cold rainwater onto his face.
[ SFX: Water splashing ]
The shock held him awake for maybe thirty seconds.
Then the weight returned.
Heavier.
Deeper.
His eyelids dragged.
[ SFX: Bell — closer, louder ]
The toll rang as if the clapper struck directly against his skull.
Levi's grip tightened until leather creaked.
"Fine," he whispered.
"Show me what you've got."
His breathing slowed.
Slowed.
Stopped.
And in the dark behind his eyes—
Something very old
opened its mouth.