The midday wind blew strongly, carrying the scent of hot asphalt mixed with urban pollution—a distinctive smell found only in densely populated metropolitan areas. The gusts brushed against the face of a young man sitting still on an old iron bench by the roadside, causing strands of his short black hair to flutter chaotically. From time to time, the hair covered his sharp yet calm eyes, though they never stopped observing the bustling street before him.
He sat in a relaxed posture, his back slightly leaning against the bench, as if the world before him offered no reason to tense his body. In his hand, he held a bottle of cold packaged drink. Condensation slowly ran down the surface of the bottle, dampening his palm and creating a sharp contrast against the midday heat. His pale white skin appeared even clearer under the sunlight, standing out against the dark casual shirt he wore. Amid the crowd of pedestrians moving in hurried strides, his presence felt like a single point of stillness within an unending current.
His gaze shifted to the left, following the flow of vehicles creeping forward in heavy traffic. Among private cars and city buses, a bright yellow taxi caught his attention. Its iconic silhouette moved slowly, as if waiting to be summoned. The young man casually raised his right hand in a small gesture while finishing the last sip of his drink. A few seconds later, the taxi slowed down. Its tires let out a soft squeal as it stopped precisely in front of him.
The taxi door opened with a heavy mechanical sound. A synthetic citrus air freshener immediately greeted him as he stepped into the cabin.
"Where to, sir?" the driver asked without turning his head. His voice was hoarse and flat, clearly betraying his age.
"Buldam City," the young man replied briefly. "Drop me at the city center."
The driver nodded lightly and stepped on the gas. The taxi merged back into traffic, weaving through rows of towering buildings and massive advertising billboards that dominated the view.
Silence soon filled the cabin. The young man leaned his head against the window, allowing the subtle vibrations of the engine to spread through his body. His eyes followed the ever-changing cityscape outside. To him, the city resembled a ravenous living creature—constantly growing, constantly expanding, never caring about what it buried beneath itself. Concrete and steel buildings rose high, swallowing remnants of history buried under modern development projects. Luxury cars equipped with cutting-edge technology sped along fast lanes, serving as tangible symbols of the widening social gap.
Just as his thoughts nearly consumed him entirely, the driver's voice broke the silence.
"May I know your name, son? The trip to Buldam is still quite long."
The young man pulled his gaze away from the window. "Yan Shuo. What's your name, sir?"
The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror. A faint smile appeared on his wrinkled face. "My name is Lan Bushen. It's a pleasure to drive you, Yan Shuo."
"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Lan," Yan Shuo replied politely, though his thoughts still felt distant.
Their light conversation continued until, without realizing it, they touched upon a topic that had shaken the entire nation—the strange abilities known as Stellar. Lan Bushen's expression turned serious, the lines on his forehead deepening as he spoke.
"Have you heard what happened in Laskas City?" he asked in a lowered voice, as if afraid his words might be overheard by something unseen. "That wasn't an accident. Four thousand people died in a single day. An entire district vanished—buildings collapsed like paper."
Yan Shuo fell silent. Lan Bushen continued, his voice trembling slightly.
"The police and the FBI have confirmed it. It was the work of the Stellars. Not individuals—a coordinated group. And rumors say Buldam is their next target. The city we're heading to."
Yan Shuo's chest tightened. "Buldam… does that mean destruction will reach there too?"
Lan Bushen nodded. "That's why fighter jets keep patrolling. The government is on full alert."
Yan Shuo's thoughts drifted to his mother. Worry surfaced, wrapped in a thin layer of false reassurance. He realized something then—within this increasingly chaotic world, ordinary strength might no longer be enough. His hand slowly clenched into a fist. A desire he had long suppressed rose to the surface.
He wanted to possess Stellar.
Not for power.
Just so he wouldn't remain a mere bystander.
"How do you know so much about this, sir?" he asked quietly.
Lan Bushen chuckled. "News spreads fast these days. Media, television—everyone's talking about it. Even the Kotva State has gotten involved. President Fun Jin himself called it a global threat."
Yan Shuo said nothing. Silence returned to the cabin.
Outside, the sun began to sink westward. Shadows of skyscrapers stretched long, resembling massive gravestones for a world slowly changing. High above, white streaks from fighter jets cut across the blue sky.
Night gradually fell when the taxi finally stopped right in front of Buldam's city center. Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a yellow glow over asphalt that still retained the heat of the day. Yan Shuo reached into his pocket and took out thin, shimmering gold notes. He counted silently, then handed a hundred sheets to Lan Bushen. The driver smiled, accepted them with both hands, and nodded gratefully without saying much.
Yan Shuo opened the taxi door and stepped out. As soon as the door closed, he inhaled the night air deeply. It felt fresher than the cramped cabin, though still tainted with city smoke and exhaust. After hours of being confined during the long journey, the sensation made his chest feel slightly lighter. The taxi soon drove off, merging into Buldam's nighttime flow—a city that never truly slept.
He stood still for a moment, observing his surroundings. Buldam wasn't as glamorous as the major cities he often saw on screens. The buildings were lower, paint peeling in places, and billboards looked dull with age. Along the roadside, several drunks sat slumped against the walls of closed shops, empty bottles scattered around their feet. The city lived—but in a far rougher, more honest way.
Yan Shuo began walking toward his home. The cold night wind brushed against his skin. He tightened his thin jacket and quickened his pace, his footsteps echoing softly on the cracked sidewalk. As he walked, he murmured quietly, almost to himself, "What time is it now… should I buy something for Mom?"
He stopped, reached into his pocket, and took out his phone. The screen lit up faintly, showing 18:49. Yan Shuo let out a small breath. "Dad should already be home," he murmured. Thoughts of home slowed his steps slightly, but Lan Bushen's words resurfaced, clinging to his mind like an unshakable shadow. He lowered his head and whispered, "Will this city turn to ashes in a few months?"
He paused briefly, then shook his head. "I should probably move as soon as possible," he added softly, though he had no idea where to go. His gaze lifted when he spotted a convenience store across the street, its white neon lights shining brightly among darkened buildings. Yan Shuo glanced left and right to make sure the road was clear, then crossed quickly.
The automatic doors slid open with a soft hum. Cold air washed over him instantly. He grabbed a small basket and walked down the narrow aisles, selecting some meat and vegetables. They weren't luxurious—just enough for dinner with his family. When he stopped in front of the drink section, his brow furrowed slightly. He remembered the bottled drink he'd been holding earlier, now likely left behind in the taxi.
Yan Shuo sighed quietly. He imagined Lan Bushen finding it and thinking his passenger had littered carelessly. He raised a hand and rubbed his head awkwardly. "Sorry, sir," he muttered in his heart. He then picked up a bottle of caramel-flavored drink and placed it into the basket.
At the cashier, he laid all the items on the counter. The scanner beeped softly one by one. The cashier announced the total in a flat tone. "One thousand fifty gold notes." Yan Shuo handed over the money without bargaining. The cashier pocketed it, nodded briefly, and said thank you. Yan Shuo returned the gesture before leaving the store.
He paused outside and looked up at the night sky. Clouds drifted slowly, covering parts of the stars. There was no roar of engines or flashes of fighter jets overhead. Yan Shuo assumed they were resting because it was night and would resume patrol at dawn. With that thought, he crossed the street again and continued toward home.
His steps led him into a narrow alley illuminated by dim lights. The walls were damp, and the faint smell of wet earth mixed with trash lingered in the air. He pulled out his phone once more. The time read 19:21, and the battery icon blinked at three percent. Yan Shuo frowned. "Time passes too quickly," he muttered. "I should hurry. Mom and Dad must be waiting."
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, tightened his grip on the grocery bags, and began running through the silent alley. The sound of his footsteps echoed between the narrow walls, blending with his increasingly rapid breaths.