Chapter 1 – Trash, Trials, and Sunlight
The city smelled like burnt plastic, rotting garbage, and desperation. Perfect. Aren Solis inhaled deeply. Some people called it foul. Aren called it home.
He sprinted across a pile of cracked concrete and rusted rebar, leaping over a tipped-over dumpster with the grace of someone who'd learned early that falling wasn't fatal—it was just embarrassing. Landing on a heap of crushed cardboard, he rolled to absorb the impact, sending a dented trash can tumbling into a puddle with a satisfying splash.
"Fucking perfect," he muttered, brushing his black dreadlocks out of his crimson eyes. "Who needs a gym when you've got this city's death traps?"
From somewhere above, a cardboard box collapsed with a wet crunch, making him stumble. A voice shouted: "Hey! Watch where you're—" Aren ignored it. Kids in the alleys yelled at him all the time. He ignored everyone unless he needed something.
Tonight, he needed food. And maybe a beer someone had left behind. Survival was the game, and Aren? He was damn good at it.
He vaulted over a stack of crates, sidestepped a rusty metal pipe sticking out of the wall, and slid down a slope of broken rubble. His pockets were heavier than usual. Today's scavenging had been lucky: half a loaf of bread, three bruised apples, a small pouch of beans, and—best of all—a discarded can of sardines. He grinned. Not a feast, but fuck, it would do.
At the edge of the street, a broken building leaned slightly, the kind of place most people wouldn't dare enter. Aren grinned and sprinted toward it. This was home. His fortress. A war-torn skeleton of concrete, wood, and memories. Cracks in the walls were patched with boards, graffiti clawed across surfaces like angry fingers, and shattered windows looked like teeth in a crooked grin.
He kicked open the patched-up door and landed in the musty gloom of the entryway. Dust motes danced in the last rays of sun filtering through the broken roof. Aren inhaled, savoring the familiar smell of decay. "Home sweet hellhole," he muttered.
And then came the voices.
"Late again, huh, sunshine?"
Kaede. Always first to notice. Always loud. Always entirely too confident for a city that could eat him alive. Aren rolled his eyes and glanced toward the broken couch where Kaede sat, tossing an apple core into a corner with a careless flick.
"You look like shit," Kaede continued, standing and stretching. Muscles flexing under the baggy jacket he insisted on wearing even in summer. "And don't even get me started on your shoes. Jesus, Solis, did you pick those out of the trash on purpose?"
"They're vintage," Aren shot back, smirking as he dropped his scavenged bag. "From the 'almost dead but still functional' line. Really exclusive. You wouldn't get it."
Kaede laughed. Loud. Proud. Annoying. The kind of laugh that made you want to punch him but also... admire him a little. "I get it. You're a street artist. I just hope your talents include not getting killed before dinner."
From the far corner, quiet as a shadow, came another presence. Rei. White hair catching the stray sunbeams, pale blue eyes flicking up from a worn book, expression unreadable. Her voice came soft, almost clipped, but carried weight.
"You're late," she said. That was it. Three words. No emotion. No embellishment. Yet the sting of her calm precision landed harder than any insult Kaede had tossed.
Aren grinned despite himself. "Yeah, yeah. The city almost killed me. But I survived. See? Still here. Still charming."
Kaede rolled his eyes. "Barely charming. More like lucky and annoying."
Rei didn't respond, just returned to her reading, eyes narrowing at the words as if the book contained all the universe's secrets.
"God, she's terrifying sometimes," Aren muttered, shaking his head. "And you're part of the reason why, Kaede."
Kaede smirked, kicking a can aside. "I teach you how to survive, Solis. Some lessons hurt. Deal with it."
The three of them fell into a rhythm, the kind only people who lived on scraps and ruined buildings together could share. No introductions, no formalities, no bullshit. Just survival, teasing, and the occasional sharp glance that said more than words ever could.
Aren dug through the bag, pulling out his half-loaf and apples. He tossed one to Kaede, who caught it without looking. "You know," Aren said, leaning against a broken chair, "we're gonna die young if the city doesn't get us first. Just a thought."
Kaede smirked. "I prefer to die standing. Or at least swinging something heavy. You'd probably trip on the way out."
A soft chill came from Rei, just enough for Aren to notice. Not a gust of wind, not a shiver from the broken walls. Her presence, her calm, almost froze the room. He looked at her. "You cold-blooded or just... judging me?"
Three words came again. "Both," she said. And then she returned to her book, as if the conversation had never happened.
Aren sighed, glancing out the broken roof. The sun was still up. Hot, high, bright. Too bright to ignore. He tilted his head, feeling the warmth on his skin—not painfully, not yet—but it pulsed in his veins, a subtle tickle he couldn't explain. It wasn't power. Not yet. Just a feeling, an inkling that maybe, someday, the sun could do more than tan his skin.
Kaede noticed the glance. "Don't daydream now, Solis. The city doesn't wait for thoughts. It eats daydreamers first."
"Yeah, yeah," Aren said, shrugging. "But something about today feels... different. I can't explain it."
Rei glanced up from her book, eyes flicking toward him for a fraction longer than usual. Something like... curiosity. Or maybe judgment. Maybe both.
For Aren, that tiny flicker of recognition—three words, three glances, nothing more—was enough.
Because maybe, just maybe, the sun wasn't the only thing rising today.
And in that moment, walking through a ruin, picking through trash, joking with friends, Aren Solis had no idea that life was about to burn hotter than the surface of the sun itself.