The sky above Veyra was cracked.
Not broken like glass.
Not torn like cloth.
Cracked — the way something ancient fractures but refuses to fall apart.
It glowed faintly at night.
People stopped looking at it years ago.
When something terrifying becomes permanent, it becomes background.
Kai Ren leaned over the railing of Sector Twelve's upper walkway, staring at the fracture like he always did when he couldn't sleep.
Below him, the city hummed.
Generators pulsed.
Neon signs flickered.
Street vendors argued.
Somewhere, music played off-key.
Veyra never slept. It negotiated with exhaustion.
A delivery drone buzzed past his head.
He didn't flinch.
He'd grown up in noise.
He preferred it.
Silence meant something was wrong.
He checked the small brass capsule in his pocket.
Still warm.
Good.
Illegal memory transfers degraded quickly if not delivered.
And this one paid enough to keep him fed for two weeks.
Two weeks of not worrying about tomorrow.
He pushed off the railing and started walking.
---
Sector Twelve was the kind of district where nobody asked questions.
Questions were expensive.
People here traded:
Black-market energy cells.
Smuggled Remnants.
Erased memories.
A woman laughed too loudly outside a bar.
Two men argued over a broken anchor stabilizer.
A child chased a mechanical dog that clearly hadn't worked in years.
Life.
Messy.
Uneven.
Real.
Kai liked it here.
He slipped down a narrow alley and knocked twice on a metal door.
Pause.
Then once more.
The door slid open halfway.
A pair of tired eyes studied him.
"You're late," the man inside muttered.
"I prefer dramatically timed," Kai replied.
The man didn't smile.
They never did.
Kai stepped inside.
The room smelled like burned circuitry and old paper.
A strange combination.
He placed the brass capsule on the table carefully.
"Untouched," he said.
The man hesitated before picking it up.
Illegal memory capsules weren't drugs.
They were worse.
They were someone else's life.
The man connected it to a small projector.
A flicker of light filled the room.
A kitchen.
Morning sunlight.
A child laughing.
A woman humming softly while cooking.
The man's hands trembled.
"That's her," he whispered.
Kai looked away politely.
He'd learned early: never watch someone relive what they paid to lose.
The projection ended.
The man closed his eyes.
For a second, he looked peaceful.
Then he nodded.
"Payment's on the counter."
Kai took the credits without counting.
He trusted this one.
As he reached the door, the man asked quietly:
"Do you ever wonder what happens if we stop forgetting?"
Kai shrugged.
"Probably nothing good."
He stepped back into the alley.
The sky above flickered faintly.
For a split second—
The crack pulsed brighter.
Kai froze.
People didn't notice.
They never noticed.
But he felt it.
Like something behind the fracture had just blinked.
Watching.
He shook it off.
"Lack of sleep," he muttered.
A public announcement chimed overhead.
A calm, steady voice filled the district.
Lord Marrow.
"Citizens of Veyra," the voice said gently, "tonight marks another year since the First Forgetting. Thank you for choosing stability. The Silent Festival begins at dusk."
People cheered.
Lantern vendors rolled carts into the street.
Children clapped.
Kai smirked.
"Ah yes," he murmured, "the annual celebration of pretending everything's fine."
He walked toward the main street as the city prepared for the festival.
Above him, the crack in the sky shimmered faintly again.
This time—
Longer.
Almost like a breath.
And far beyond human sight—
Something shifted in response.
That night, the lanterns would rise.
Memories would burn.
And someone would deliver a capsule that should not exist.
But for now—
Veyra laughed beneath a wounded sky.
And Kai Ren had no idea he had already lived this moment before.
---
End of Chapter One.