Chapter 1: The Waste City - Somara
The skies above Somara were always gray, as if refusing to offer even a sliver of hope to those who lived beneath them. The air was filled with the stench of ever-growing mountains of waste, dust swirling in every direction, while the river cutting through the city had long since turned into a stream of thick, black sludge—no longer deserving to be called water.
This city was once magnificent, the heart of trade and life on the continent of Amhail. But creeping ecological collapse transformed it into a place of poverty and despair, now infamously known as the Waste City.
Amid this chaos lived Godan, a sixteen-year-old boy with piercing eyes and a body marked by scars. Towering over most other kids his age, he lived in a rickety shack on the outskirts of the city with two companions, Jomie and Marta. Despite the harsh conditions, Godan was a reliable figure, a natural leader for his small group.
Jomie, a wiry fourteen-year-old with curly hair, was full of energy despite his thin frame and perpetually grimy face. His knack for spotting valuable items in the heaps of trash earned him the nickname "Eagle Eyes" from Godan.
Marta, on the other hand, was a quiet girl nearly the same age as Godan. Though she spoke little, she possessed remarkable physical strength, often stepping forward to face danger first in order to protect their little group.
"Today, we have to find something truly valuable," Godan said as he tightened the frayed laces of his worn-out shoes. "The water's running out. If we don't get anything, we might not last until next week."
Jomie nodded eagerly, while Marta merely gave Godan a serious look. They all knew life in the Waste City was a relentless struggle. Each day was a race against time and death, and they had no choice but to keep pushing forward.
Their daily routine revolved around scavenging—collecting anything that could be salvaged or recycled to trade with Boss Rocko. He owned a small factory that processed waste into more useful items. The payment? Drinking water and a meager supply of food, of course.
As they stepped out of their shack, the rumble of garbage transport trucks echoed in the distance. Somara had become nothing more than a colossal graveyard for the people's hopes. Yet, amidst the ruins of destruction, Godan clung to an unyielding resolve. Something greater awaited him, though he didn't yet know what it was.
***
The city of Somara buzzed with activity, the clamor of complaints and heated debates echoing from every corner of its crowded streets, filled with residents still struggling to survive.
Today, in an old, nearly-collapsing teahouse at the heart of the city, a group of adults gathered around a rickety wooden table, sipping stale tea—a rare luxury in Somara. Their main topic of discussion was the upcoming mayoral election.
"Whoever gets elected better know how to deal with this mess!" barked Mr. Warden, an elderly man with a deeply wrinkled face. He slammed his trembling hand on the table for emphasis. "The trash piles keep growing, and that river... it's a hellhole!"
"Ah, all candidates are the same," countered Mrs. Lenna, the middle-aged owner of the teahouse, as she adjusted the cloth mask tied around her face. "They'll promise to clean the city, but what do they do once they're elected? Nothing! The trash keeps coming, and the waste keeps flowing."
In another corner, Mr. Shoga, a worker at Boss Rocko's waste-processing factory, chimed in with a bitter tone. "Clean up the trash? No one can clean this city without stopping the imports from the northern cities. As long as we're their dumping ground, Somara will never be clean!"
The discussion grew increasingly heated. Some proposed mass-burning the trash, though everyone knew it would only worsen the already unbearable air pollution. Others spoke of using advanced technology from other cities, but the cost was far beyond what Somara could afford.
"We need a miracle," muttered a thin man sitting in the corner. His voice was quiet, nearly drowned out by the escalating debate. "Or someone with the guts to change everything."
Outside the teahouse, Godan and his small group wove through the crowd. Though they were just teenagers, the adults' conversations often lingered in their minds. Godan glanced at Marta and Jomie, who walked silently beside him, clearly deep in thought.
"Do they really not know how to fix this city?" Jomie finally asked, his tone laced with skepticism.
"They just talk," Marta replied curtly, kicking a small rock in her path. "But talk isn't enough."
Godan said nothing. He kept walking, his eyes fixed on the towering piles of trash in the distance. The large sack slung over his shoulder was ready to be filled with whatever scraps of value they could find.
Currency still circulated in the Waste City—or rather, the currency of the continent, Delas. However, the poverty here was so extreme that bartering was the most common means of trade. When cash was truly needed, residents would exchange clean water or goods for money at a trade post near the city's entrance.
Godan tightened his grip on the sack. The sound of the adults' heated words faded behind him, but their meaning lingered. Somara was drowning, and no one seemed to know how to save it.
***
The heat was intense today, and a thick dust fog covered the Trash City, adding to the stifling atmosphere. Godan, Marta, and Jomie walked slowly toward the western city dump zone. Every day, they raced against time, competing with dozens of other scavengers to find anything of value.
"We should split up. There's more trash in this area if we don't stay too close," Godan said, dropping his sack to the ground.
"I'll take the north side!" Jomie exclaimed enthusiastically, jogging between piles of refuse.
"Marta, you take the middle. I'll check around the old clothing store," Godan pointed toward the ruins of what used to be a second-hand clothing market. There were still three or four stores that had managed to survive. Marta simply nodded and walked in the indicated direction.
Godan started sifting through the trash carefully. After nearly half an hour of digging through discarded items, sweat began to bead on his forehead and back.
Amid the plastic waste, torn fabric, and metal scraps, he found something different—a worn leather-bound journal. He opened the first page slowly, his eyes catching the neat handwriting on the yellowed paper.
"Secrets & Powers of the Water Goddess Stone," Godan muttered, reading the title on the cover. His heart began to race. He flipped through a few more pages, discovering strange sketches, unfamiliar symbols, and fragments of text describing the legendary stone.
This legend was well-known in Trash City, and some claimed one of its miracles could purify contaminated water.
People had searched for it in the past, but all hopes had faded as the city's condition worsened. Godan turned a few more pages. However, before he could read further, a loud noise came from Jomie rummaging through the trash. Godan quickly glanced over, closed the journal, and slipped it into his sack.
Elsewhere, Jomie was having a tense standoff with an elderly man wearing ragged clothes and a weary expression. In his hand, Jomie gripped a large piece of hard plastic—an item that could be worth quite a bit if sold to Bos Rocko.
"That's mine! I saw it first!" the old man shouted, his voice hoarse.
"But I took it from the pile! You weren't even here earlier!" Jomie retorted, his tone harsh and emotional.
Both were claiming ownership, neither willing to back down.
Godan and Marta quickly ran over to them. "What's going on here?" Godan asked firmly.
The old man looked at them with an angry expression, pointing his finger. "This kid took the item I spotted first! I need it!" There was a pleading tone hidden beneath his anger.
Marta stared back and forth between Jomie and the old man, for a moment, then spoke briefly, "Just give it to him."
"But I—" Jomie protested, but Godan quickly cut him off, pulling him back and speaking softly.
"Jomie, let him have it," Godan said gently. Seeing the frustration on Jomie's face, he added, "This man only has one or two hours to look for items like this. The rest of the time, he has to care for his sick child who's been ill for a week."
Jomie stared at Godan, both surprised and irritated. "How do you know that?"
"I saw him at the exchange station once. He almost didn't have time to trade because his child had to be taken to the clinic," Godan replied in a whisper.
"But I found it first, and this would have been enough for us to eat and drink for three days." Jomie's frustration shifted to a sense of guilt and sadness.
"I'll find something else, something more interesting," Godan reassured him.
Jomie fell silent, then reluctantly handed the plastic piece to the old man. "Here, take it," he muttered.
The old man received the item with trembling hands. "Thank you, children. Thank you..." He quickly left, disappearing into the trash piles.
Godan patted Jomie on the back. "We can always find other things, but people like him only have a little time and hope left. You did the right thing."
Marta nodded in agreement, hugging Jomie, while Jomie only sighed softly, his frustration slowly fading.
The red-haired girl said, "Sometimes we have to let go a little to avoid bigger problems, and do good because sometimes we still need people's help."
"Let's go, we have to hurry before our time runs out too," Jomie finally said.
The three of them split up again, with Godan keeping the secret of the old journal he had just found.