The world wasn't always like this—or maybe it was. Ezra couldn't say for certain. His knowledge of history was patchy at best, cobbled together from overheard tavern gossip and snippets of conversation he'd caught during his nightly 'adventures' scavenging for food.
What he did know was this: he lived in District 5—the lowest and most neglected part of the city. It was a crumbling, battered place surrounded by towering, formidable walls.
The kind of walls that didn't protect the people inside but rather contained them.
There were five districts in total, each ranked and categorized in a rigid hierarchy.
District 1 sat at the top, a glittering fortress of excess and privilege, home to the wealthiest elites who lounged in luxury, shielded from the harsh realities of life beyond their walls.
District 2 followed closely behind—upper middle class, a place for wealthy merchants and bureaucrats.
District 3 and 4 housed the middle and lower-middle class, filled with workers, artisans, and those who kept the city's gears turning.
And then there was District 5.
It was where the sick, the poor, and the forgotten lived. Filthy streets, dilapidated buildings, and an overwhelming sense of despair clung to every corner. People here were used to being ignored, overlooked by those in the upper districts who barely acknowledged their existence.
No one cared about District 5.
It was a place where hunger gnawed at bellies, where disease spread unchecked, and where survival was an exhausting, never-ending task. The towering walls separating each district weren't just physical barriers—they were reminders.
Reminders of the unyielding hierarchy that divided them: Elite, Upper Class, Middle Class, Lower Middle Class, and the Forgotten.
Ezra had always found the walls claustrophobic. They loomed over the district like silent sentinels, unyielding and cold. The world beyond them—the glittering towers of District 1—felt like another universe entirely.
But even in the filth and grime of District 5, life had a way of stubbornly persisting. People clung to what little they had, finding moments of fleeting joy amid the shadows. And Ezra, like many others, had learned to adapt, to scrape by, and to survive.
Even if survival meant stealing, hiding, and running for his life on more occasions than he'd like to admit.
And then there were the Resonarchs.
People born—or perhaps gifted—with extraordinary powers that made them stronger, faster, and more resilient than ordinary humans.
No one really knew where their abilities came from, but Resonarchs had a way of rising above the system. They climbed the social ladder, carving out better lives for themselves through their unique strengths.
Ezra had always admired them from afar, though not without a hint of bitterness. Power, after all, was an easy ticket out of District 5—if you were lucky enough to be born with it.
But Ezra wasn't lucky.
Despite his abilities—abilities that made him different, abilities that should have given him an edge—nothing ever seemed to work out for him. It was as if the universe had stamped failure across his forehead at birth.
First, there was being born in District 5, the armpit of society. Having no family , just his name and his angelic appearance that made him stand out .Then came the wall breach, followed closely by the absurdity of accusing a literal monster of stealing his snack. And let's not forget meeting what should have been an early and messy death before being stuck with Shirley of all people.
His life felt like one long cruel joke.
But power wasn't always a gift.
There were also the monsters—twisted, horrifying creatures that prowled the wastelands beyond the city walls. Their jagged claws and needle-like teeth made quick work of anything weaker than them.
They were merciless predators, driven by hunger and a primal instinct to destroy.
Ezra often forgot that the towering walls weren't just there to keep people in—they were also there to keep those things out.
But now, with breaches in the walls, the monsters had begun to pour in like a swarm of ants. They spilled into the districts, scuttling across broken streets and hunting anything in their path.
Their guttural growls reverberated through the hollow remains of collapsed buildings, mingling with the screams of the unfortunate souls caught in their claws.
The scent of blood, the wails of the dying, and the low, guttural growls of prowling beasts had become the new symphony of District 5.
And, of course, no one was coming to save them.
Who would waste their time, their resources, or their lives to save the poor? Would the inner city send their Enforcers? Perhaps. But only to save face. They'd show up in polished armor, bark orders, and make grand speeches about hope and order—all while turning their backs on the reality of the slaughter.
The people of District 5 were on their own.
Ezra sat with his knees pulled to his chest as rain tapped softly against the cracked window of their temporary shelter. The faint glow of distant fires flickered across the night sky, painting grotesque shadows against the jagged edges of broken walls.
Outside, the howls of those creatures echoed into the night—long, drawn-out wails that carried hunger, anger, and something far, far worse.
Something Ezra couldn't name, but he felt it deep in his bones.
This wasn't just survival anymore.
It was a slow, inevitable end.