The sun was setting over Arcis, its light painting the crumbling outskirts in hues of burnt orange and gold. Sylas Carter pushed a rusted cart through the narrow, trash-strewn alleyways, his fingers wrapped tightly around the worn handles. The wheels squeaked with every step, announcing his presence in the silent slums.
Behind him, his younger sister, Ana, trailed quietly, her small hands clutching a bag of salvaged scrap metal. She was twelve but had the sharp eyes of someone much older, always watching, always alert.
"Think this'll be enough for food?" Ana asked, nudging the bag with her foot.
Sylas glanced at the bag, then at her, forcing a smile. "We'll make it work."
They reached the edge of the market district, where a few makeshift stalls lined the cracked pavement. The vendors eyed Sylas and Ana warily, as if they might snatch something and run. Trust was a rare currency in the slums of Arcis.
Sylas was about to haggle with one of the vendors when the low hum of engines filled the air. He froze, his pulse quickening. The hum grew louder, a steady, ominous drone that made the ground tremble.
"Stay behind me," he told Ana, pushing her back.
A sleek, black hovercraft descended from the sky, its polished surface reflecting the dying light. The Browns' crest—a gleaming bronze cube—was emblazoned on the side. The craft landed smoothly, its engines purring as the doors slid open.
A woman in a sharp black suit stepped out, her heels clicking against the pavement. She was tall, with pale skin and dark hair pulled into a severe bun. Her eyes swept over the market, settling on Sylas and Ana.
"Sylas Carter," she said, her voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "You and your family have been summoned by the Browns. Come with us."
Sylas's stomach churned. "Summoned? Why?"
The woman didn't answer. Instead, she held out a bronze tablet, its surface shimmering with faint light. Text scrolled across it:
"Report to Browns Estate. Attendance mandatory."
"Failure to comply will not be tolerated," the woman added, her gaze icy.
Sylas looked at Ana, who clutched his arm tightly, her eyes wide with fear. He turned back to the woman. "We don't have a choice, do we?"
"No," she said simply. "Gather your family. You leave now."
The hum of the hovercraft engines rose again as the woman stepped aside, gesturing for them to follow. Sylas clenched his jaw, his mind racing. Whatever the Browns wanted, it couldn't be good. But refusal wasn't an option—not for people like them.
"Come on, Ana," he said quietly, taking her hand.
As they boarded the craft, Sylas felt the first prick of unease settle deep in his gut. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.
The door closed behind them with a hiss, and the hovercraft lifted into the sky, carrying them toward a destiny they could neither understand nor escape.
The Browns had summoned them. And nothing in their lives would ever be the same.