The acid stench of burning plastic and rotting waste hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the world's descent into chaos.
Towering mountains of refuse stretched as far as the eye could see, their jagged silhouettes cutting a harsh line against the hazy sky. Amidst this desolate landscape, a young boy figure moved with purpose.
Sol wiped the sweat from his brow, smearing grime across his forehead as he dug through another pile of trash searching for anything useful.
"C'mon, c'mon," Sol muttered his young voice barely audible over the clanking of metal and the distant shouts of arguing scavengers. His eyes, sharp despite the harsh conditions, scanned the heap for anything of value. A glint of copper caught his attention , and he pounced on it like a starving animal.
As he yanked the copper wire free, a shadow fell over him. Sol froze, his heart racing. On Zenora, a shadow often meant danger.
Nobody came to Zenora Island by choice. Disconnected from the remnants of civilization, it was a place where only the abandoned and the desperate washed up, like debris on its toxic shores.
"Well, well, ", a gravely voice chuckled. "Look like the runt found something, interesting!"
Sol clutched the copper wire to his chest, slowly turning to face the towering figure of Grak, island's self-appointed "Lords". The man's scarred face split into yellow toothed grin.
"Hand it over, boy." Grak growled, extending a meaty hand.
Sol's mind raced. He needed this score to eat today, but defying Grak could mean a beating - or worse. In the distance, he could see the silhouette of the massive ship docking at the island's makeshift port. It was unlike anything he'd seen before, its sleek design stark contrast to the rusted hulks that usually visited Zenora.
Making a split-second decision, Sol bolted, ducking under Grak's grasp and weaving through labyrinth of trash heaps. The man's enraged roar echoed behind him, spurring Sol to run faster than he ever had before.
As he ran, Sol's thought whirled. The world beyond Zenora was mystery to him, filled with tales of great wars and fallen cities. But that ship... it hinted at something more. Something beyond the daily struggle for survival in this wasteland.
Sol's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he darted between heaps of twisted scraps and rusted machinery. Grak's angry shouts faded behind him, but the feeling of being hunted stayed with him, like a noose tightening around his neck.
The ship loomed in the distance, sleek and almost predatory in its stillness, casting a long shadow over the broken landscape. It didn't belong here. Nothing that clean, nothing that new should be here in a place like Zenora.
His mind raced. He could head to the ship-maybe they'd take him in, offer him some way off this rotting island. But something about it made his skin crawl. Sol had learned the hard way that things that seemed too good were usually traps.
He crouched behind a massive, overturned cargo container, and catches his breathing slowly.
Not the ship, he thought. That's a bad idea. I don't know what they want.
Peering out from his hiding spot, he could see Grak's man spreading out, their heavy boots crunching over the debris, kicking at the refuse piles. He didn't have much time. Sol had spent years surviving in Zenora's underbelly - ducking patrols, avoiding danger, scavenging what other missed - but something about today felt different. That ship is a spark and soon, the island would be burning.
He could see a few of the scavengers watching from the outskirts, their eyes flicking nervously between Grak's goons and the ship. They weren't scavenging. They weren't even moving, just standing there, watching, their breath held as if waiting for something to crack the air wide open.
The ship had disrupted something deep in Zenora, a fragile balance that was never strong to begin with. And now with that sleek vessel looming on the horizon, Sol could feel the tension rising like a wave about to break.
The scavengers knew it too. Their fear was visible, like they could sense that whatever happened next would change everything.
Something bad. Something way worse than Grak.
Sol thought , tightening his chest.