Get the best out of life – come to the Grand Show at Club ZVON!

A brand-new holographic concert streamed directly from the Tower of the Sun!

Tickets available at all terminals in Lower Prim.


Ela, Lower Prim


Loud music pulsed through the space, and Ela felt the rhythm weaving through her body. Colorful lights danced before her eyes, turning the world into a swirling rainbow kaleidoscope. Maybe that third drink was too much. Maybe it wasn’t. She just needed someone to yell at her: "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and take what life offers!"


But no one did.


Miren, the friend she had come with, was too busy at the bar, caught up in the rhythm of the dance, leaving Ela alone with her own thoughts—thoughts that were driving her insane. Reng. His face flickered in the features of the dancers around her, only to be wiped away by the next burst of flashing lights. She felt like an idiot. What was it about him, really? Those hands… calloused and rough. Or maybe those eyes, carrying the whole world he longed for.


It didn’t matter anymore, she told herself. Tomorrow would bring a new chapter. The Institute, a new position, a promising career. She had made it—she should be celebrating. She should let go of these foolish thoughts.



"Hey, Red."


She turned her head. A man in a hat was smiling at her, his teeth flashing under the neon glow. He had that kind of arrogance about him. Tall, muscular, perfectly fitting into the whirlwind of this place—except for that damn hat. It looked like it belonged to another world.


"You talking to me?" she asked, surprised at the warmth in her own voice.


It was the kind of attention she should have said no to. But she didn’t want to. There was something in his eyes, something bold, something reckless—she knew it spelled trouble. And she didn’t care. She smiled.


His name was Valis.


Their dance started innocently enough. But soon Ela was breathless, and when his hands wrapped around her, she felt the subtle pressure pushing against the edge of a line he had already begun to cross. She wanted to say something, but his smile silenced her. He was coaxing her.


Let it go. Just one night—what does it matter?


The change came only when he dragged her into a dark alley. His breath was hot, laced with the scent of cheap alcohol and drugs, dulling her senses. She let herself be pushed against the wall, but the moment his hands brushed over her skin, something inside her snapped.


"Whore!"


She flinched. The scream wasn’t real. She heard it only in her head, along with the hatred blooming in the faces of a crowd hidden behind her closed eyelids.


"No!" she suddenly cried out.


But he only laughed. "Relax, Red. Stop squirming."


He pressed her harder against the wall. The sharp impact of his hand nearly knocked the air from her lungs. Her heart pounded, palms slick with sweat, but her mind screamed: Stop being scared! Do something!


She seized the moment when he leaned in, stomping down on his foot with all her strength. Pain jolted through him, making him recoil. He hissed. She lost her balance but managed to raise her hands and shove him away with all she had.


"Stay back," she growled.


Her hands trembled, but she found enough strength to show him she was done playing.


It’s not enough. It’s not enough.


His fingers tightened around her throat, promising pain. She felt his grip crushing her skin, choking the breath out of her.


"You’ll like it, I promise," he whispered.


This time, she was truly afraid.


A sudden blow. The dull sound of metal slamming into flesh. Valis crumpled to the ground with a shout. His hat flew off, landing in a nearby puddle.

She couldn’t catch her breath. She stood there with smudged lipstick, disheveled hair, and hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Scared. Humiliated.


Miren pulled back her foot and kicked the writhing man with all her might.


"That’s for you, you bastard!"


Ela stood frozen, unable to catch her breath. “Miren, what...?”


“What what? I’m saving your ass, princess,” the black-haired girl scoffed, slinging the pipe she’d used to take down the attacker over her shoulder. “Come on, before that idiot changes his mind.”


They walked side by side. Silent. Miren was quiet but fuming. Ela felt like a ghost, swallowed by the city. It was dark—yet intoxicating.


She lifted her eyes to the sky, where distant lights of the Beacon shimmered through the city haze. The beings up there were different. They didn’t see the sins or the filth staining the streets below.


A shout snapped her back to reality. A small crowd had gathered around a broadcasting infovision. Ela slowed down, drawn to the images on the flat display. Burning houses. Lifeless bodies. Charred earth.


These were the stories of the South. A grim window into a war that almost no one in Prim cared about.


"Fighting continues in the South. Thousands of refugees from war-torn regions are moving north, only to face closed borders at the oasis territories. Most remain stranded in makeshift camps without access to basic necessities."


"I don’t know why they keep showing this," Miren muttered, scowling. She turned away, refusing to watch any longer.


Ela said nothing, but unlike Miren, she knew why.


The world liked to forget.


But it shouldn’t.


***


Return to the reality of the everyday.


The echoes of a long night had robbed her of sleep—and maybe even a little peace. And she really needed that now.


She hunched over the device, watching as the display once again flashed unfavorable readings.


Another error.


The machine was perfect. She was not.


She knew this would cost her hours of work. Desperate attempts to find the distortion that was generating inaccurate results. Her fingers slid over the screen. She uploaded the data into the system. Again. Over and over. The machine remained silent, relentless—just like the Institute and its rules.


She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice the movement at the door. Not until the light on her desk was blocked by the presence of a uniform.


She flinched.


Gray. Cold. Foreign. A warning sign.


"My deepest apologies for the interruption, madam," the guard said with a polished smile, the insignia on his chest catching the lab’s sterile light. "I must ask you to come with me."


A thousand questions flooded Ela’s mind. What did I do? What do they want from me?


And yet, all she could think about was that her work wasn’t finished. She couldn’t leave it undone.


"I’ll finish it for you."


She turned toward the young lab technician at the next station. A void flickered in her mind.


Jova? Jola? What was her name, again?


Forcing a smile, Ela handed her the necessary files.


As she rose to her feet, a weight settled in her stomach.


Everything in the room suddenly felt sharper. The quiet hum of ventilation. The clicking of instruments. The eyes of everyone present.


Why are they taking me? What have I done?


Their questions hung in the air, unspoken yet heavy. That was life at the Institute.


"Where are you taking me?" she asked.


The guard walked briskly ahead of her, while she did her best to appear indifferent.


"To the local headquarters."


"Why? Did I do something wrong?"


The guard glanced back at her with an amused smirk. "I wouldn’t know, madam. Do you have something to confess?"


Ela shook her head, but her mouth had gone dry. What in the coiled one’s name is going on? She closed her eyes, forcing herself to take deep breaths. She could only hope that the waiting would be worse than the truth.


They were expecting her.


Ela stepped through the doors into a small yet unexpectedly comfortable room. The walls were lined with paintings, and a thick, soft carpet covered the floor. It caught her off guard—an island of luxury amidst the cold, sterile offices of the Garda.


Behind the heavy desk sat another uniform. Gray, again. The insignia on his chest were more elaborate, meticulously designed. She wasn’t familiar with their ranks, but the man had to be a senior officer.


The guard gestured toward the chair opposite the desk. "Take a seat."


Ela obeyed. She placed her hands on the table, but when she noticed how they trembled, she quickly withdrew them into her lap.


The officer studied her for a brief moment before lowering his gaze to a folder spread open before him. Her eyes flickered over the name at the top of the page.


Valis Noret.


"Do you know why you’re here?" His voice was measured, neutral—but not hostile.


"No," she answered softly. Lies. Lies. You know exactly why.


That name. She knew it.


The officer nodded, as if he had expected her answer. He leaned back, then slid one of the papers toward her.


"And this name—do you recognize it?" His tone remained just as calm.


Ela hesitated but finally nodded.


"I suppose I do."


"Do you know who he is?"


"I don’t," she answered truthfully. "I only know we had a small misunderstanding last night at a club in Lower Prim. Let’s just say we disagreed on the meaning of the word no. Nothing major."


Silence stretched across the room. The officer watched her without the slightest trace of emotion. Yet his gaze burned straight through to her soul. Ela quickly lowered her eyes.


The officer slid the paper with Valis’ name back into the folder.


"Do you have a witness who can confirm your statement?" His question was simple, but the weight of it crashed down on her instantly.


"No!" she blurted out, immediately regretting it. She corrected herself. "Actually—yes. I have a witness."


The officer raised an eyebrow. "And does this witness have a name? Will you write it down for us?"


Ela swallowed hard. Her hands were clammy as she picked up the pen. For a moment, she only stared at the blank paper in front of her.


Miren.


What if they hurt her? But she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had only defended her. Anyone would understand why she did it.


"Miss?" The officer’s voice pulled her back.


She took a deep breath and then wrote down her friend’s name.


That night, as she walked home, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. The interrogation had seemed like a friendly conversation, but she knew there would be consequences. The moment she looked up Valis Noret’s name, the weight of it settled on her shoulders like a crushing burden.


Son of a Prim councilor. A member of the Family.


The realization hit like a brick to the chest.


She and Miren shared a small apartment assigned to them by the Institute. Nothing extravagant. Two beds, a bathroom, and a cramped kitchen that barely fit one of them at a time. But by Prim’s standards, it was decent living.


Miren hadn’t returned yet, but something was waiting for Ela—a neatly folded letter, slipped under the door by the building’s administrator.

Curious, she picked it up. To her surprise, her own name was written on the envelope.


Even before she opened it, she knew.


This was not going to be good news.


Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the simple note. Just one sentence.


“Reng is dead.”