The world sang with metal grinding on metal.
Ren Ashveil crouched in the shadows of the lower district as the titanic treads of Garden Caelum rolled across the cracked desert. Every movement of the city was a thunderous growl that vibrated through the bones of the forgotten.
The air here was thick with ash and rust, sharp enough to taste. Above him, hundreds of meters away, the spires of the Noble District glimmered like polished swords, untouched by the filth below. Down here, in the undercogs, people didn't shine. They starved.
Ren shifted his weight on the rusted girder he perched upon, staring at the transport caravan moving beneath him. Three guards. Old rifles. Laughably thin armor.
And on the flatbed behind them?
Water.
Seven whole barrels, shimmering faintly in the flickering light of the old generators. Water like that could feed the entire block for weeks. Weeks.
Ren flexed his fingers.
He didn't do this because he liked it. He did this because he had to. The last time someone begged for water, the Steel Wardens—the Noble family's personal enforcers—cut out his tongue and left him to drown in dust.
Tonight, that changed.
A whispering laugh coiled around his mind.
Do it.
Ren's hand tightened around the hilt of his knife. The voice again. It had started three days ago—a whisper in the ash, soft and dangerous. Sometimes, when the nights were too quiet, it sounded like a song made of screams. But it always said the same thing.
Take what's yours.
He exhaled slowly, letting the fury gather in his gut like coal in a forge.
Jump.
He dropped from the beam like a falcon diving for prey. His boots struck the lead guard's shoulders, sending the man crashing to the ground with a grunt. Before the other two could raise their rifles, Ren was already moving. The blade flashed—steel, dull, cracked—but deadly.
One slash across the throat of the second guard. Wet heat splashed across Ren's hand. The third tried to shout, but Ren was faster, burying the blade into his gut before twisting hard.
Silence.
The barrels shimmered in the dying light.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
"Ren! You idiot!"
Gale.
Gale Stroud sprinted down the alley, breathing hard, hair wild, face pale. He skidded to a stop beside the bodies. "We were supposed to wait—we had a plan—"
"Plans don't fill stomachs," Ren snapped, wiping the blade on one of the fallen men's cloaks.
"Yeah, and bodies don't disappear either! You know what the Wardens will do if they find this?"
Ren didn't answer.
Because he did know. Everyone in the cogs knew. The Wardens didn't do trials. They didn't ask questions. They just burned everything and everyone associated with disobedience.
Even children.
Especially children.
Gale swallowed hard. "We need to move. Now."
The barrels. He could almost hear the water inside them sloshing. Salvation in liquid form. But Ren wasn't looking at the water anymore.
His eyes were fixed on the third guard—the one who had tried to scream. He was dying slowly, blood pooling in the gaps between the metal plates beneath them. But his hand… his hand clutched something glowing beneath his shirt.
A crystal.
Pale red. Cracked. Humming.
Ren frowned. "That's… that's not a comm. That's…"
"Forget it!" Gale hissed. "Grab the barrels and let's go!"
But Ren didn't move. The humming filled his skull like a heartbeat now. Hot, electric, alive.
Touch it.
That voice again. Not his. Not Gale's.
Something else.
Touch it.
Without understanding why, Ren knelt beside the dying man, ignoring the blood that stained his sleeves, and pulled the glowing object free.
It wasn't a crystal.
It was a shard of bone, etched with red glyphs that pulsed faintly, like the ember of a dying star. And as his fingers curled around it—
Everything burned.
---
Flashes of light. Screams. Wings made of iron and flame tearing through a sky of glass. Cities collapsing. And standing in the heart of the storm—
Himself.
Older. Stronger. Eyes burning red. A crown of broken gears resting on his brow.
And around his throat—a chain connected to a Seraph. Biomechanical. Beautiful. Terrifying.
The vision snapped back, dragging him into the present like a drowning man gasping for air.
Ren stumbled backward, the shard still clutched in his hand. The dying guard's mouth moved, barely audible.
"…forgive…us…"
The glyphs flared. Bright. Hungry.
And suddenly Ren understood.
This was a Seraph Core. A piece of a forbidden living weapon, something only the Noble Families possessed. Something that had destroyed entire Gardens in the wars before. Something alive.
Gale's voice broke the silence. "Ren. Your eyes."
Ren blinked. His hands were trembling, the shard glowing brighter by the second. And reflected in the blood pooling beneath him—
His irises were glowing red.
"Ren… what the hell is that?"
Before he could answer, a sharp crack echoed across the district.
Gunfire.
Gale's eyes widened. "Wardens."
Ren turned.
From the far end of the alley, torchlight flickered. Boots stomped in unison. The steel masks of the Wardens glimmered, polished to a mirror finish. Rifles leveled at them like executioners preparing for their work.
There were ten of them.
Gale stepped in front of Ren, fists clenched. "We'll run. We'll find another way."
But Ren wasn't listening.
The shard in his hand pulsed again, deeper now. Louder. It could save them. It could save everyone. All he had to do was accept.
Say it, the voice whispered, silky and inviting. Say my name.
Ren's heart hammered. His vision blurred with crimson. The memories of hunger. His mother's last scream. His father's broken body in the dust. The laughter of nobles echoing above them.
Why should he die like this, begging for mercy that would never come?
No.
Not this time.
Ren stood tall.
"I don't run anymore."
He raised the shard high.
And he spoke the name that had burned itself into his brain:
"ASHIR."
The world exploded.
---
For one perfect second, everything was light.
The Wardens didn't even have time to scream before something erupted from the shard—a shape of wings and wires, talons of molten chrome, a skeletal face crowned in fire. Its voice was a chorus of broken engines, roaring from the abyss itself.
"CONTRACT ACCEPTED."
The thing struck the ground like a falling meteor, shockwaves rippling outward, sending metal and bodies flying. The Wardens were tossed like dolls into the shadows, their armor snapping like brittle bone.
Gale hit the ground beside Ren, shielding his head, shouting something lost in the thunder.
Ren could feel his own body changing—energy flooding his muscles, his heartbeat in sync with the humming of the shard now fused into his palm. Lines of red light traced along his skin like living circuitry.
And before him, kneeling in mock servitude, was the being itself:
Ashir, the Forgotten Seraph.
"I am yours," it whispered, its voice echoing in both ears and soul. "Make them bleed."
Ren's chest heaved.
Above him, the spires of the Noble District shone like distant suns.
Below, the ashes whispered of revolution.
The time for starving in silence was over.
"Gale," Ren said, voice sharp and steady.
"Yeah?" his friend croaked, eyes wide with terror and awe.
Ren didn't look back. His glowing eyes locked on the horizon.
"We're going to burn this garden to the ground."
---
[End of Chapter 1]