Kayen jolted awake, sweat slicking his skin. His breath came in shallow bursts, his sheets tangled around his legs like shackles.
The dream had felt too real. Fire licking the sky. Screams swallowed in smoke. And him—standing alone, wings outstretched, eyes burning.
He rubbed his face and forced himself out of bed, the early morning light creeping lazily through the window slats. Nairobi Prime's haze painted the sky in muted oranges. It was a weekend, but peace never truly existed in Zone 7.
As he stepped into the dining room, the smell of toasted mandazi and chai welcomed him. But the moment was short-lived.
"You were in another fight?" his mother snapped without even looking up from her tablet.
His two elder sisters, Nia and Elvira, were already at the table, arms crossed and waiting. Kayen groaned internally and dropped into a seat.
"Elvira told me," Nia said, eyes narrowed. "She saw the bruises last night. You think we're stupid?"
"It wasn't a big deal," he muttered.
"You've been sneaking into the underground matches again, haven't you?" Elvira leaned forward. "Do you know what kind of people run that place?"
Kayen clenched his jaw. "It's not like I'm joining a gang. I win. I leave."
"And one day you won't leave," their mother cut in, voice icy. "And we'll find you in a body bag."
Silence thickened the air. He glanced at his youngest sister, Leila, who quietly nibbled her toast, eyes wide and sad. That made the guilt worse.
Without another word, Kayen grabbed his jacket and stormed out.
Sector 7's scrapyard looked like a graveyard of machines—dented mech parts, shattered hoverbike frames, and rusted-out drones piled like bones. At the far edge, under a makeshift tin roof, sat a workshop glowing with neon sparks.
"Yo, genius!" Kayen called.
A head popped up from under a humming engine core. Short dreads, goggles perched on his forehead, and a smirk that always spelled mischief—this was Zemo Roka, Kayen's best friend.
"You're late," Zemo said. "I finished tuning both bikes without you. You're welcome."
"I had a whole lecture squad at home," Kayen replied, walking in. "Might need a bike just to outrun guilt."
Zemo laughed and tossed him a helmet. "Let's ride."
The hoverbikes roared down Sector 7's abandoned lane, engines humming like caged lightning. Zemo's custom designs left streaks of blue plasma in their wake.
Kayen leaned into the turns, instincts sharp. Every flick of the wrist, every tilt of his weight felt natural—too natural.
"You trying to show off?" Zemo shouted from behind.
"Not trying. Just winning."
Their laughter echoed through the sector until Kayen saw her.
A girl crossing the street—elegant, unaware. Kayen's eyes widened.
"Damn it!"
He yanked the handles, jerking the bike hard to the side. It skidded, flipped, and slammed into a pile of crates with a crash.
Zemo screeched to a halt.
The girl rushed over.
"You okay?" she asked, kneeling beside him.
He blinked. The world spun, then steadied.
Her face—stunning. Symmetrical like art, with sharp eyes and soft lips. Black locs tied neatly behind her head. Clothes tailored and crisp. Way too expensive for Zone 7.
"I—uh—yeah," Kayen stammered. "Didn't see you. I mean, I did—but not in time—I wasn't trying to hit you, promise."
She stared at him, intrigued more than concerned. "You're fast," she said, standing. "But reckless."
And without another word, she walked away, boots tapping against the cracked pavement.
Kayen sat up, scratching his head.
"Who was that?" he asked.
Zemo rolled up, shaking his head. "You just nearly ran over a goddess, bro."
Elsewhere, in a sleek, high-rise hotel overlooking Nairobi Prime, Selasi Nyari pulled open the curtains of her room. The city buzzed far below, a patchwork of neon, rust, and concrete towers. She unpacked slowly, checking the discreet tracking tablet clipped inside her duffel.
A knock echoed—not at the door, but the window.
She turned.
A figure stood on the narrow balcony, cloaked in matte grey, hood drawn.
She sighed and opened the window.
"You're not subtle."
The agent stepped in and handed her a thin black folder. On its cover: a photo of Kayen Telani.
"Zone 7 has shifted," the agent said. "Energy spikes. Rift echoes. He is the epicenter."
Selasi scanned the document, eyes narrowing.
"Have the higher circles approved surveillance?"
"Not yet. But something inside him is waking. If we wait too long—"
"I won't."
The agent gave a nod and leapt from the balcony, vanishing into the
city's bones.
Back in the scrapyard, Kayen rubbed at a sore shoulder as Zemo pushed the wrecked bike aside.
"That was some crash."
"Tell me about it."
Before they could say more, a shadow fell over them.
And then—pain.
Something grabbed Kayen and yanked him into the air. He screamed, legs flailing.
Zemo shouted, "Kayen!"
Above, a demon unlike any he'd seen loomed. Its body shimmered like oil, muscles lean and wired, skin scaled and black as obsidian. Eyes blazed crimson. Wings like torn leather beat the air.
The creature's claws dug into Kayen's jacket.
"Found you," it hissed, voice a guttural blend of hundreds.