Hope

The world above had forgotten the sound of wind. Down in the tunnels of Haven’s Deep, air didn’t move — it hummed. Machines breathed for humanity now: filters whirring, vents coughing, lights flickering like the heartbeat of a dying god. Riven Hale sat on the edge of a broken pipe, his gloves slick with coolant. The metallic tang filled his mouth. Another night, another leak. Another patch job for a city that was falling apart faster than anyone dared admit. He checked the gauge again. Pressure low. Oxygen flow unstable. The sector would be unbreathable in a week, maybe less. “Don’t think too much, Riven,” his supervisor always said. “Thinking doesn’t fix air.” But he couldn’t help it. Every hiss of escaping gas sounded like the world exhaling its last breath. A faint voice echoed from the tunnel mouth. “Riiiven!” He smiled before he turned. Mira came running, small boots splashing through puddles, her dark hair tied in a messy braid. In the pale light, her eyes gleamed silver — the reflection of the fluorescent tubes above. “You’re supposed to be asleep,” he said. “I was! But the lights in our block went out again.” She pouted, holding up a dented lantern. “So I came to find you.” “You know it’s not safe down here.” “Neither is sleeping without air,” she said smartly. Riven snorted. “Fair point.” He reached out and fixed her lantern’s wiring, the tiny spark lighting up her face. For a heartbeat, he imagined what sunlight might look like on her skin — not this cold, artificial glow that made everyone look half-dead. “Someday,” Mira whispered, watching the light. “You’ll fix more than just pipes. You’ll fix the world.” Riven laughed quietly. “The world’s too broken for me.” “Then fix one piece at a time,” she said. “That’s how you fix anything.” He didn’t answer, because he didn’t believe it. But he let her think he did. Later, as they walked back toward the lower housing blocks, the sirens started — low, throbbing, mechanical. Emergency tone. Riven froze. That sound hadn’t echoed through Haven’s Deep in years. Mira clutched his sleeve. “What’s happening?” The corridor lights snapped red, one by one, bleeding color down the metal walls. A voice boomed from the intercom — static and panic woven together. “Security breach detected in Sector 9. All civilians return to quarters immediately. Repeat, breach in Sector 9!” Riven’s chest tightened. Sector 9 was close — too close. He grabbed Mira’s hand and ran. The tunnels filled with chaos — people shouting, scrambling for shelter. Above the noise, there was another sound… one Haven’s Deep hadn’t heard in a lifetime. Gunfire. They reached a corner just in time to see the first explosion bloom through the ventilation shaft — a flower of orange fire licking the steel walls. Figures moved in the smoke — masked, armed, wearing ragged surface armor. Raiders. They shouted commands in a language Riven didn’t recognize. One of them grabbed a child and dragged them into the shadows. Mira gasped. Riven pushed her back. “Stay behind me.” The raiders moved fast, too fast. Within seconds, the lower tunnels were chaos — alarms screaming, metal doors slamming shut, gas hissing from ruptured vents. “Riven!” Mira’s voice trembled. “They’re taking—” A blinding light flashed. A shockwave threw them apart. When Riven opened his eyes, everything was dust. His ears rang. His arm burned. He blinked through the smoke, searching— “Mira?” No answer. He staggered to his feet, coughing, vision swimming. Through the haze, he saw shadows — the raiders retreating through a cracked maintenance hatch, carrying struggling children. One of them — her braid swinging, lantern still in hand. “MIRA!” He ran, but the hatch sealed with a hiss of pressurized locks. The blast doors came down seconds later, cutting him off completely. He pounded on the steel until his fists bled. All he heard in return was silence. Then — faintly — the voice from the intercom, struggling through static: “Containment complete. Sector 9 sealed. Civilian casualties… unknown.” Riven sank to his knees as the red lights dimmed, one by one. For the first time, the tunnels felt empty. Like the air itself had given up. He stared at the sealed hatch until his vision blurred. And in that hollow, breathless dark, he whispered the only word that still meant anything. “Hope…”