ASTRID

CHAPTER 9

We slipped off the truck the moment it slowed near the city outskirts, our feet hitting the cracked pavement in silence. The air smelled of smoke and rust, thick with the scent of something burnt long ago.

I turned to look around—and my stomach twisted.

This wasn’t the city I had imagined.

Half-collapsed buildings loomed like skeletal remains, their windows shattered, their walls blackened with soot and grime. Rusting cars sat abandoned in the streets, their tires deflated, their metal frames stripped down to hollow shells. Flickering streetlights buzzed weakly, their glow barely cutting through the fog that clung to the ruins.

Yet, some structures still stood, untouched by destruction. Towering skyscrapers in the distance gleamed with cold, metallic precision, their glass exteriors reflecting the dim, artificial light from above. A sharp contrast—one half of the city left to rot, the other pristine, thriving.

I swallowed hard.

I had never seen the city before. Never once set foot beyond the underground. But even without a past to compare it to, I knew—this wasn’t normal.

This was something else entirely.

A city divided.

A warzone frozen in time.

And we were standing right in the middle of it.

"W-what happened here?" I turned to Kenny, my voice barely above a whisper. He was scanning the ruins just as I was, his fingers tightening around the strap of his rifle. "Why does part of the city look… destroyed? Was there a flood, an earthquake—something?"

Kenny shook his head, his expression dark.

"No."

A cold knot tightened in my stomach. "Then what?"

He let out a slow breath, his gaze lingering on the collapsed buildings, the distant glow of the untouched skyscrapers. "It started a year ago," he said. His voice was low, edged with something unreadable. "Siniston led a rebellion. A man with telekinetic power so strong, people thought he was untouchable. He didn’t just rise to power—he built an army. Every unnatural in the world, every person gifted with abilities, he gathered them under his command."

My breath caught in my throat.

"And then?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Kenny's jaw tightened. "Then they burned the world down. Governments fell. Cities crumbled. Those born normal? They became the hunted. Inferiors. Weak. And the ones with power—" he gestured toward the gleaming towers in the distance, "—they took control. They rewrote the rules. Built their own empire on top of the ashes."

The weight of his words sank deep into my chest.

"We were lucky. Underground, we were invisible. We never had to see the full extent of their wrath." He turned to me then, his eyes sharp.

"s**t!" I cursed under my breath, my pulse hammering in my ears.

"The world is… completely different now," I said, though the words felt useless. They couldn’t begin to capture the sheer devastation before me.

Kenny exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the past. His jaw was tight, his usual unreadable expression fractured by something—anger, urgency, maybe both.

"Come on," he said, adjusting the strap of his rifle across his chest. His gaze flicked around, scanning the ruins with the trained precision of a soldier. "We have to find a car. Kenova is still far, and we can’t stay in one place for too long."

I nodded, though my mind was still spinning.

Everything about this was impossible to process. The world had always felt fragile, on the brink of something, but now it was shattered. The balance was gone, replaced by fear, ruin, and a new order that had no place for people like us.

And whoever the hell Siniston thought he was? He could burn for all I cared.

Especially his son.

Darth Siniston. I hope he really died last night.

Even his name sent a bitter taste crawling up my throat. Kenny had spoken of him in clipped words, avoiding the details, but I had heard enough. If Siniston was the one who had started the rebellion, then Darth may be the one who ensured it never ended. Where his father built an empire, Darth crushed whatever remained of the old world beneath his heel.

They were more than just unnatural. They were monsters.

We moved swiftly, staying close to the crumbling walls as we picked our way through the city. Despite the destruction, there were still people—survivors, scavengers, or maybe just those too afraid to leave.

Thin figures shuffled between makeshift market stalls, trading whatever scraps they had left—dented cans of food, strips of cloth, rusted tools. No one spoke loudly. No one acknowledged us. They moved with a quiet, cautious rhythm, heads low, eyes constantly flicking toward the gleaming skyscrapers in the distance.

They weren’t living. They were surviving.

I wondered why they hadn’t left. Maybe some had. Maybe this was all that remained of those who weren’t strong enough to run. Or maybe… there was nowhere left to go.

Kenny tugged at my sleeve, pulling me into the shadows of a collapsed overpass. "We need to hurry," he said. "The longer we stay out here, the more we risk being noticed."

We searched the wreckage for anything useful—fuel, food, weapons—but every car we found was either stripped for parts or rusted beyond use. Some had been burned down to their metal frames, others looted so thoroughly that even their wires were gone.

"Dammit," I muttered, kicking a pile of broken glass away from my boot. "There has to be something left."

Kenny frowned, his sharp gaze sweeping the street. "They wouldn’t leave anything behind."

"Who?"

"Patrols."

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

Before I could respond, a distant sound made us both freeze.

Engines.

Kenny’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist as he pulled me down behind the rusting shell of an old van. My breath hitched, and I pressed myself against the cold metal, barely daring to peek around the edge.

A sleek black vehicle rolled down the street, slow and methodical. It was different from the wreckage around it—polished, reinforced, and unmistakably new.

They weren’t dressed like soldiers, not in the traditional sense. Their uniforms were dark, armored at the shoulders and chest, but flexible enough for speed. Tactical. Built for people who knew how to kill.

The worst part?

They weren’t just men.

Even from this distance, I could see the unnatural glow in their eyes, the faint shimmer of power clinging to their skin like static electricity. Enhanced. Gifted. Whatever they called themselves now, they were no longer human.

I held my breath as the vehicle slowed.

One of them—a tall man with pale, almost translucent skin—stepped out. His eyes flickered with a dull, unnatural light as he scanned the ruins, his gaze sweeping over the survivors who pretended not to see him.

I could feel the tension in the air. No one moved. No one spoke.

The man took a slow step forward. Then another.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay perfectly still.

Kenny grabbed my collar and yanked me backward, deeper into the wreckage. The moment his grip broke the hold, air rushed back into my lungs, and I gasped, choking on the stale, smoke-filled air.

"They’re scanning," Kenny whispered, his voice urgent but controlled. "They’ll sense movement. We stay still, we stay quiet."

I nodded, swallowing the panic rising in my throat.

The seconds dragged on like hours. The pressure returned, rolling through the street in waves—searching, reaching. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Then,

A sharp whistle echoed through the street, and just like that, the patrols moved on. The black vehicle rolled forward, disappearing into the distance.

I exhaled shakily, my muscles still trembling.

"That was too close," I muttered.

Kenny didn't respond immediately. He was still watching the street, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was grim.

"They’re still looking."

I swallowed. "Do you think it’s us?"

He didn’t answer.

Because deep down, we both knew the truth.

"We still need to look for a ride..." Kenny muttered as he scanned the wreckage around us.

"O-okay..." I stammered, still shaken from the close call with the patrol. My hands were still clammy, but I forced myself to focus. We couldn’t stay in this city forever. Kenova was too far, and without a vehicle, we'd never make it.

Kenny tugged me forward, his eyes scanning the crumbling street. His steps were swift, determined, but cautious. The oppressive weight of the silence pressed down on us as we moved through the ruins, searching for any vehicle that still worked.

We passed by a series of abandoned cars—some were stripped to the bone, the frames picked clean, others reduced to skeletal remains, nothing more than charred husks from previous fires. The heat had warped the metal, leaving twisted remains behind.

Then, in the distance, hidden behind a collapsed wall, we spotted something that might actually be useful. A large, rusted truck—a dump truck, maybe.

It had seen better days, that was clear. Its wheels were still attached, but they were cracked, and the body of the truck was covered in layers of grime, the original paint nearly gone. The metal had dulled to a sickly brownish hue, and one of the doors was hanging off by a single hinge.

"That’s our best bet," Kenny said, his voice tinged with a mixture of relief and frustration. "It’ll have to do."

I stared at the truck. It looked as if it could barely hold together, but we had no other choice. The engine might be dead.

Kenny approached cautiously. He grabbed the handle of the door and pulled. The rusted metal screeched like a dying animal, but it gave way. He slipped inside without hesitation, his fingers already working on the controls.

I stood by the truck, nervously watching the horizon. The city was eerily quiet now. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched, but the streets were still empty.

The engine was a cruel joke—when Kenny turned the key, it sputtered, coughed, and gave a dying whimper before going silent again. My heart sank.

"s**t," I muttered under my breath.

Kenny cursed, slamming his fist against the dashboard in frustration. "Come on, come on..." He twisted the key again.

This time, the truck shuddered, a wheeze of gas escaping the pipes. Then, with a sudden, violent sputter, the engine came to life. The sound was far from smooth, but it was something—an ugly, throaty growl that rattled the bones. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give us a chance.

"Now, we go to Kenova!" Kenny’s voice had hardened, and there was a fire in his eyes as he slammed the gearshift into place.

I nodded, my stomach twisting with a mix of anxiety and adrenaline.

Kenny gave the truck a quick check, ensuring everything was as secure as it could be, before pulling out onto the broken road. The tires creaked as they rolled over debris, and the suspension groaned under the weight, but it moved. It moved forward.

The city stretched out in front of us, half a decayed, half still-alive thing, as if time itself had chosen to forget some parts, while others still clung desperately to the past. The streets that we passed seemed even emptier now, like they had been abandoned for years, though the faint signs of life—cracked windows, hastily drawn curtains, and the occasional distant shout—told another story.

As we drove, I couldn’t help but glance over at Kenny, his jaw set and his hands firmly on the wheel. The weight of what we were doing pressed down on me, suffocating me with every mile.

I don't know what awaits us in Kenova. But we had no choice.

We will go there.