The hum of the market thickened as Kaodin and Cee-Too stepped out from Mr. Qiran's office.
The corridor opened into the main plaza, a wide circular hub alive with barter calls, neon reflections, and the scent of oil and roasted grain.
Cee-Too walked ahead, waving the stamped trade slip. "Another job done," he said, voice light. "Qiran's lectures are longer than a radiation storm."
Kaodin's mouth curved slightly, then settled again. Though he didn't answer, but his attention drifted back to the merchant's words:
Perhaps, they trust Mr.Qiran, so they can do trade with him, but what if he's not as nice?
He barely finished the thought before something cut through the noise.
Laughter was heard across the plaza.
"Kaodin. Come on. Let's take a look. Now." Cee-Too was already moving as he called back.
Kaodin followed the break in the crowd toward a pedestrian walk that led into the outer district-residential blocks just beyond the plaza. Foot traffic thinned there, people angling around a small gathering near the corner of the plaza. A boy tall, looking older boy, and a girl closed in and picked on a single girl.
Bram was pale-skinned and well kept, black hair combed back with a care that didn't belong among lower district kids. His gray clothes were clean, cut to fit, the kind that held their shape no matter how often they were worn. He looked older than Kaodin and the rest, taller too. He shoved the girl hard enough that she lost her footing and hit the ground.
Before anyone else could react, Cee-Too was already there.
He cut in from the side and dropped to one knee beside her, one hand raised, palm open, angled toward the girl. "Hey. Easy. Stay still." His other arm extended outward, not aggressive, just enough to claim space.
Mon, the fat boy, stepped forward, then stopped. The line had shifted.
Kaodin came in behind Cee-Too and halted.
Bram remained at the front.
At his side stood the girl with the ponytail, Sita, her dark navy dress fitted and spotless. She leaned forward first, always half a step ahead of him, quick to speak, quicker to sneer. When she moved, Bram didn't stop her.
She crowded the girl on the ground. "You think you're so pretty you don't have to watch where you walk," she snapped.
Cee-Too shifted slightly, just enough to block her path without lifting his eyes.
The girl folded inward. One hand clamped over her knee as blood seeped between her fingers. The other pulled the paper bag of fruit tight against her chest, apples pressed in as if she could keep them from being taken by force alone.
Under the flickering neon haze, her hair caught the light, black with a sheen like wet ink. Her eyes were an impossible green, clear even through tears, fixed somewhere between fear and refusal.
Bram watched her for a moment, then clicked his tongue. "What a nuisance." His gaze slid past Cee-Too and settled on Kaodin. "Apologize to my sister. Then leave the fruit. You dirtied her dress by walking without looking."
The girl tried to speak. "I'm… I'm sor. "
"No. No, you don't need to."
Kaodin hadn't meant to say it. The words came out low and uneven.
He stood directly in Bram's line of sight. Close enough.
"You hit her already. Isn't that enough?"
Bram's expression tightened. Sweat traced a line from his hairline down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, too quickly, then straightened his collar.
"Tsk." He exhaled through his nose, already turning. "Enough."
He reached for Sita's wrist, not roughly, just firm. "Come on. This isn't worth it." His eyes flicked back to Kaodin, measuring. "We'll get you pears somewhere clean."
He guided her away, angling his body between her and the crowd as they moved. Mon hesitated, then followed. The others peeled off after him, their laughter gone, replaced by hurried silence.
Bram didn't look back.
Kaodin didn't notice it in the moment.
Cee-Too did.
His sensors registered the shift. Not heat. Not force. A brief flicker in the ambient spectrum, unlike anything he had cataloged before.
The girl, Liara, looked up from where she knelt. Her green eyes caught the haze of light in the plaza, bright even through the dust and motion. Strands of dark hair clung to her face, carrying the scent of metal, wind, and something faintly floral. Her expression hovered between fear and gratitude.
Immediately, when Kaodin gets close to her, he could feel as if, contained, relaxed.
Kaodin stood still for a beat longer, breathing steady. Whatever tension had gathered inside him had settled. He looked down at his hands.
Then, he looked toward her, and looked away, and sneakily trying to look at her again, but then he recalled.
Brother Singh had told him once that staring at a girl was rude, that if he didn't want to turn into someone unpleasant, he should look away.
Liara was pushing herself upright, one hand resting carefully against her knee where the bandage had already darkened. Overhead neon caught her features again, lashes still wet, cheeks flushed, eyes bright in a way that made it difficult not to notice.
A low grrrrr broke the quiet.
Was that from behind?
Then his stomach tightened.
He winced and pressed a hand to it. Great. Hadn't eaten since dawn.
Cee-Too caught the look and grinned. "There it is. Heroism fueled by an empty stomach."
"Shut up," Kaodin muttered, his ears warming.
Liara bent to gather what had spilled. Her hands shook as she picked up bruised fruit and cracked containers.
Kaodin crouched beside her and helped, passing each piece back without comment.
"I'm sorry," he said, keeping his voice low. "We didn't get to you fast enough."
She blinked, startled, then met his eyes. The neon light caught the tears still clinging to her lashes, turning them into small points of shine.
"How rude of me," she said, steady despite the tremor in her breath. "My name is Liara. And thank you. Both of you."
Her voice faltered at the end. "Except for my parents… no one's ever been this kind to me."
Kaodin froze. He could face scavengers and raiders. Crying was different.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "My mom used to say being kind isn't weakness. Guess that's the one thing I remembered."
It didn't help. She cried harder.
Cee-Too gave him a look. He mouthed, "Smooth."
"Liara," Kaodin said, lowering himself a little more, "I'm Kaodin. I got separated from my parents during an attack a few months ago." He hesitated, then gestured sideways. "And that's Cee-Too. My benefactor. Apparently."
Cee-Too saluted. "Very affordable rates."
Liara laughed. Small and unsteady, but real.
"Let's be friends," Kaodin said. "If you ever need help, you can rely on us."
Her eyes widened. "Really? You'd be my friends?"
"Of course," Cee-Too said. "Best scavenger support network in the sector."
Kaodin nodded. "When I find my parents, I'll tell them about you too."
She smiled through the last of her tears.
Kaodin fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a folded square of cloth, the one he used during training. He hesitated, checked it once, then handed it to her.
"Here."
She took it carefully, their fingers brushing. "My first gift from a friend," she said quietly. "I'll keep it. Thank you, Kaodin."
His ears burned. "It's nothing."
Her stomach rumbled. Or maybe his did again.
Cee-Too snorted. "Great. Now you're synchronized."
Liara covered her mouth, laughing softly, the sound light against the constant hum of the plaza.
"If you don't mind," she said, shy but hopeful, "would you both come to my home for dinner? My father likes meeting new people. And we have enough to share."
Cee-Too smiled. "You heard her."
Kaodin hesitated, still embarrassed. "If it's not too much trouble."
"Not at all," she said, her smile steady under the flickering lights. "You helped me. It's the least I can do."
The three of us left the plaza behind, winding through the sun-bleached alleys where market chatter faded into the low hum of wind turbines. The air grew cooler the farther we went, carrying the scent of dust and machine oil.
Liara led the way, her steps light, the green bag cradled against her chest. From behind, the hem of her faded dress fluttered in rhythm with the wind, graceful but weathered, like everything else in this world.
"So, where do you live?" Cee-Too asked.
"Just up that ridge," she said, pointing toward a slope where the ruins thinned and patches of moss and cracked solar tiles broke through the ground. "Our home used to be a maintenance station. My father rebuilt it himself."
"Your father sounds capable," Cee-Too said.
She smiled, pride clear in the small lift of her chin. "He is. He's a machinist. Fixes old-world generators, trade drones, anything that still carries electricity. He says one day, power will flow again like it did before the Collapse."
They reached a small compound set into the ridge, half stone and half steel, its walls patched with scavenged plates. A faded sign still clung to the front.
METRO UTILITY NODE 14-K.
Liara keyed a worn panel beside the door. The lock hissed, stuttered, then opened with a reluctant click.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of oil, herbs, and warm tea. A few lamps glowed amber, powered by salvaged cells that hummed softly.
"Father, I'm home," she called. "And I brought guests."
Metal clattered somewhere in the back. A moment later, a tall man emerged from behind a stack of machinery, wiping his hands with a rag. His beard was streaked with silver. His skin was tanned and marked with old burn scars. One eye caught the light with a faint blue glint, unmistakably artificial.
"Guests?" a deep voice called from inside, curious but cautious. "You know that's not usually…"
Then he saw them. Two boys standing awkwardly in the doorway, dusty and unsure.
Liara smiled. "This is Kaodin. And this is Cee-Too. They helped me at the market."
The man's expression softened at once. He nodded, slow and respectful. "Then I owe you my thanks. Name's Wanchai."
He ushered them inside and poured recycled tea into mismatched cups. Steam rose, carrying a faint hint of lime.
"We saw some kids around our age hurting her," Cee-Too said. "Didn't feel right to walk past."
Mr. Wanchai's gaze warmed. "You've done me a kindness. Not all children here show compassion to those born… different."
Kaodin tilted his head. Different.
The word stayed with him, circling, refusing to settle. After a moment, he spoke.
"I'm sorry, sir," Kaodin said carefully. "When you said 'different'… I don't think I understand."
Mr. Wanchai's smile faltered, just slightly. So this must be the boy Zhang Bo mentioned, he thought. The one carrying old teachings. The one who stirred things without knowing why.
"I see," he said aloud. "You're the boy separated from your family after the raiders' attack. That explains it."
He folded his hands, the lamplight catching in the lines of his knuckles. "Liara carries a heritage few can understand. Before the Great Calamity, some wealthy families sought perfection through genetic cultivation. For generations, they shaped their descendants in controlled environments. Beauty. Intellect. Strength. No implants. No wires. Just design."
His gaze drifted toward his daughter, and his voice softened. "History teaches us that even a grain of dust can change everything. Humanity has always tried to surpass nature. To challenge what should not be challenged."
He sighed and brushed his greying hair back. "Forgive me. This is heavy talk for children."
Then he continued, gentler. "In simple terms, Liara carries what the old world called a designer lineage. The result of centuries of genetic refinement. Long before the Collapse, the elite pursued flawlessness. They named it Project Ascendancy."
He hesitated, then spoke quietly. "My family tried to bend the natural order. The price is that my daughter must bear the burden."
He looked down, then back at them. "You must have noticed her beauty. Like her mother's. Uncommon. And her mind is sharp beyond her years. But the cost of such refinement is fragility. Her heart is weak. Her body deteriorates. She spends hours each week in a cultivation chamber just to remain stable."
Silence settled in the room. Only the soft hum of conduits and the faint clink of dishes from the kitchen broke it.
I hesitated, staring at my reflection in the tea. "Mr. Wanchai…" I said softly. "If it was humans who caused it. making her suffer before she was even born. then maybe… somewhere out there, someone could know how to undo it, right? Someone who understands how to fix her fragile body or teach her how to caltivate her own body, strengthening her fragile parts?"
Wanchai froze, his hand tightening slightly around his cup. The light flickered against his tired eyes.
"You speak like a dreamer," he said at last, his voice thick with both sorrow and hope. "Perhaps that's a good thing. Once, the world was full of people who believed in impossible cures. But these days… belief itself has become a rare medicine."
"I still believe," I said quietly. "If there's even one chance. one place in this world that holds that knowledge. I'll find it, I want to help her."
Cee-Too nodded firmly beside me. "Yeah. We're scavenger trainees. So if you or Liara ever need anything from the outside, we'll go. Even if it's on the other side of the continent."
Mr. Wanchai blinked rapidly, then cleared his throat with a weak laugh. "Ah. sorry, boys. Must be the chili powder. Liara likes her food extra spicy. Always makes my eyes and throat sting."
I smiled. "Guess our eyes and throats got used to sandstorms, sir. We can handle the spice."
At that, Liara peeked her face through the kitchen curtain, cheeks pink. "Papa…"
Cee-Too grinned. "She seems fine to me."
Kaodin nodded. "She's stronger than she looks."
Liara blushed deeper, hiding a small smile behind her hand. And for a heartbeat, laughter, filled the room.
Wanchai leaned back, eyes moist but warm. "Thank you, boys," he said quietly. "You've given an old man something rarer than data or relics, a reason to believe again."
For a brief moment, the hum of the settlement outside seemed to fade away.
Inside that modest home, among relics of the past and the scent of tea and chili, time itself seemed to hesitate, holding its breath around them.
And Kaodin, feeling the faint pulse of warmth and life through the floor beneath him, silently vowed:
I'll find the cure. Before her light fades, I'll make sure she has more than borrowed time.
The professor's home sat tucked within the quieter quarter of the settlement, a reinforced prefab dwelling grafted into the side of an old subway tunnel. From the outside, it looked like any other. gray walls, patched steel, and humming solar panels.
But once the sliding door opened, Kaodin stepped into another world.
The air inside was warm, dry, and faintly scented of dust and old paper. Every wall was lined with shelves of forgotten things. relics from before the Collapse.
Stacks of vinyl records filled one corner, their sleeves yellowed and cracked, each etched with the faces of long-dead artists from every nation: Radiohead, Beyond, Pantera, Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, X, Carabao, and so much more…
Beside them sat film negatives curled in glass cases, movie reels, and handwritten manuscripts, their ink faded but alive with history.
A century's worth of ancient books and oil portraits leaned together like ghosts of a vanished culture. things no trader would waste a ration chip on anymore.
Cee-Too brushed a finger across a record jacket. "These are… real? Not prints?"
Uncle Wanchai smiled faintly. "They're what's left of when humanity loved creation more than possession."
He adjusted his glasses, gesturing toward a rusted phonograph in the corner. "People today chase what they can't hold. blockchain, encrypted currencies, simulated art that exists only in servers."
He turned toward Kaodin. "But here… these are memories you can touch. Fragile, imperfect, yet real."
Kaodin's eyes drifted across the room, taking in the strange collection. vinyl, reels, books, and artifacts whose purpose he barely understood.
Words like blockchain, encrypted currency, and simulated art meant nothing to him, yet he dared not ask. Revealing his ignorance might expose more than confusion. it might unravel the secret of who, or when, he truly was.
So instead, he simply nodded, pretending to follow, and let his gaze wander through the professor's treasure trove of time.
He moved closer to a row of aging projectors, their surfaces cracked and dust-caked, like relics from another civilization.
Uncle Wanchai pressed a switch, and the machines awoke with a low hum. sputtering light and static until an image resolved before them.
A projection flickered to life: a grainy black-and-white photograph of an airplane mid-flight, frozen against a backdrop of clouds. The number "914" was faintly visible along its tail.
Kaodin stared for a while before speaking, his tone hesitant but edged with quiet intensity.
"Professor… in all these old records you've kept," he asked, "have you ever come across stories of people… disappearing? And then showing up again. years later, unchanged?"
Uncle Wanchai looked at him, intrigued. "That's a very particular question."
"Just curiosity," Kaodin replied quickly, his gaze fixed on the image. "I've heard things… fragments. Like rumors."
The old man's eyes softened, then he turned back to the projection.
"There were stories," he said at last. "Scattered reports from the old world. Ships vanishing at sea, planes returning decades later, their passengers untouched by time. Dismissed as myths. yet too consistent to ignore."
He adjusted the lens, bringing the photograph into sharper focus.
"This one," he said quietly, "was one of them. Flight 914. Reported missing in 1955… and reappeared forty years later. Every soul aboard alive and unaged."
Cee-Too frowned. "That's. "
"Impossible?" Uncle Wanchai finished, smiling faintly. "So people said. But history has a habit of repeating its impossibilities."
Kaodin's chest tightened as he stared at the frozen plane on the wall.
Something in the hum of the projector seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. steady, faint, and unnervingly familiar.
Then, for a brief second, the light stuttered.
A ripple ran across the projection, warping the image as if time itself wavered.
The photograph blurred. then steadied again. while the old projector emitted a faint metallic whine.
Uncle Wanchai tapped the side of the device, frowning softly. "These old circuits react strangely sometimes. The power lines in this district are… temperamental."
But Kaodin wasn't sure it was the wiring. He could feel it. the faint vibration crawling up his arms, the same inner pulse that had saved his life before.
A resonance, like his breath was syncing with something vast and invisible. something alive.
Uncle Wanchai noticed his expression. "You felt that, didn't you?"
Kaodin hesitated. "Maybe. Just static."
"Hmm." The professor smiled faintly, though his eyes gleamed with quiet interest. "Static can be many things, young man. Sometimes… it's the universe trying to remember itself."
He turned off the projector, the image dissolving into darkness.
The room seemed to exhale. a deep silence settling in its place.
And beneath that silence, deep under the floor where Thorium reactors hummed in quiet cycles, a pulse traveled. small, unnoticed.
A warning of what was to come.
The faint hum of the projector faded, replaced by the soft clatter of dishes from the adjoining room.
"Papa," the girl called gently, "the stew's ready."
Uncle Wanchai smiled, setting the dusty film reel aside. "Ah, yes. our modest reward for guests brave enough to listen to my rambling."
He led them into the dining alcove. a narrow space where sunlight filtered through cracked skylights above, casting golden beams over the table. The air carried the scent of simmering roots and broth, seasoned with recycled salt and herbs grown in hydro pods along the wall.
Cee-Too's eyes widened the moment the lids were lifted from the steaming bowls.
"Whoa… real vegetables and meat?"
Liara laughed softly, her cheeks tinged pink. "Papa says old seeds still remember how to grow if you listen to them right."
Uncle Wanchai grinned at her words, pride glinting faintly in his cybernetic eye.
"For a special occasion like this," he said warmly, "meeting two young boys who might one day help rebuild what the world lost. we can afford to share a bit of our best stock. Some of our homegrown greens and a few cuts of traded meat. Eat well, boys. Liara will be thrilled to keep your bowls full for seconds. maybe thirds."
Liara ducked her head shyly but smiled, ladling soup into each bowl with careful hands. The aroma filled the small room. lemongrass, chili, lime leaves. sharp and tender all at once.
Kaodin leaned forward unconsciously, drawn in by the fragrance. The first sip hit him like a wave of memory.
The sour heat, the slow rise of spice, the faint sweetness in the broth. it was home.
His chest tightened as the flavor spread through him, warming every nerve. For a moment, the world outside the dome. the wasteland, the ruins, the dust. vanished. In its place was a kitchen from a memory long buried: his mother's laughter, the scent of boiling herbs, the sting of chili that made his eyes water and his heart steady.
Kaodin coughed lightly, blinking as tears of spice and emotion welled up.
Cee-Too burst into laughter beside him, his own eyes watering as he fanned his mouth. "H-hot! Oh, that's serious fire!"
Uncle Wanchai looked bewildered for a moment. then laughed heartily, the sound rumbling like something he hadn't done in years. Liara froze mid-motion, spoon in hand, before breaking into a fit of soft giggles herself.
"Sorry. " Kaodin managed between coughs and laughter. "It's just… it's been so long since I've tasted something that feels like home. My mother used to make Tom Yum just like this. Same spice, same warmth."
He took another spoonful, smiling through the heat. "It's perfect. Authentic. Real Thai flavor. I didn't think I'd ever taste it again."
Liara's eyes widened, surprise giving way to quiet delight. "You really think so? I only learned from my father's old recipe files. Most people here can't handle my level of spice."
Kaodin chuckled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Then they're missing out. The flavor… it's alive. It burns, but it soothes."
[Still, if we could somehow later enable the cultivation of the authentic jasmine rice back using some sort of this era's technological advancement, that would definitely be the best, it would surely benefit her in exploring deeper to the various multiple Thai dishes that best incorporating with Jasmine and then the authentic Thai food would finally be returned to the world's civilization again]
Uncle Wanchai smirked. "That's my girl. Her mother would've been proud. she loved her food with fire."
The warmth in the room deepened. Kaodin caught Liara's gaze across the table, and for the briefest second, time seemed to slow again. the same quiet rhythm he'd felt when she first looked up at him in the market.
There was something in her eyes, a gentleness that softened everything sharp in him.
When the moment broke, he looked down, flustered. "I'd… I'd love to taste more sometime. If that's not too much trouble."
Liara smiled. not bashful this time, but confident in that quiet, radiant way of hers. "Then it's a promise. Next time, I'll make it even better."
Cee-Too groaned playfully. "Next time, maybe warn me first., how my stomach would reacts later tonight"
Laughter filled the room again, bright and unguarded. Even Uncle Wanchai leaned back, eyes shimmering from the spice. or perhaps something deeper.
He poured water from a ceramic jug, the simple gesture grounding the warmth that hung between them, offering the cup to Kaodin and Cee-Too, "The body that works deserves the first drink."
Kaodin and Cee-Too took it with both hands, still smiling. "Thank you… Uncle Wanchai."
The older man blinked, a faint flicker of surprise crossing his face before softening into a genuine grin. "Ah, you said it naturally. Good. 'Professor' sounds too much like the old world anyway. and it's long gone. 'Uncle' will do."
"Then Uncle it is," Cee-Too said brightly.
Kaodin nodded, glancing at Liara, who was still quietly smiling as she refilled their bowls. "Yes… Uncle Wanchai."
And as the night settled around them, the scent of chili and lemongrass lingered in the air like an old memory. a promise that even in this fractured world, warmth could still be found in the simplest of things: a shared meal, a new bond, and a taste that reminded him he was still alive.